When Zeke stepped out of the elevator, his secretary was already waiting—poised, tablet in hand, her expression professionally neutral. She fell into step beside him as he strode toward his office, her heels clicking a quiet counterpoint to his steady pace.
"Sir, your schedule for today," she began, reading from the tablet without looking up. "You have a board meeting at 10:00 AM, followed by a strategy briefing this afternoon regarding the land acquisition." She paused, her voice dipping slightly. "And... your grandfather has rearranged your evening. Your blind dates have been scheduled. You'll be meeting five ladies tonight."
Zeke gave a curt, wordless nod, his expression unchanged.
They walked a few more steps before he spoke. "Why is everyone looking at me strangely? What's going on?"
The secretary hesitated, then answered carefully. "It seems the news of your impending... courtship has circulated, sir. Your grandfather made sure of it. The entire company knows you're looking for a wife." She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the tablet. "I believe his intention is to make it difficult for you to quietly withdraw."
Zeke stopped walking. For a moment, the corridor was silent save for the distant hum of office activity.
"Of course he did," Zeke murmured, a cold, humorless smile touching his lips. His grandfather hadn't just arranged dates—he had engineered a public spectacle, ensuring that any retreat would be witnessed and whispered about. The old man was methodically burning every bridge of escape.
He resumed walking, his secretary hurrying to keep pace. "Send me the details—times, locations, names. And clear my schedule for the hour before the first date. I'll need to prepare."
"Yes, sir."
As he pushed open the door to his office, Zeke's mind was already racing ahead. Five women. Five performances. But somewhere in this circus, there had to be an angle he could exploit .
The weight of the morning already pressing down on him. He settled into his chair, preparing to dive into the mountain of work awaiting his attention. But barely a few minutes passed before his secretary reappeared.
"Sir, it's 10 o'clock. Time for the board meeting."
He stood without complaint, straightened his jacket, and walked to the conference room. The meeting was the usual exercise in endurance—men in expensive suits talking in circles, posturing, protecting their own interests while pretending to serve the company's. Zeke listened, made a few calculated decisions, and extricated himself as soon as protocol allowed.
Back in his office, exhaustion finally caught up with him. He loosened his tie, the silk sliding easily against his collar, and sank into his swivel chair. He pressed his head back against the leather, spinning slowly, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as his mind churned through strategies, threats, and the evening's impending parade of blind dates.
The buzz of his phone broke the silence. Bakar.
"Sir. It's done."
Zeke sat up slightly, alertness cutting through the fatigue. "Report."
"I've implemented everything you asked. I confronted Lawman—Laurence Mannfield—personally. Showed him the evidence of his stolen credentials, the trace on his son's location." Bakar's voice was steady, clinical. "He broke within minutes. His eyes are now fully on our side. I've secured his son in a safe house, no one can reach him. Mannfield is ready to go along with the plan. He'll feed whatever disinformation we need to the Men in Black through the compromised channel."
A slow, genuine smile spread across Zeke's face—the first real one in days.
"Good," he said, the word carrying the weight of a small victory. "Very good. Now we're finally playing offense."
He leaned back again, but this time the exhaustion felt lighter, tempered by the satisfaction of a piece sliding into place. Lawman was the first domino. If they played this right, the others would follow—one way or another.
"Keep me updated. And Bakar... excellent work."
"Thank you, sir."
"And the girl?" Bakar asked carefully.
Zeke didn't need clarification. He already knew who Bakar meant.
"She's free to go," Zeke replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Her intel has served its purpose. We don't need her anymore."
There was a pause on the other end of the line—a fraction of a second, but enough to register.
"You can release her from the hospital this evening. Tell her yourself if you want." Zeke leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "What happens to her after that... none of our business anymore."
Another pause. Then Bakar's voice, measured and respectful as always: "Understood, sir."
The call ended.
Zeke sat in the sudden silence, the weight of his own words settling around him like a cold fog. Jenny had given him everything—the names, the proof, the key to the war. And now he was discarding her like a tool that had served its purpose.
It's business, he told himself. Sentiment is a weakness. Weakness gets you killed.
But the memory of her pale face in the hospital bed, her defiant eyes as she handed him the list, the way she'd held on to his hand in the alley—it lingered at the edges of his thoughts, unwanted and persistent.
He shook it off and reached for the next file. There were five blind dates to survive tonight. The war waited for no one.