Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jordan POV

The building Mercer picked was the kind of downtown glass tower that made you feel underdressed even in a blazer. The lobby was all marble floors, soft lighting, and a front desk staffed by someone who looked like they’d been trained to smile without revealing personal feelings or blood type.

I checked in with a receptionist whose hair was smooth enough to qualify as a brand partnership.

“Jordan Carter,” I said. “I’m here for a twelve o’clock.”

She didn’t ask who with. She already knew. That alone was a detail worth filing away.

“Of course, Ms. Carter.” Her eyes flicked to a screen. “Conference Suite C. Take the elevator to the twenty-third floor. Someone will meet you.”

“Thank you.” I smiled and made sure my voice stayed warm. Courtesy is a weapon when you know how to use it.

The elevator ride was silent except for the soft music that plays in places where money is trying to convince you it’s classy. I watched the floor numbers climb and forced my breathing to stay even.

At twenty-three, the doors opened onto a quiet hallway with thick carpet and the kind of artwork that existed solely to justify itself. A man in a charcoal suit stood near a set of double doors. Tall. Clean-cut. Earpiece. Hands folded in front of him like he was polite, not armed.

He nodded. “Ms. Carter.”

“You must be Grant,” I said.

“Yes.” He held the door open. “They’re ready for you.”

“They,” I repeated lightly, stepping past him. “That’s comforting. I love a mystery plural.”

Grant didn’t smile, but his eyes warmed a fraction. “This way.”

The conference room was exactly what I expected: long table, leather chairs, a wall of windows that looked out over the city like the building was judging it. A pitcher of water sat in the center with glasses arranged neatly beside it. No coffee. That was intentional. Coffee makes people linger. Water makes people speak quickly and leave.

There were two men inside.

One was older, silver at the temples, holding a slim folder. The other was… Maddox Mercer.

I recognized him immediately, not just from the website photo but from the way the room seemed to recalibrate around his presence. He wasn’t doing anything dramatic. He wasn’t looming. He wasn’t scowling. He simply stood near the window like he belonged there—like the city outside existed because he allowed it.

He turned when I entered, and the first thing I noticed was his eyes. Dark, steady, watchful. Not cold exactly. Controlled.

The second thing I noticed was that he looked at me like he was reading me.

Not checking out my body. Not sizing me up like a threat in the normal way. This was quieter. More precise. Like he was clocking details he could use.

Good. We were going to get along terribly.

“Ms. Carter,” the older man said. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m Harlan Whitaker. General counsel for Mercer Holdings.”

Of course Mercer had in-house counsel. Of course they still called me.

Maddox didn’t step forward to shake my hand. He just nodded once.

“Jordan Carter,” I said, looking at him directly. “I assume you’re Maddox Mercer.”

“I am,” he said.

His voice was low, measured, like he didn’t waste words unless they mattered. No regional accent I could pin. Educated. Controlled. Annoyingly attractive in the way men who never look unsure tend to be.

I set my bag on the table and took a seat without asking. Never ask in rooms like this. People who want control love when you ask permission.

Maddox sat across from me, Harlan to his right. Grant remained by the door, silent. A security detail, but inside the room, and that was another detail worth noting.

I pulled out a legal pad, clicked my pen, and said, “Okay. You want to retain me. Tell me why.”

Harlan opened his folder. “As you may have seen in the news—”

“I’ve seen it,” I said, cutting in smoothly. “A body recovered near Mercer property. Darren Kline.”

Maddox’s gaze sharpened at the name. Just a flicker, but I saw it.

So it mattered.

Harlan’s expression stayed neutral. “Yes.”

Maddox’s mouth didn’t move, but something in his eyes shifted—interest, maybe. Or irritation. Hard to tell. Men like him didn’t hand out emotional tells for free.

“We want legal counsel,” Harlan said.

“Good,” I replied. “Then start with the basics. What is Mercer Holdings being investigated for?”

Harlan’s eyes flicked to Maddox. Maddox didn’t answer.

That was the first power move. Let the lawyer talk. Keep the boss silent.

I wasn’t impressed.

“Mr. Mercer,” I said, still polite, “I don’t do silent meetings. If you’re hiring me, I need to hear you speak.”

Maddox’s gaze held mine. “We’re not being investigated.”

Harlan cleared his throat slightly, like he wanted to soften that.

I didn’t.

“You called me within hours of the headline,” I said. “A body was found near your property. The district attorney assigned is Silvia Smith. You may not be officially ‘under investigation’ yet, but you will be. People don’t hire me for fun.”

Maddox’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I always do,” I said. “It’s why I’m expensive.”

Harlan slid a page toward me. “This is our retainer proposal.”

I didn’t pick it up yet. If you grab paper too quickly, people think you’re hungry. I was hungry, but not for money.

“What’s your relationship to the deceased?” I asked.

Harlan hesitated.

Maddox spoke. “None.”

“None,” I repeated. “So why was he on or near your land?”

Maddox didn’t answer immediately.

I watched him the way I watched witnesses—eyes, hands, posture. He stayed perfectly still. No fidgeting. No shift. The kind of stillness that took effort.

“That’s not a complicated question,” I said lightly. “It’s yes, no, or ‘I don’t know,’ which is also an answer, just an annoying one.”

Harlan gave a careful smile, like I was a child telling jokes at a funeral.

Maddox’s gaze stayed on me. “We don’t know why he was there.”

“You don’t know,” I said. “Or you’re not telling me.”

His expression didn’t change. “We don’t know.”

“Okay.” I made a note. Then another. “When was the last time Mercer Security had contact with him?”

Maddox’s jaw tightened slightly. “We didn’t.”

“That’s a strong statement,” I said. “Do you have logs? Cameras? Gate records?”

Harlan started, “We have extensive security—”

“I’m not asking you,” I said gently, still smiling. “I’m asking the man whose name is on the building.”

Maddox didn’t look offended. That was interesting too.

“We have cameras,” he said. “And logs.”

“And you’ve reviewed them?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And he’s not on them.”

Maddox’s voice stayed level, but the sentence had weight. He shouldn’t be on them.

I tapped my pen once. “Okay. Where exactly was the body found?”

Harlan looked like he wanted to answer. Maddox answered first.

“Near an access road,” he said. “Outside our main gates. Close enough to be associated. Not close enough to be ours.”

“That sounds like a legal argument,” I said. “Not a fact.”

His eyes flicked down to my pen and back up. “It’s both.”

“Convenient.” I smiled again, because smiling made people underestimate you. “Do you own the access road?”

“Yes,” Harlan said quickly.

I looked at him. “I didn’t ask you. But thank you for your honesty.”

Harlan’s mouth tightened.

Maddox didn’t react.

“So,” I said, leaning back slightly, “you own the road. The body is on or near your property. The deceased has a violent history. The DA assigned is Silvia Smith.” I let my gaze settle on Maddox. “And you want me to… do what, exactly? Stop the state from looking at you?”

Maddox’s voice was calm. “We want to make sure we’re not dragged into something we didn’t create.”

That was a good line. Clean. Reasonable. Almost believable.

Almost.

I nodded, then asked, “Did someone on your land kill him?”

Silence hit the room so fast it felt like a door shutting.

Harlan’s eyes widened slightly. Grant’s posture stayed the same. Maddox didn’t move.

His voice, when it came, was still controlled. “No.”

“Not even in self-defense,” I pressed.

Harlan said, “Ms. Carter—”

I held up a hand without looking at him. “If you interrupt me again, I’m going to start billing by the sigh.”

Harlan shut his mouth.

Maddox’s gaze stayed on mine. “No,” he repeated.

“And you’re comfortable saying that to me as your attorney?” I asked. “Because if I take you on, attorney-client privilege applies, but lying to your own counsel is a really expensive hobby.”

Maddox’s eyes narrowed again. “We’re not lying.”

“Okay,” I said softly. “Then someone is trying to make it look like you did.”

That was my turn. The shift from interrogation to alignment. People relaxed when you offered them a shared enemy.

Maddox didn’t relax. But I saw something else—approval, maybe, at the fact I was thinking two steps ahead.

I flipped to a clean page on my pad.

“Here’s what I need,” I said. “Full access to your security logs and footage. Full access to any incident reports, internal or external, involving Darren Kline or anyone connected to him. A list of all employees and contractors who had access to that access road. And I need your full cooperation.”

Harlan slid the retainer proposal closer. “Those terms can be arranged.”

“I’m not done,” I said.

Maddox’s gaze held.

“I need to know what else is going on,” I continued. “Because Silvia Smith doesn’t get assigned to a body unless there’s something bigger attached. Trafficking. Organized crime. Corruption. Something.” I paused. “And if I find out you kept something from me after I’m on record as your counsel, we are both going to suffer.”

Maddox’s mouth twitched—so small it could’ve been nothing. But I didn’t miss it.

“You’re direct,” he said.

“I’m efficient,” I corrected. “Direct is what men call women when they’re mad we didn’t apologize first.”

Harlan cleared his throat like he’d swallowed a laugh by accident.

Maddox didn’t smile, but his eyes changed again—slightly warmer, slightly sharper.

“And the residency clause?” I asked suddenly, switching gears. “Grant said ‘standard protocol’ on the phone. Explain it.”

Harlan opened his mouth. Maddox cut in.

“For your safety,” Maddox said. “If you represent us, you’re a target.”

I held his gaze. “A target from whom?”

Maddox didn’t answer.

There it was again. The refusal. The wall.

I set my pen down carefully. “Okay. Then we’re done here.”

Harlan blinked. “Excuse me?”

Maddox’s head tilted a fraction. “What?”

“I don’t take cases where I’m expected to step into a situation blind,” I said, standing. I slid my legal pad into my bag with deliberate calm. “If you can’t tell me who threatens me, you don’t get my counsel."

Harlan stood too, alarmed. “Ms. Carter, we can discuss—”

“No,” I said, still polite. “You can either treat me like counsel, or you can treat me like a disposable tool. Tools don’t get information. Counsel does. Pick.”

Maddox stayed seated. He watched me like he was recalculating.

“Jordan,” he said, using my first name for the first time. “Sit down.”

The command was quiet, controlled, and it hit a nerve I didn’t like. Not because it scared me. Because a part of me wanted to listen, and that was unacceptable.

I smiled sweetly. “No.”

For a beat, the room held its breath.

Then Maddox stood.

He wasn’t tall in a flashy way. He was tall in a way that made you aware of space. He walked to the table and placed a hand on the retainer proposal.

“Read it,” he said.

I didn’t move. “Money doesn’t buy my silence.”

“It buys your time,” he said evenly. “And your discretion.”

“I have discretion for free,” I replied. “I charge for my skill.”

Maddox’s eyes stayed steady. “We need your skill.”

Harlan looked like he wanted to scream. Grant stayed perfectly still by the door, watching.

Maddox slid the paper toward me again. “It’s a million-dollar retainer.”

I paused.

Not because I was tempted to faint. Because I needed to make sure I heard him correctly.

“A million,” I repeated.

“Yes.”

Harlan added quickly, “Initial retainer. Additional fees are, of course, negotiable depending on scope.”

I looked at Maddox. “That’s not normal.”

“No,” Maddox agreed. “It’s not.”

“Which means,” I said slowly, “either you’re trying to buy control… or what you’re dealing with is big enough that you think you might not survive it without me.”

Maddox didn’t blink. “Both can be true.”

That was the most honest thing he’d said all meeting.

I took the retainer proposal finally, scanned it fast. The terms were clean. Almost too clean. Monthly billing, expense coverage, an entire section on confidentiality, another on security compliance.

And there it was—residency clause. Three pages of it.

I looked up. “You want me on your property.”

“For the duration of the initial crisis period,” Harlan said.

“For how long?” I asked.

Maddox answered. “Thirty days.”

I laughed once, sharp. “Thirty days. You’re out of your mind.”

Maddox’s voice stayed calm. “Your office downtown is easy to reach.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It’s a fact.”

“I’m not moving into your woods because you’ve decided the world is scary,” I said. “I deal with scary men for a living. Most of them can’t afford conference rooms.”

Maddox took a step closer to the table. “This isn’t about fear.”

“It’s about control,” I said.

His eyes darkened slightly. “It’s about survival.”

I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch, because silence makes people talk if they can’t stand it. Maddox looked like the kind of man who could stand silence for days.

Finally, I set the retainer proposal down.

“Here’s my counter,” I said, voice smooth, professional. “I’ll take the case. I’ll take your million-dollar retainer. But I decide where I stay. If you have credible threats, you present them. If your security needs are real, we coordinate. You don’t write ‘residency’ into my life like I’m an employee.”

Harlan started, “Ms. Carter—”

Maddox lifted a hand without looking at him. Harlan stopped.

Maddox studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded once.

“Fine,” he said. “You decide where you stay. But you don’t go anywhere alone.”

I smiled. “I’m a lawyer, Mr. Mercer. I haven’t been alone since law school. Anxiety is basically my roommate.”

For the first time, Maddox’s mouth curved—barely. A shadow of a smile, like the idea amused him against his will.

Then his expression went serious again.

“You want details,” he said quietly. “I can’t give you all of them today.”

“Try me,” I said.

Maddox’s gaze sharpened. “There are people who would use you to get to me. And there are people who would use you to get to what I protect.”

“What you protect,” I repeated. “Your company?”

His eyes held mine. “My people.”

That landed differently.

Not warmer. Not softer. Just… heavier. Like he meant it.

I nodded slowly, letting him have that. “Okay. Then we start with what you can tell me. Timeline. Names. Access points.”

Harlan exhaled, relieved. “We can arrange document production immediately.”

“And I want,” I added, “a direct line to you. Not your general counsel. Not Grant. You.”

Maddox didn’t hesitate. “You’ll have it.”

I reached for my pen again. “Then we have an agreement in principle. I’ll need to run a formal conflicts check, draft my engagement letter, and I’ll need—”

Maddox cut in. “You’ll have the money wired today.”

I blinked once. “You trust fast.”

“I don’t,” he said simply. “I move fast.”

I nodded, because that was fair.

As I gathered my things, I caught myself thinking something I didn’t like:

If Silvia Smith was digging into my father’s file, and Maddox Mercer was offering me a million dollars to stand between him and the state… then whatever had crawled out of Mercer land wasn’t just a dead man.

It was a door.

And someone had just handed me the key.