Who Even Is Jack?!

The black Mercedes slid through mid-morning traffic, its windows tinted so dark they turned the bright city into a blurred filmstrip.

Damon sat in the back seat, jacket off, phone pressed to his ear while Patrick’s voice filled the cabin with the day’s schedule. He was halfway through the rundown when another call flashed on the screen.

Jack.

Damon’s thumb hovered over the screen. He hadn’t spoken directly to Jack in months. They communicated through lawyers, intermediaries, and whispers at board meetings. The fact that he was calling now meant only one thing: Jack wanted to show his hand.

“End the call, Patrick,” Damon said quietly. “Reschedule everything for this morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Patrick said, confused, but the line went dead.

Damon accepted the incoming call. “Why the hell are you calling me?”

“Wasn't thinking you would still have my number.” Jack replied, his voice warm and perfectly measured. “We need to talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“Meet me at Madison Café, thirty minutes.”

Damon glanced out at the passing traffic, he knew that café. It was a public space which was odd, judging by the type of person Jack was.

“Why? You want a clearer shot for your sniper?”

Jack’s chuckle was dry. “It's a neutral place. I’ll bring my men. Bring yours.”

The line clicked dead. Damon lowered the phone and let out a slow breath. Across from him, his head of security, Lewis, raised an eyebrow.

“Problem?” he asked.

Damon slid his jacket back on. “Meeting Jack. He’s done playing in the shadows.”

Lewis tapped his earpiece. “We’ll sweep the place before you go in.”

Madison Café was a narrow, elegant space tucked between two art-deco buildings downtown. On ordinary days it served cappuccinos to lawyers and tourists, but today it felt like a set from a gangster film.

Two black SUVs already idled at the curb when Damon’s car rolled up. Men in dark suits stood on the sidewalk, hands clasped in front of them but eyes sharp as knives.

Lewis stepped out first, scanning the street. “Clear.”

Damon followed, his own men fanning out behind him. Inside, the café had been emptied; the barista behind the counter kept his head down, pretending not to notice. At the back, Jack sat at a corner table, a porcelain teacup before him, his silver hair immaculate. Two bodyguards stood against the wall behind him like statues.

Damon crossed the room slowly, every sense alert. Jack rose with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Damon,” he said, extending a hand.

Damon glanced at his hand and then back at his face. “Why are we here?”

They sat. Damon’s men stationed themselves at the other tables; Jack’s guards mirrored them. The barista started the espresso machine just to break the silence.

Jack gestured at the menu. “Coffee? Tea?”

“I’ll pass.” Damon leaned back, one arm draped over the chair. “You wanted to talk. Get to it..”

Jack sipped his tea before answering. “I’ve been patient with you. I’ve watched you steer Pearl into waters you don’t fully understand.”

Damon’s mouth twitched. “Pearl’s fine.”

“Pearl is vulnerable,” Jack corrected. “Too many enemies. Too much dependence on a young woman who doesn’t realise she’s a pawn.”

Naomi. Damon’s jaw tightened but he said nothing.

Jack smiled faintly. “I love my niece. You know that. I raised her when her father died. But somehow, you get a hold of the company's ownership overnight..” he gestured with his cup. “Its quite irritating you know. If our enemies find out Naomi is still in the picture…”

“She’s safe,” Damon cut in. “I protect what’s mine.”

Jack tilted his head. “Do you? How well do you think you can protect her, Damon? When every move she makes is photographed, when every board member you inherited from her father is on my side of the table?”

Damon let the words hang, forcing his heartbeat to slow. “Let’s skip the sermon. You’re not here to warn me about Naomi’s safety. You’re here to wrestle Pearl out of my hands.”

Jack chuckled. “Direct as always. Yes. Pearl belongs to the family. To Naomi. And if you truly cared for her, you’d hand it back instead of hiding behind your lawyers.”

“She’s my wife. And Pearl’s future was written in her father’s will. You know that.”

“I know what papers say,” Jack said softly. “But papers burn. Allegiances shift. All it takes is one scandal, one lawsuit, one whispered rumour and Pearl’s board will vote you out. They’d welcome me back with open arms. After all, I’ve been on their side for decades.”

Damon leaned forward, eyes flat. “You don’t want to protect Naomi. You want to control her.”

Jack’s eyes glinted. “I want to save her from becoming collateral damage. You think you can keep her in a glass box, but the cracks are already showing.”

He set his cup down and rose smoothly. “Here’s my advice, Damon. Step aside before the floor gives way. Naomi’s trusting, but even she will wake up when the headlines hit.”

Damon stood too, the chair legs scraping softly against the polished floor. “Stay away from her.”

Jack adjusted his cufflinks. “If only it were that simple.”

He turned, his guards falling into step behind him. At the door he glanced back over his shoulder, his smile like a blade. “She’s always been trusting. Don’t teach her regret.”

Then he was gone, the bell over the café door jingling faintly. Damon stood very still, hands clenched at his sides. Every instinct screamed that Jack wasn’t bluffing. Something was already in motion.

Lewis approached. “Are we pulling back?”

Damon shook his head slowly. “No. Double the watch on Naomi. And dig into Jack’s finances again. He’s moving pieces.”

His phone vibrated violently in his hand. Patrick’s name flashed across the screen. He swiped to answer. “Patrick…”

Patrick's alarmed voice came through, high and panicked. “Mr. Sinclair? Ms Naomi…she…she’s been taken to the hospital.”

Damon’s blood went cold. “What happened?”

“Someone pushed her down the stairs at the office. She…she’s conscious but hurt badly…”

Damon was already moving, striding out of the café with Lewis on his heels. “Which hospital?”

“St. Mary’s. The paramedics just left and I'm right behind them…”

The line cut off as he climbed into the car. “Drive,” he snapped to the driver. “Now.”

The Mercedes lurched into traffic. Damon’s pulse hammered as he dialled Naomi’s number, but it rang unanswered. He tried again. Still nothing.

Damon stared out at the blur of buildings. Jack’s voice echoed in his head: How well do you think you can protect her?

He tried Naomi one more time. Straight to voicemail. He gritted his teeth, shoving the phone into his pocket. He could still see Jack’s parting smile, could still feel the warning wrapped inside it.

She’s always been trusting. Don’t teach her regret.

The car sped on, siren-wail of an ambulance somewhere ahead. Damon’s hands curled into fists on his knees. Whoever had touched Patrick had sent a message. And Damon Sinclair had every intention of answering it.