All Chapters of The Cross Family: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Cameron didn’t make a spectacle of it.There was no dramatic confrontation, no raised voices in back alleys or threats delivered with clenched fists. He didn’t want fear—he wanted finality.The meeting happened in a law office that specialized in the kind of transactions that never made headlines. Glass walls, neutral art, a receptionist who didn’t blink when three men with hard eyes walked in and were escorted to a conference room already occupied.Cameron sat at the far end of the table, jacket off, sleeves rolled, posture calm. Alexander stood near the window, hands folded behind his back. Adrian sat beside Cameron, legal pad open, pen poised like a blade.The men recognized the name immediately. The shift was subtle but unmistakable—shoulders straightening, bravado thinning. Power had a scent, and the Cross family carried it.Adoric, the one who’d spoken to Jayla on Pike Street, tried to smile. “Didn’t expect the artist,” he said. “Thought we’d be dealing with lawyers.”“You are,”

Jayla chose the apartment herself.Cameron didn’t argue. He offered to drive her, then sat quietly in the passenger seat while she directed him through neighborhoods that grew less polished with every turn—tree-lined streets with uneven sidewalks, brick walk-ups with character instead of doormen, corner stores instead of valet parking.When they stopped in front of the building, Cameron took it in without judgment.Three stories. Faded green trim. A narrow staircase visible through the front window.“It’s not much,” Jayla said, fingers twisting together as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “But it’s safe. And it’s mine.”He smiled. “That’s a lot, actually.”The landlord was an older woman with sharp eyes and a soft voice who sized Cameron up the way women like her always did—not impressed, not intimidated, simply curious. Jayla answered every question herself. Income. References. Lease length.When the keys landed in her palm, Jayla’s breath caught.This wasn’t survival housing.It wasn’t t

The Cross Family continues with...Part Four: Alexander's StoryChapter: FirewallAlexander Cross didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.The boardroom was all glass and muted lighting, the kind of space designed to make people feel watched even when they weren’t. A wall of windows looked out over the city, slick from last night’s rain. The skyline was a row of sharpened teeth. The long walnut table reflected every movement like a mirror that refused to flatter.Alexander sat at the head, hands folded, posture calm enough to be mistaken for ease. Around him, twelve executives shifted papers, adjusted cufflinks, checked their watches with false subtlety. Everyone in the room was important. Everyone in the room wanted something.And everyone in the room knew Alexander Cross was the one person who could deny them and make it feel inevitable.“Caldwell Media is pulling out,” the CFO said, sliding a folder across the table. “They’re citing ‘reputational exposure.’”A few people inhaled

Alexander Cross did not slam doors when he was angry.He closed them carefully, deliberately—because anger, when handled correctly, was fuel.The moment Eva Reyes left his office, he summoned the people he trusted with his life, his empire, and the truth.Not the board. Not PR.The internal firewall.By the time night pressed against the windows of Cross Enterprises, the executive floor was alive with quiet movement. Screens glowed in darkened offices. Coffee machines hissed. Analysts spoke in low voices, clipped and efficient. Alexander stood at the center of it all, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled, tie loosened just enough to signal war.“Run it again,” he said, standing behind the head of internal compliance. “From the Boston subsidiary outward. Every vendor, every shell, every irregular transfer in the last forty-eight months.”The analyst hesitated. “That’s thousands of data points.”Alexander didn’t raise his voice. “Then start.”Adrian stood near the wall, arms crossed, eyes s

Eva chose the diner because it didn’t look like a place where people told truths.It was the kind of spot tucked between a nail salon and a discount pharmacy, with faded booths and a neon sign that buzzed like it was tired of living. The coffee tasted like it had been reheated since morning. The lunch crowd had thinned to a few late-shift workers and a pair of retirees sharing pie.If someone was watching, it would be too boring to bother with.That was the theory, anyway.Eva slid into the booth first, back to the wall. She didn’t make a show of it. She just did it, the way her body had learned to locate exits before it located comfort. Her phone sat face down on the table. A small notebook rested near her elbow. She ordered water, not coffee—clear, nothing to spill, nothing to slow her hands.Alexander Cross wasn’t there. He wasn’t supposed to be.This was Eva’s interview. Her source insisted on it being off Cross property, away from cameras. Eva agreed—partly because it made sense,