The worn leather ledger felt like a slab of cold stone in Eli's ten-year-old hands. Outside, the Crowns' obsidian Lincoln idled like a predator. Logic screamed suicide, but Elijah Reyes locked his fear behind a wall of focus. Rosa stood beside him, a pillar of calm resolve, her eyes burning with fierce, protective fire. Vance's fist hammered the door again.
**"Reyes! Move it! Deacon don't like waiting!"**
Eli took a steadying breath and opened the door. Vance's flinty eyes swept over them, landing dismissively on Rosa.
**"Just the boy. Get in the car, Reyes."**
Rosa didn't move. She stepped *forward*, placing herself squarely between Vance and Eli, blocking the doorway.
**"Where Elijah goes,"** she declared, her voice low and resonant, **"I go."**
Vance's scowl deepened.
**"Lady, this ain't a family picnic. Get back inside."**
**"No,"** Rosa countered, sharp as shattered glass, her hand finding Eli's shoulder. **"My son faces The Deacon? I face him too. Or we do not go."**
Vance stared, his jaw working. He saw the unyielding strength. His eyes flicked to the car, then back. Luther shifted impatiently. Finally, Vance's lip curled.
**"Fine. Waste of time. But you keep your mouth shut. One word outta turn, lady, and the deal's off. Understood?"** He stepped back, gesturing curtly. **"*Both* of you. Move."**
Rosa gave a sharp nod. Her hand remained firm on Eli's shoulder as she guided him past the enforcers, head high, towards the black Lincoln. Eli felt fierce gratitude warring with terror – she was walking into the beast's lair beside him.
* * *
The air inside the Lincoln was frigid, smelling of leather and gun oil. Eli sat rigidly beside Rosa, the ledger heavy on his lap. Vance's eyes constantly flicked to the rearview mirror. Rosa sat perfectly still, gazing out the tinted window, her calm a fortress. The car stopped before a nondescript brownstone radiating quiet power. Vance led them through a sterile lobby humming with security – polished floors, muted tones, guards with flat eyes. He took the ledger and transcript, subjected them to impersonal pat-downs, then gestured towards an unmarked door.
**"Move."**
* * *
Vance opened the door. The office felt like an inner sanctum – dark wood, massive mahogany desk, bookshelves of history and philosophy, the air thick with cigar smoke and old leather. Silas "The Deacon" Jones sat facing a window, silhouetted against morning light. He didn't turn.
**"Vance. The ledger?"** The deep, calm voice filled the room.
**"Here, Deacon,"** Vance placed the items on the desk corner. **"And the Reyes woman insisted on coming."** Disapproval dripped from his tone.
Slowly, deliberately, Silas swiveled his chair. His dark, intelligent, utterly cold eyes swept over them, first landing on Rosa. For a fraction of a second – Eli almost doubted it – Silas *froze*. His eyes widened minutely. The defiant set of Rosa's jaw, the proud line of her neck, the fierce fire in her eyes... mirrored a ghost. His mask slammed back down, but the air crackled. His gaze settled on Eli, sharper, more intense.
**"Explain."** The command vibrated in Eli's bones, ignoring Rosa now.
Eli forced his voice steady, stepping forward, hand on the ledger.
**"My father found a flaw in your system, Mr. Jones. Not just a theft. A vulnerability. A leak *inside*."** He tapped the leather. **"Someone you trust is siphoning funds, weakening your control. Every dollar stolen undermines the order you enforce."** He opened the ledger, pointed to his transcript. **"This shows *how* it's done – through the laundromat fronts. My father exploited it to run. But he left the map. I understand it. And I know how to fix it. Not just patch it, but seal it."** He outlined his verification layer fix, clear and logical. Silas remained unnervingly still, absorbing, but his gaze flickered minutely towards Rosa's silent, immovable strength.
Silence stretched when Eli finished. Silas finally shifted his gaze to the ledger, then to Eli. Ruthless assessment.
**"You fix it. Implement what you described. Vance gives you access. One week."** His obsidian eyes slid to Rosa. The weight of his gaze acknowledged her. **"But you don't do it from 141st. You move. Today. Apartment. Top floor, 147th and Frederick Douglass. Crown property. You,"** he pinned Eli, **"and your mother, live there. Now. Where I can see you."**
Rosa's voice cut in, calm but firm.
**"We have a home."**
**"You do *now*,"** Silas countered, no debate. **"You hold my secrets. You stay close. Where Vance can *watch*. Where leaks get plugged fast."**
Rosa stood taller, meeting his gaze.
**"Where Elijah goes, I go. But understand: We are not your prisoners. We are your *solution*. Remember the difference."**
A muscle twitched near Silas's eye. He didn't contradict her. He saw her strength, respected it ruthlessly, even confined. He turned back to Eli.
**"One week, Reyes. Fix works, family breathes. Fails..."** The cold threat hung. **"Vance. Settle them. *Now*."**
He turned to the window. Dismissed.
**"Move."** Vance grunted.
Eli felt the cage walls close. But beneath the terror, his mind raced: *Inside. Close. Access.* Rosa's hand settled on his shoulder. She turned him with regal composure and walked out, not as a prisoner, but as a queen mother departing an audience, her son shielded. The suffocating paw of the lion now rested on their lives. The real test began.