The invitation arrived at Ava's desk Monday morning, delivered by courier in an elegant cream envelope with the Vance Capital Partners logo embossed in silver.
Miss Lane,
I hope this finds you well. I've been thinking about our conversation at The Landmark Tavern and feel we left several important matters unresolved. Would you do me the honor of joining me for lunch this Thursday at Le Bernardin? I have a private dining room reserved for 1 PM.
I believe we have much to discuss regarding our mutual interests in corporate transparency and historical justice.
With warm regards,
Alexander Vance
Ava read it twice, her hands steady despite the anxiety coiling in her stomach. The timing was too convenient—just three days after she and Lucien had discovered Vance's connection to the Serpent's network. Either incredible coincidence, or Vance somehow knew they were getting close and wanted to assess the situation personally.
She walked directly to Lucien's office, the invitation in hand. He was on a conference call but gestured for her to enter. She closed the door and waited, using the time to study his face as he conducted business with his usual controlled precision. Hard to believe this was the same man who'd been up until dawn with her, mapping out conspiracy theories on whiteboards.
He ended the call and immediately focused on her. "What is it?"
She handed him the invitation without speaking. Watched his expression shift from curiosity to cold fury as he read.
"No," he said flatly. "Absolutely not."
"We knew he'd make contact again," Ava pointed out, keeping her voice calm and rational. "This is actually perfect—it gives us an opportunity to see what he knows, what he's planning."
"It gives him an opportunity to manipulate you in person, away from security, where I can't—" Lucien cut himself off, visibly struggling with his protective instincts. "It's too dangerous."
"It's a public restaurant with a private dining room. Eleanor can have people positioned nearby. You can monitor everything." Ava moved to sit across from his desk. "This is exactly the kind of situation we discussed—using myself as bait to gather information."
"I said that plan was dangerous even when I agreed to it."
"You said we'd assess risks together as equal partners," Ava corrected. "So let's assess. What's the worst that could happen?"
Lucien stood and paced to his windows, a gesture she'd learned meant he was trying to control strong emotions. "Worst case? He somehow knows we've connected him to Castellane. This lunch is a trap—he gets you somewhere controlled, eliminates a threat, makes it look like an accident or random violence."
"That's extremely worst case and also unlikely," Ava said. "If he wanted me dead, he's had opportunities. The photograph proved his people can get close to me."
"Then what does he want?"
"Information. He wants to know what we know, what we suspect, where our investigation is headed. Same as we want from him." She pulled out her phone and showed him the message she'd drafted but not yet sent: Mr. Vance, Thank you for the invitation. I'd be happy to meet Thursday at 1 PM. - Ava Lane
"You've already decided to go," Lucien observed.
"I've decided it's worth the risk if we do it right. But I'm asking for your input on security measures, not permission."
She watched him process that distinction, saw the muscle jump in his jaw as he fought his need to simply forbid her from going. The fact that he was fighting it at all, that he was trying to respect her autonomy even when every instinct screamed to lock her away safely, felt like genuine progress.
"Eleanor needs to be fully briefed," he said finally. "I want security inside and outside the restaurant. I want surveillance on Vance before, during, and after the meeting. And—" he paused, meeting her eyes, "—I want you wired. Everything he says recorded and transmitted real-time."
"Agreed on all counts," Ava said. "Though the wire might be difficult. He'll probably expect it."
"Then we make it subtle. Eleanor's team has equipment that's virtually undetectable." He pulled out his phone and started typing rapidly. "I'm setting up a meeting with her now. We have three days to prepare."
Those three days passed in a blur of planning and preparation. Eleanor's security team did reconnaissance on Le Bernardin, mapping exits and security positions, identifying potential vulnerabilities. They researched Alexander Vance's patterns and habits, looking for anything that might indicate his true intentions.
And they practiced. Ava spent hours with a communications specialist learning how to draw information from Vance without revealing what she knew, how to appear conflicted about Lucien to make Vance believe he could turn her, how to read microexpressions that might reveal when he was lying.
Wednesday evening, Lucien called her to his penthouse rather than the office. She found him in his bedroom—a space she'd never been invited into before—with several designer dresses laid out on the bed.
"For tomorrow," he explained, his tone carefully neutral. "Eleanor's tech specialist says the microphone needs to be integrated into clothing rather than added separately. These are all options that could accommodate the equipment."
Ava looked at the dresses—all beautiful, all expensive, all appropriate for a lunch with a powerful businessman. "You chose these?"
"With Colette's help. She understands both fashion and the technical requirements." He gestured to them somewhat awkwardly. "Try them on. We need to make sure the equipment placement is comfortable and secure."
It felt strangely intimate, this reversal of their earlier dynamic. Before, he'd chosen her clothing as an exercise in control. Now he was helping her prepare for a dangerous mission, ensuring she had what she needed to be effective rather than just compliant.
She chose a navy blue dress—elegant but professional, with a structured bodice where Eleanor's specialist could hide the microphone. When she emerged from the bathroom wearing it, Lucien studied her with an expression she couldn't quite read.
"You look professional. Trustworthy. Like someone conflicted about their employer and open to alternatives." He moved closer, and she felt her breath catch at his proximity. "Perfect for the role you're playing."
The specialist arrived shortly after—a woman named Chen who worked with Eleanor's security team on technical surveillance. She had Ava stand still while she carefully integrated a microphone barely larger than a button into the dress's structure near the shoulder seam.
"Range is about 500 feet," Chen explained as she worked. "Battery life six hours. The transmitter is in the hem—adds maybe an ounce of weight, nothing noticeable. If Vance has his security sweep you, they won't find anything unless they physically cut apart the dress."
"And if they do that, we have bigger problems," Lucien muttered from where he was watching.
"The signal will transmit to three receivers," Chen continued. "Eleanor will be in a van outside with monitoring equipment. Mr. Drake will have a receiver in his office. And we'll have a backup at our secure facility."
"What's the range if I need to send a distress signal?" Ava asked.
"Tap the microphone area three times rapidly. The transmission will switch to emergency frequency that alerts all receivers simultaneously." Chen stepped back to examine her work. "Try it."
Ava tapped three times. Immediately, both Chen's and Lucien's phones buzzed with an alert.
"Good," Chen said. "But only use that if you're in genuine danger. It'll trigger an immediate response from Eleanor's team—they'll enter the restaurant in full tactical gear if necessary."
After Chen left, Ava stood in Lucien's bedroom still wearing the wired dress, suddenly aware of how quiet the penthouse had become. He hadn't moved from his position near the window, just watching her with an intensity that made her skin warm.
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "We can find another way to gather information."
"This is the best option we have," Ava replied. "Vance invited me personally. Refusing would make him suspicious."
"I know. I just..." He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in uncharacteristic agitation. "I hate that I can't be there. Hate that you'll be alone with him while I listen from miles away, unable to intervene if something goes wrong."
"I won't be alone. Eleanor's team will be positioned throughout the restaurant."
"It's not the same as me being there."
Ava moved closer to him, drawn by the raw vulnerability in his voice. "Would you feel better if you were there? Or would you just be more likely to react emotionally and blow our cover?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Probably the latter. I'm not known for my restraint when it comes to protecting what's mine."
The possessive phrasing should have annoyed her, but somehow it didn't. Not anymore. Not when she understood it came from genuine fear rather than just controlling instinct.
"Then it's better you listen from a distance," she said. "Be my backup, not my protector. Trust me to handle Vance while you monitor and provide support."
He looked at her for a long moment, and she saw him wrestling with his nature—the need to control warring with his commitment to treating her as an equal partner.
"Alright," he said finally. "But Ava? Remember that every word you say, I'll be listening. Every question he asks, every manipulation he attempts—I'll hear it all. And if at any point I think you're in danger, I'm coming regardless of whether it compromises our investigation."
"Fair enough." She touched the hidden microphone, feeling its presence like a connection between them. "Just remember that I'm choosing this. I'm walking into that room with full knowledge of the risks because I believe we can outsmart him."
"We." He moved closer until he was standing directly in front of her. "I'm getting used to that word. To making decisions together instead of alone. To trusting someone else's judgment even when it terrifies me."
"Is it working?" Ava asked quietly. "The partnership?"
"Better than I expected and worse than I hoped," he admitted. "Better because you're brilliant and see things I miss. Worse because caring about you makes the stakes infinitely higher. If something happens to you because of this investigation—"
"Then that's my choice and my risk," she interrupted firmly. "Not your responsibility or your failure. We're partners, Lucien. That means trusting me to make my own decisions about danger."
He studied her face, and she saw something shift in his expression. Then, unexpectedly, he lifted his hand and gently touched the area where the microphone was hidden.
"I'll be listening," he said quietly. "Every word. Every breath. If you need me, just say my name and I'll be there within five minutes."
The intensity of his gaze, the careful way he touched the microphone as if it were a direct connection to her, made her heart race with something that wasn't fear. This was intimacy of a different kind—not physical, but built on trust and shared danger and the knowledge that tomorrow she would walk into potential catastrophe while he listened from a distance, unable to intervene.
"I know," she said softly. "And that's what will keep me safe. Knowing you're there, listening, ready if I need you."
They stood in his bedroom as evening shadows lengthened across Manhattan, the wired dress a reminder of the dangerous game they were about to play. Tomorrow, Ava would sit across from Alexander Vance and pretend not to know he was part of the conspiracy that had killed her father. Would smile and ask questions and gather information while Lucien listened to every word from miles away.
It was terrifying. It was necessary. And it was their best chance of finally getting ahead of enemies who'd been winning for decades.
"Get some rest," Lucien said finally, stepping back to give her space. "Tomorrow is going to be exhausting."
Ava nodded and moved toward the door, but paused in the doorway. "Lucien?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you for trusting me to do this. For fighting your instincts to protect me and instead supporting my choice to take this risk."
He was quiet for a moment. "Don't thank me yet. Ask me again tomorrow after you've survived lunch with one of the people who killed our fathers."
It was a grim reminder of the stakes, but also acknowledgment of reality. They weren't playing games anymore. They were engaged in genuine danger against enemies who'd proven willing to kill to protect their interests.
As Ava left his penthouse, the wired dress carefully packed for tomorrow, she felt the weight of what she was about to do settling over her. But beneath the fear was something else—determination, and a strange confidence that came from knowing Lucien would be listening to every word.
She wasn't walking into that meeting alone. She was walking in as half of a partnership that had been forged through manipulation and control but had evolved into something stronger.
And Alexander Vance had no idea what was coming.
End of Chapter 41