Le Bernardin was exactly the kind of restaurant where power brokers made deals and corporate secrets changed hands over thirty-dollar appetizers. Ava arrived exactly on time, hyperaware of the microphone hidden in her dress and Eleanor's security team positioned strategically throughout the restaurant.
Alexander Vance was already waiting in the private dining room—a intimate space with windows overlooking the city and enough sound insulation to ensure their conversation would remain private. He stood when she entered, all charming smiles and warm welcomes.
"Ava, thank you for coming. You look absolutely stunning." He pulled out her chair with old-fashioned courtesy that somehow felt calculated rather than genuine. "I've taken the liberty of ordering the tasting menu. I hope you don't mind—the chef here is exceptional."
"That's very thoughtful," Ava replied, settling into her seat and trying to project the right mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. She was supposed to be conflicted about Lucien, open to alternatives, just naive enough to trust Vance's apparent concern.
"I've been worried about you since our last conversation," Vance said, settling across from her. "The way Drake reacted when he found us talking—that level of possessiveness isn't healthy, Ava. It suggests control issues that go beyond normal professional boundaries."
There it was. Less than two minutes in and he was already planting seeds of doubt about Lucien. Ava touched her microphone unconsciously, remembering that Lucien was hearing every word.
"He was protective," she said carefully. "We'd just received a threatening package. The timing made him paranoid."
"Protective or possessive?" Vance's green eyes studied her with concern that looked genuine but felt rehearsed. "There's a difference, and I'm not sure Drake understands where that line is."
The first course arrived—oysters with champagne vinaigrette. Vance waited until the server left before continuing.
"I've known Lucien Drake for years. Watched him build his empire with ruthless efficiency that often crossed ethical lines. He's brilliant, no question. But he's also damaged by his father's suicide in ways that make him..." Vance paused, choosing words carefully, "...unstable when it comes to control and loss."
"He's been honest with me about his father," Ava said, which was technically true even if it omitted enormous context.
"Has he? Has he told you that his father's suicide note mentioned him by name? That Richard Drake was terrified his son would follow the same path of obsessive investigation and paranoid control?" Vance's voice dripped with sympathetic concern. "Lucien inherited more than just his father's company, Ava. He inherited his demons."
Ava felt anger spike at the manipulation—using Lucien's trauma as a weapon against him. But she forced herself to look uncertain rather than furious.
"I know he's been investigating what happened to our fathers," she said.
"Investigating?" Vance's laugh was gentle, almost pitying. "Is that what he's calling it? Ava, he's been obsessed with this for over a decade. He's spent millions on private investigators, threatened competitors, destroyed business relationships—all in pursuit of a conspiracy theory that has no basis in reality."
"You don't think there's anything suspicious about how our fathers died?"
"I think tragedy sometimes is just tragedy. Your father struggled with gambling addiction and made poor financial choices. Lucien's father couldn't live with the guilt of failing to save his partner. It's heartbreaking, but it's not mysterious." Vance reached across the table and covered her hand with his—a gesture that looked comforting but felt predatory. "What is mysterious is why Lucien has convinced you to help him chase shadows instead of building your own life."
The second course arrived—perfectly seared scallops. Ava withdrew her hand to pick up her fork, grateful for the excuse to break the unwanted physical contact.
"He hasn't convinced me of anything," she said. "I've seen financial records that suggest patterns—"
"Patterns that he's interpretation biased by grief and rage," Vance interrupted smoothly. "I've looked at some of that same data. Yes, there are irregularities. But there are innocent explanations for all of them. Lucien sees conspiracy because that's what he needs to see—a villain to blame for his father's death instead of accepting that sometimes good people make fatal choices."
He was good, Ava had to admit. Everything he said could be true from a certain perspective. If you didn't know about the money laundering, about the systematic elimination of investigators, about Vance's own connection to the suspicious companies, his interpretation sounded reasonable. Sounded like concern for her welfare rather than manipulation.
"What do you think I should do?" she asked, playing into his apparent concern.
"I think you should consider your own future instead of being caught up in Lucien's past." Vance leaned forward, his expression earnest. "You're brilliant, Ava. I saw that in our first meeting. You have analytical skills and intelligence that are being wasted as someone's assistant. You could have a real career, make real contributions to the business world."
"Are you offering me a job?"
"I'm offering you options." He pulled out a business card—not his company card, but something more personal with just a phone number. "Vance Capital is always looking for talented people. But more than that, I'm offering you a way out of a situation that I fear is becoming dangerous for you."
"Dangerous how?"
Vance's expression became grave. "Lucien Drake is not mentally stable, Ava. The more you help him pursue this investigation, the more intertwined you become with his obsession. And when reality finally contradicts his conspiracy theories, when he can't maintain the delusion anymore..." He let the implication hang ominously.
"You think he'd hurt me?" She made her voice sound uncertain, vulnerable.
"I think he'd do anything to maintain his carefully constructed narrative. Including manipulating you, controlling you, using your father's death as leverage to keep you compliant." Vance's voice was gentle, sympathetic. "The surveillance, the control over your finances and your mother's medical care—that's not protection, Ava. That's systematic psychological abuse disguised as concern."
It was masterful manipulation—taking genuine criticisms of Lucien's behavior and using them to paint him as unstable rather than damaged. Using truths to support lies, facts to construct a false narrative.
"What would you want in exchange?" Ava asked. "If I took your job offer, what would you expect from me?"
"Nothing sinister." Vance's smile was warm, trustworthy. "Just your analytical skills applied to legitimate business ventures. A chance for you to build something of your own instead of being consumed by someone else's vendetta."
"And my current knowledge? The investigation Lucien and I have been conducting?"
"Would remain confidential, of course. Though I'd hope you'd eventually see that there's nothing there worth pursuing. That you'd let yourself heal from this trauma instead of letting it define your future."
The main course arrived—perfectly prepared sea bass with delicate accompaniments. They ate in silence for a moment, and Ava used the time to process everything Vance had said. He was offering her an escape, but at the price of abandoning the investigation and, implicitly, betraying Lucien's trust.
"I need time to think about this," she said finally.
"Of course. But Ava?" Vance's expression became serious. "Don't wait too long. The deeper you get into Lucien's obsession, the harder it will be to extract yourself. And I worry that he's heading toward some kind of breaking point that could be dangerous for everyone around him."
"What kind of breaking point?"
"The kind where his need for answers overcomes his judgment. Where he starts taking risks that put others in jeopardy just to prove his theories right." Vance studied her face carefully. "Has he talked about confronting anyone? About forcing some kind of resolution?"
The question felt like a probe—Vance trying to determine how much they knew, how close they were to exposing him and Castellane. Ava pretended to consider before answering.
"He's mentioned wanting to find evidence that would prove what happened to our fathers," she said carefully. "But nothing specific about confronting anyone."
"That's good. Though if he does start talking about that, I hope you'll be careful. Maybe even reach out to me if you need help extracting yourself from the situation." Vance's concern looked and sounded genuine, which made it more dangerous. "I don't want to see you hurt because Lucien Drake can't let go of his father's suicide."
Dessert arrived—a delicate chocolate confection that looked like art. But Ava had lost her appetite, hyperaware of the game being played and her role in it.
"I appreciate your concern," she said. "And I'll think about your offer. But I need to understand something—why do you care so much about what happens to me? We've only met a few times."
Vance's smile turned rueful. "Honestly? Because I knew your father. Not well, but we crossed paths in business circles. He was brilliant, troubled, caught in circumstances beyond his control. And when I see his daughter being caught in similar circumstances, being controlled by a man as damaged as Richard Drake's son..." He shook his head. "I feel like I owe it to David Lane's memory to offer his daughter a way out."
It was a masterstroke of manipulation—using her father's memory as justification for his concern, making it seem personal and noble rather than strategic. If Ava hadn't known about his financial connections to the Serpent's network, she might have actually believed him.
"That's very kind," she managed.
"It's the right thing to do." Vance signaled for the check, which appeared and was settled with the kind of effortless wealth that characterized all his movements. "I won't pressure you for a decision. But please, think carefully about what you want for your future. And if you need anything—advice, support, even just someone to talk to who isn't invested in maintaining Lucien Drake's delusions—I'm here."
As they prepared to leave, Vance stood and moved to hold Ava's chair. But instead of stepping back, he leaned in close enough that she could smell his expensive cologne, close enough that his next words felt intimate and dangerous.
"One more thing, Ava." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Your father didn't kill himself. Whatever Lucien has told you about brake failures and sedatives—it's not the complete story. Ask him what really happened to David Lane. Ask him about the night your father died and where Lucien's father was."
The words hit like physical blows. Ava's carefully constructed composure cracked for just a moment, her eyes widening with shock before she could control her expression.
Vance smiled—not warmly anymore, but with something calculating and cold. "I thought that might surprise you. It seems Lucien Drake isn't being as honest with you as you believed. Makes you wonder what else he's been hiding, doesn't it?"
He stepped back, expression returning to pleasant concern. "Think about what I've said. All of it. And call me when you're ready to hear the complete truth about your father's death."
Then he was gone, leaving Ava standing in the private dining room with her heart racing and her mind spinning with implications. Vance's final words had been delivered with absolute conviction—not speculation or theory, but stated as fact. Your father didn't kill himself.
And the hidden microphone had transmitted every word to Lucien, who was listening from his office miles away.
As Ava made her way out of the restaurant, Eleanor falling into step beside her with professional discretion, she couldn't stop replaying Vance's last words. The way he'd looked at her when he said it, the certainty in his voice, the implication that Lucien had been lying about something fundamental to their entire investigation.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Lucien: Car is waiting. We need to talk.
The message was terse, controlled, giving nothing away about his reaction to everything Vance had said. But Ava could imagine him listening to every manipulative word, every subtle accusation, every attempt to turn her against him.
And now she had to go back and ask him about Vance's final accusation. Ask him if there was any truth to the implication that his father had been involved in her father's death in ways he hadn't revealed.
The car ride back to Drake Enterprises felt endless. Eleanor sat in front with the driver, giving Ava space in the back to process everything that had happened. But processing was impossible when her mind kept circling back to those final words:
Ask him what really happened to David Lane.
When they arrived, Lucien was waiting in his office, standing at the windows with his back to the door. He didn't turn when she entered, didn't speak until she'd closed the door behind her.
"Every word," he said quietly. "I heard every word he said to you."
"Then you know what he claimed at the end," Ava replied, moving to stand beside him at the windows. "About my father's death not being suicide. About your father being there that night."
"I know what he claimed." Lucien's voice was carefully controlled. "The question is whether you believe him."
Ava studied his profile, seeing the tension in his jaw, the rigid control in his posture. "I believe he thinks it's true. Whether it actually is..." She paused. "That depends on what you haven't told me."
Finally, he turned to face her, and the expression in his dark eyes was equal parts pain and resignation.
"There are things I haven't told you," he admitted. "About that night. About what my father told me before he died. Things I thought would only hurt you to know without changing anything about the fundamental truth."
"What things?"
Lucien moved to his desk and pulled out that familiar leather-bound journal—his father's personal records from the months before his death. He opened to a page marked with a worn ribbon and handed it to her.
"Read this entry. From two days before your father died."
Ava took the journal with trembling hands and began to read. And with each line, her understanding of everything they thought they knew began to shift into something darker and complicated than either of them had been willing to face.