Chapter 49: The Counting Down
Chapter 49
The days that followed the discovery of Frank’s betrayal moved with a strange, compressed urgency—wedding planning and hearing preparation tangled together so completely that Rowe sometimes found herself discussing seating charts and cross-examination strategy in the same breath.
Sandra had taken over the legal coordination Frank left behind, working alongside a new attorney she’d vetted personally—a sharp, no-nonsense woman named Renata Cole who specialized in property law and, refreshingly, had absolutely no prior connection to the Kane family or the Iron Reapers.
"I’ve reviewed everything Delgado prepared," Renata said during their first full strategy session, seven days before the hearing. "And I want to be honest with you—despite his obvious conflicts of interest, the actual legal work is sound. Distribution plan, the trust transfer to Deborah, and boundary survey. If anything, he built you a stronger case than most attorneys would have managed without a personal stake driving them."
"Small comfort," Reaper muttered.
"It’s not comfort," Renata said crisply. "It’s a strategy. Use what’s genuinely solid, verify everything independently before we walk into that courtroom, and don’t let emotional betrayal distract from the fact that we’re seven days from actually resolving this."
Rowe found the emotional whiplash exhausting in ways the physical dangers of the past two months somehow hadn’t been.
One afternoon, she’d be standing in Elena’s kitchen, debating flower arrangements with her mother and sister, laughing at Raven’s increasingly absurd suggestions for centerpieces.
The next, she’d be back in the chapel, poring over financial records with Renata, searching for any lingering trace of Frank’s four-year head start that might still be hiding somewhere in the family’s tangled history.
"You look tired," Reaper observed one evening, finding her at the chapel table long after everyone else had gone to bed, a legal pad covered in her own increasingly frantic notes spread before her.
"I keep thinking about that letter," Rowe admitted. "Four years, Jax. Frank knew about Elias for four years before any of this became active. That’s two years longer than even Marcus’s timeline."
"I know."
"Which means someone else could have crossed paths with the same information during that gap," she continued. "Estate lawyers don’t work in isolation. There could be paralegals, other partners at his firm, anyone who touched those records during routine business and never thought twice about what they actually meant."
Reaper settled into the chair beside her, exhaustion evident in the slow, deliberate way he moved.
"Renata’s already having her team audit Frank’s old firm records. If there’s another loose thread, we’ll find it before the hearing."
"And if we don’t?"
"Then we handle it after," he said simply. "Rowan, we can’t chase every possible ghost before we’re allowed to actually live. At some point, we have to trust the people helping us, trust the process, and stop assuming every shadow hides another traitor."
Rowe knew he was right, even as some deep, hard-won instinct resisted the idea of letting her guard down completely. Two months of betrayal after betrayal had taught her caution as thoroughly as her father had once taught her to shoot.
"I want this to actually be over," she admitted quietly. "Not just resolved on paper. Actually over."
Reaper’s hand found hers across the table, steady and warm.
"It will be. Maybe not completely, maybe there’s always going to be some piece of this family’s history we haven’t fully excavated yet. But the part that’s actively trying to kill us? That part’s almost done, Rowan. I believe that."
Detective Okafor arrived at the compound five days before the hearing with updates that felt, for once, entirely positive.
"Extradition process is moving faster than expected," she reported. "Costa Rica doesn’t have a formal treaty covering financial fraud specifically, but given the murder conspiracy charges attached, their government is cooperating. Frank Delgado will likely be back in U.S. custody within the month."
"And Marcus’s plea deal?" Reaper asked.
"Finalized yesterday," Okafor confirmed. "Twenty-five years, no possibility of parole for the first eighteen. Given the strength of evidence, the DA’s satisfied with the outcome, especially since his testimony against Delgado strengthens that case significantly."
"What about anyone else?" Rowe asked. "Anyone connected to the four-year gap Frank mentioned in his letter."
Okafor’s expression turned thoughtful.
"We’ve been digging into that specifically. Frank’s old firm dissolved about eighteen months ago—he went independent shortly after finding the Elias records, according to the timeline in his letter. Most of his former partners have scattered to other practices. We’re tracking each of them down for interviews, but so far, nothing’s surfaced suggesting anyone else had direct knowledge of what he found."
"So far," Reaper repeated.
"So far," Okafor agreed. "I won’t pretend certainty where I don’t have it. But at this point, five days from your hearing, I think you’re looking at genuinely closing this Chapter, provided nothing new surfaces in the next few days."
The night before the hearing, Rowe found herself unable to sleep despite the exhaustion weighing on every limb.
She slipped quietly out of Reaper’s bed to sit alone on the back steps, staring at the same star-scattered sky that had witnessed every major turn of the past two months.
The compound was peaceful in a way that still felt fragile, unfamiliar—Elena’s light still on in the guest room she now occupied permanently, Piper’s silhouette visible through the chapel window where she still worked late most nights, Doc’s clinic dark and quiet, finally free of the deception that had once filled every room he occupied.
Tomorrow, a judge would finally rule on everything—the land, the trust, the fortune that had cost this family so much blood to finally claim honestly.
Rowe touched the ring on her finger, drawing strength from its weight, and allowed herself, for the first time in longer than she could remember, to simply imagine the shape of whatever came next.
A wedding.
A life built on truth instead of survival.
Children, maybe, who would never have to inherit the particular burden of discovering their family’s entire history was built on murder and erasure.
Reaper found her there twenty minutes later, settling beside her without a word, his presence alone enough to steady the last of her nervous energy.
"Ready for tomorrow?" he asked quietly.
"No," Rowe admitted, managing a tired smile despite the honesty of it. "But I don’t think I need to be ready. I just need to be there, and tell the truth, same as I’ve been doing since the day I rode back into this town."
Reaper’s arm settled around her shoulders, pulling her close against the cool desert night.
"Whatever the ruling says tomorrow," he said, "however the money splits, whatever the club looks like on the other side of it—we already won the part that actually matters."
"Which part is that?"
"We’re still here," he said simply. "Together. After everything this family’s history tried to bury, tried to destroy, tried to weaponize against us—we’re still here, and we’re still choosing each other."
Rowe leaned into him, watching the stars wheel slowly overhead, and let herself believe, finally, that tomorrow might actually bring the ending this exhausted, battered family had earned.
The hearing was scheduled for nine in the morning.
For the first time in months, Rowe found herself looking forward to walking into that courtroom, ready to finally, completely close the door on the war that had defined every day since she’d first ridden back into her hometown seeking justice for a brother who deserved so much better than the lie he’d been given.
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