Chapter 146: The Woman in Gloves
[Jake’s POV]
Nia’s idea of a medical scan involved too many wires and not enough respect for personal dignity.
She dragged me into the private medical suite two floors below the executive level and made me sit on a narrow examination bed while she attached sensors to my chest, neck, wrists, and temples. The room smelled like disinfectant, expensive equipment, and the kind of quiet that only existed in places where rich people paid to pretend bad news would arrive politely. Darius stood by the door with his arms folded, making it very clear that if I tried to leave, the wall had a better chance of escaping than I did.
"I am beginning to feel like a hostage," I said.
Nia pressed a cold sensor against my collarbone. "Hostages usually have fewer opinions."
"I have always been difficult."
"You vanished for two years and came back with the medical profile of a haunted scarecrow. Difficult is no longer the word."
Ethan was sitting in the chair by the wall, despite the fact that he had been ordered to rest. He had a blanket over his lap and a cup of soup in his hands, which made him look like a wounded grandmother with a gun under his jacket. Claire stood near the counter, flipping through the Margot file while pretending she was not listening to every word of the scan.
Cassandra sat beside Nia, swallowed by her oversized grey sweater, staring at the monitor like it might bite her. Every few seconds, she adjusted the sleeve over her hand and leaned closer to the readings. She did not speak much, but when she did, everyone listened. There was something unsettling about the way she noticed patterns no one else even knew were there.
"His nervous system is exhausted," Nia said, reading the screen. "Not failing. Exhausted. There is a difference, though I am beginning to believe he would argue with both."
"I like being involved."
"You like being impossible."
Cassandra’s voice came softly from beside her. "There are gaps."
The room quieted.
Nia looked at the monitor again. "Memory gaps?"
"No. Not exactly." Cassandra pulled her sleeves tighter around her fingers. "More like pressure scars. His brain adapted to something heavy, and now that the weight is gone, the structure is still bracing for it."
I looked at her.
She immediately dropped her gaze.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For saying it out loud."
I leaned back against the examination bed, feeling the paper sheet crinkle beneath me. "I have heard worse medical reviews."
Ethan lifted his soup slightly. "You once got called clinically arrogant."
"That doctor lacked imagination."
Claire looked up from the file. "You fired him."
"He called me arrogant while misreading my chart."
"You bought the clinic."
"That was unrelated."
Nia did not even look surprised. "Of course it was."
A blue screen appeared in front of me.
**[Ding!]**
**[Daily Task Progress: Medical scan completed.]**
**Reward: Reduced chance of sudden collapse.]**
**Penalty Avoided: Looking like a divorced substitute teacher.]**
I stared at the screen.
Then another line appeared.
**[Bonus Penalty Applied!]**
**Reason: Host mocked medical professionals in memory.]**
**Penalty: Slightly cold left hand for 30 minutes.]**
My left hand went cold.
I flexed my fingers and sighed.
Claire noticed again.
She always noticed.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"That word is becoming suspicious."
Ethan looked between us. "Everything he says is suspicious. That’s part of his brand."
Nia removed the last sensor from my wrist and pointed at the small bed in the adjoining recovery room. "Sleep."
"No."
Darius moved one step away from the door.
I looked at him. "You are enjoying this."
"Yes."
"I have work."
"Sleep is work."
"That sounds like something a person says when they have no imagination."
Darius stared at me.
I went to sleep.
Not because I was afraid of him.
That would be ridiculous.
I woke up three hours later with a blanket over me and the strange, humiliating awareness that nobody had tried to kill me in my sleep. For a second, I did not know where I was. The ceiling above me was white. The room was quiet. My left hand was warm again. Somewhere outside the glass door, voices murmured softly.
Then I remembered.
Apex Tower.
Home.
I sat up slowly, expecting my head to split open, but it only throbbed in a dull, manageable way. The old part of me wanted to reach for information, for patterns, for the clean certainty of knowing what had changed while I was unconscious. Nothing came. Just silence, and the faint hum of the air-conditioning.
I stood, fixed my shirt, and stepped into the operations room.
Claire was asleep at the table with her head resting on one folded arm. Her other hand still held a pen. A stack of printed files sat beside her, half marked with notes. Ethan was asleep on the couch, mouth slightly open, blanket pulled up to his chest. Cassandra had curled into an office chair beside Nia’s station, knees tucked up, oversized sweater covering most of her hands. Darius was awake by the door, because of course he was.
Nia was also awake, typing quietly with one hand while holding a coffee cup in the other.
"You slept," she said without looking up.
"Don’t sound so surprised."
"I had money on Darius having to choke you unconscious."
Darius said, "I considered it."
"I am loved," I muttered.
Nia turned the screen toward me. "Margot Delacroix is not real."
I walked closer, careful not to wake Claire. "That was fast."
"She is real enough for invitations and bank compliance, which means rich people are very easy to fool if the stationery is expensive. But there is no childhood, no school record, no early employment, no medical history, no tax presence before the last few years."
"A ghost."
"A well-dressed ghost with gloves."
Cassandra stirred in the chair, blinking sleepily. "Not a ghost. A function."
We both looked at her.
She sat up quickly, embarrassed. "Sorry. I mean, people like that are usually built for a purpose. If Margot exists only where pressure needs to be applied, then she is not a person in the normal sense. She is a role."
Nia nodded slowly. "A social weapon."
I looked at the photo on the screen. Dark blonde hair. Half-hidden face. Black gloves. A smile polite enough to make people ignore the knife.
"Where does the role go next?" I asked.
Nia pulled up an invitation list. "Harrington Winter Reception. Forty-eight hours from now. Marianne can get us inside without raising alarms, but Margot has not confirmed attendance."
"She will."
Nia looked at me. "You sound sure."
"She used Marianne’s charity to pressure Richard. If Marianne appears scared, isolated, and trying to preserve the foundation, Margot will come close enough to make sure the leash is still tight."
Darius looked toward Marianne’s temporary holding suite on the security feed. "And if she does not?"
"Then we make the leash worth checking."
Claire’s voice came from the table. "You are planning something stupid."
I turned.
She was awake now, pushing herself upright, hair slightly loose around her face. Her eyes were tired, but sharp.
"I am planning something elegant."
"That usually means stupid with better clothes."
Ethan groaned from the couch. "Can we define stupid before breakfast?"
"It is afternoon," Nia said.
"Then I am even more injured than I thought."
Claire walked to the wall screen and looked at Margot’s picture. "If we push Marianne too hard, Margot will smell a trap."
"We do not push Marianne," I said. "We let her be what she already is."
"Angry?"
"Insulted."
Claire considered that.
Rich people could survive fear. They could swallow humiliation in private if the money was good enough. But insult was different. Insult made them move before they were ready.
Marianne Bellamy had been treated like furniture in her own house. Margot had used her foundation, her children, and her marriage as pressure points. That kind of insult did not fade. It fermented.
"She hosts a private donor board call tomorrow," Claire said. "If Marianne lets it slip that she is reviewing all foundation transfers after a recent irregularity, Margot may panic."
"Not panic," I said. "Correct."
Nia leaned back. "She will reach out to redirect her."
"Exactly."
The System appeared.
**[Ding!]**
**[New Mission Generated!]**
**Mission: The Woman in Gloves**
**Objective: Lure Margot Delacroix into direct contact.]**
**Reward: Compromised Board Network Access.]**
**Penalty: Host will develop mild hiccups during next flirtatious conversation.]**
I stared at the penalty.
That was going to be a problem.
Another line appeared.
**[Additional Penalty Warning: Excessive confidence may result in worse.]**
I looked away from the screen.
Nia narrowed her eyes. "There it is again."
Ethan, still half asleep, muttered, "Stupid strategy face."
"I dislike all of you."
"No, you don’t," Claire said quietly.
That landed softly.
Too softly.
I looked at her, and for a moment the room felt smaller. Her hair was slightly messy from sleep, her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, and there was ink on the side of her hand. She looked exhausted and beautiful and far too close to the part of me I had been trying not to touch since Monaco.
The System chimed.
**[Penalty Warning: Flirtatious conversation detected.]**
I immediately looked at the wall screen.
Ethan opened one eye. "Coward."
"I am reading intelligence."
"You were staring at Claire."
"I can do both."
"No, you can’t."
Claire looked down at her files, but I saw the faint color rise in her cheeks.
Darius cleared his throat once.
That was enough to end the moment.
The door opened a few minutes later, and Marianne stepped into the operations room. She had changed into a dark sweater and tailored trousers, her auburn hair tied back, her face pale but steady. She looked like someone who had spent several hours crying in private and had decided never to do it where anyone could use it against her.
"My children are asleep," she said.
Claire moved toward her. "Good."
Marianne looked at the screen. "That is her."
"Yes," I said.
She walked closer, staring at Margot’s photo with a hatred so quiet it almost looked calm. "What do you need me to do?"
"Make her nervous," I said.
Marianne looked at me.
"Tomorrow, you review foundation transfers. Publicly enough for the right people to hear. Privately enough that it looks accidental. You mention irregularities. You mention counsel. You mention that Richard is unavailable."
"Unavailable?"
Ethan sat up slowly. "That’s polite for currently being eaten alive by Evelyn Cross."
Marianne’s mouth tightened. "Good."
"Margot will contact you," I said. "Not directly at first. She will test. A message. A call. Maybe someone from your circle."
"And when she does?"
"You let her believe you are frightened, angry, and alone."
Marianne’s eyes held mine. "I am two of those things."
"Good. Use them."
She nodded once.
No hesitation.
No performance.
This woman was going to be useful.
The System flickered.
**[Mission Progress: 18%]**
**Note: Target Marianne Bellamy has accepted role.]**
**System Comment: Angry wives remain statistically underrated.]**
For once, the System was not wrong.
Victoria entered last, carrying a new file under one arm. She looked at the screen, then at Marianne, then at me. "Evelyn has Richard talking. Slowly. He is terrified of prison, but more terrified of Isabella."
"Then he understands the room."
"He also confirmed Margot gave him names of two others under pressure."
She placed the file on the table.
"Procurement director at Vanguard. Legal scheduler connected to Aldridge. Aether account manager."
Nia pointed at the screen. "The same three from the drive."
Victoria nodded. "They meet tomorrow."
I looked at her. "Where?"
"The Lennox Club."
Ethan frowned. "That sounds rich and boring."
"It is," Victoria said. "Which makes it dangerous."
I looked at Margot’s photograph again.
First Marianne.
Then the call.
Then the club.
The first thread had become three.
"Set the board," I said.
Claire looked at me. "For Margot?"
"For everyone touching her rope."
Outside the windows, Manhattan glowed beneath the late afternoon sun, bright and indifferent. Somewhere in the city, Margot Delacroix thought Richard Bellamy was still running scared and Marianne Bellamy was still useful furniture.
She was about to learn otherwise.
The System chimed one last time.
**[Mission Progress: 22%]**
**Reminder: Host still has pending sleep debt.]**
**Penalty: To be determined.]**
I sighed.
Ethan smiled faintly from the couch.
"What?"
"You’re making the face again."
I looked at him.
He raised both hands carefully. "Sorry. The very intelligent, totally normal face."
Claire laughed softly.
I pretended not to hear it.
We had a woman in gloves to catch.
