“He’s lying.” Two words. Barely louder than the soft clink of crystal against white linen. But they stopped a billionaire’s pen less than an inch from a signature that would have cost him his company, his fortune, and the jobs of more than eight hundred people.

“The person who’s going to be fired in about ten minutes.”

To her surprise, Noah almost smiled.

“Not if I can help it.”

They returned separately.

Noah sat.

Mercer checked his watch.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“Good. Sign.”

“One last question.”

Mercer sighed.

“Noah.”

“It’s important.”

He looked directly at Darzi.

“Ask him if he personally guarantees there will be no layoffs for twelve months.”

Mercer’s jaw tightened.

Then he spoke to Darzi in Arabic.

But he did not translate Noah’s question.

He said, “He is still worried about the workers. Tell me what you want me to tell him.”

Darzi looked irritated.

“Tell him yes. Once we have control, fire whoever you want.”

Mercer turned back.

“He gives you his personal assurance that your staff will remain protected.”

Noah’s face became perfectly still.

He glanced at Emily.

She gave the smallest possible shake of her head.

Mercer pushed the pen forward.

“There. You have your guarantee.”

Noah picked up the pen.

Then he looked at Darzi.

“Ask him one more thing.”

Mercer’s patience snapped.

“What?”

“Ask him what he thinks of Project Lighthouse.”

Mercer paused.

Emily saw it.

A flicker.

Project Lighthouse was probably invented.

Mercer turned to Darzi and spoke in Arabic.

“He is wasting time. Tell him you understand his technology.”

Darzi waved dismissively.

“I don’t care what they call it. Buy the patents and close the company if necessary.”

Mercer turned.

“He says Lighthouse is one of the primary assets that attracted Crescent Harbor to Sentinel Arc.”

Noah smiled.

Not warmly.

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“There is no Project Lighthouse.”

Silence.

Mercer’s face hardened.

Noah set the pen down.

“And now,” he said quietly, “I think I’d like to hear from the waitress.”

Part 2

Every conversation in the Aurelius Room seemed to stop at once.

Grant Mercer looked toward Emily as though someone had informed him the chandelier had begun speaking.

“I’m sorry?”

Noah pushed his chair back.

“Emily, right?”

She hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Come here.”

Martin, the floor manager, appeared almost instantly.

“Miss Carter is working, Mr. Caldwell. If there has been an issue with service—”

“There has been an issue with translation.”

Mercer laughed.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Noah looked at Emily.

“Tell me exactly what Mr. Darzi said about Project Lighthouse.”

Emily knew the next ten seconds would change her life.

She looked at Martin.

His face said don’t.

She thought about $7,400 due Monday.

She thought about the rent.

Then she looked at Mercer.

“He said he didn’t care what you called the project. He said to buy the patents and close the company if necessary.”

Darzi went rigid.

Mercer stood.

“That is ridiculous.”

Noah did not look away from Emily.

“And my employees?”

“He said Mercer could tell you yes, then fire whoever they wanted after gaining control.”

Martin reached for Emily’s elbow.

“That’s enough.”

Noah’s voice turned cold.

“Take your hand off her.”

Martin stopped.

Mercer scoffed.

“This woman pours wine for a living.”

Emily felt heat rise into her face.

Mercer pointed at her.

“She overheard half a sentence in a dialect she probably learned from an app and decided she understands a sophisticated cross-border transaction.”

Emily answered him in Arabic.

Perfectly.

Calmly.

Her pronunciation carried the smooth Levantine rhythm she had learned as a teenager.

Darzi’s expression collapsed.

Mercer stared at her.

Emily spoke for almost twenty seconds.

Then she switched to English.

“I just told Mr. Darzi that when someone assumes the staff cannot understand him, he should first make sure the staff did not spend five years of her childhood in Jordan and Lebanon.”

Darzi said something angrily.

Emily translated immediately.

“He wants to know who my father is.”

“Don’t answer him,” Mercer snapped.

Emily looked at Darzi.

“Thomas Carter.”

Darzi stopped breathing for a second.

It was tiny, but she saw it.

“You know the name?” Noah asked.

Darzi said nothing.

Mercer’s composure fractured.

“This meeting is over.”

“No,” Noah said. “It just became interesting.”

Mercer reached for the contract.

Noah put his palm on it.

“Leave it.”

“You’re making a very expensive mistake.”

“I almost made one.”

Mercer leaned close.

“Your company is dead without me.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed.

“Maybe.”

“You have forty-eight hours of liquidity.”

“Forty-six, actually.”

“Then you know I’m right.”

Noah looked at Emily.

“No. I know she is.”

Mercer’s face twisted.

“You trust a waitress over me?”

“No,” Noah said. “I trust the fact that you claimed to know a project that doesn’t exist.”

That silenced him.

Noah pulled out his phone.

“I also recorded the last several minutes.”

Mercer’s face went pale.

“You did what?”

“I said I recorded you.”

“This is a private business negotiation.”

“So have your attorney explain the implications to me tomorrow.”

Darzi stood abruptly.

He spoke in Arabic to Mercer.

Emily translated before Mercer could stop her.