Morning at The Plaza begins with chaos and color.
Victoria Lane, dancer, dreamer, and laundromat queen, twirls between whirring machines as music blasts from an old speaker. She spins, kicks, and lands in rhythm—until two men outside the glass start filming and laughing.
Without missing a beat, she swings the door open.
"You filming my soul or my socks?" she asks, arms crossed.
They laugh.
She snatches one man's phone, chucks it into a running washer, and blows a kiss. "Namaste."
⸻
Ethan spends his morning with a finer taste—dining at Chef Adrian's restaurant, if it can be called that.
He takes one bite of the pasta.
"This is not Milan," he says with disdain.
Chef Adrian beams nervously. "I trained in—"
"You trained your microwave. This is trash," Ethan interrupts, standing. "And you're a con artist."
The diners freeze. Ethan walks out, leaving a trail of insulted silence behind him.
⸻
At the prison, Ethan arrives but can't bring himself to walk through the gates. He lingers in the parking lot before turning back.
Adams, moments behind, does go in. He meets with Stella, who sits calmly, hands folded, her eyes distant.
"You look better," he offers gently.
"The meds help," she murmurs. Her illness remains unnamed. Perhaps she wants it that way.
Adams presses, again, for the retrial. Stella refuses, her voice flat.
"I've done bad things," she says. "Maybe this is where I'm meant to be."
Back at The Plaza, Ethan's day worsens.
He meets with a sharp-suited Virexon representative who practically drips arrogance.
"We're offering millions," the rep says. "Your client gets a skyscraper. The tenants keep their units. Everyone wins."
Ethan leans forward. "And if we decline?"
"You'll face the full weight of Virexon."
Ethan smiles coolly. "Do yourself a favor. Never threaten me again."
Adams interrupts. "Let's continue this in my office."
By afternoon, the tenants gather for Ethan's big pitch. There's suspicion in every glance.
"You're not licensed in South Africa," one man points out.
"I'm not asking for blind trust," Ethan replies. "I'm drafting an agreement—binding and enforceable—that guarantees you'll keep your lots. Sign it, and you protect your rights. Refuse, and you lose them."
They vote. Grudgingly, they trust him. Most of them.
Adams corners Ethan afterward.
"You represent money. I represent people."
Ethan meets his gaze. "Then I hope your people are ready for war."
That night, Andrew returns to a quiet house. Too quiet.
He calls out—"Anna? Maisie?"
From the shadows, men strike. He's dragged into the living room. His wife and daughter sit, eyes wide, hands bound.
A contract is shoved into his face.
"Sign. Sell The Plaza."
Elsewhere, Lena arrives at her desk to find a legal notice—her father, Adams, is relinquishing his parental rights.
The reason? "Ethics violations."
She tries to call. Adams sends it straight to voicemail.
Meanwhile, Andrew's unconscious body is propped up at a table. A red-stamped contract sits beside him. The deal is done.
Lena bursts into Adams's office, waving the paper.
"You're disowning me?"
He barely looks up. "You think I can't try?"
"You do realize the registry system was abolished, right?"
"I can still emotionally delete you."
She laughs bitterly. "You're insane."
"Runs in the family."
Their shouting match reaches a crescendo when Alexander Voss barges in.
"Sir. You need to come outside. Now."
Outside, a gang of musclebound enforcers posts signs across the building: Notice of Sale.
CEO Vincent, smug in a blood-red suit, steps forward.
"I'm the chair of the Development Committee. This building is now ours. Cooperate, and you keep your lives peaceful."
Adams steps forward. "This is illegal."
Vincent shrugs. One of his men shoves Adams.
Lena lunges. "Don't touch him!" She shoves the man back hard.
Adams snaps, "Don't say you're my only daughter!"
Before fists can fly, a voice cuts through the tension.
"May I have a word?"
Ethan steps forward. Calm. Unblinking.
Vincent sneers and signals a thug to take him down.
In a flash, Ethan disarms the man with terrifying precision, leaving him gasping on the ground.
The crowd gasps.
Then, without hesitation, Ethan punches Vincent square in the nose.
Chaos erupts. People scream. Tenants scatter. Enforcers reach for weapons—
But Ethan grabs Nathaniel Cross's measuring tape—stolen earlier—loops it expertly around Vincent's wrist, and hoists him toward the open window.
Vincent dangles four stories above the courtyard.
Ethan leans in.
"You won't die… unless you're unlucky. Headfirst and all."
The tenants are stunned into silence.
"I don't forgive what you've done to this building," Ethan growls. "But I will take it back."
He lets the tape slip just an inch.
Vincent screams.
Then, Ethan pulls him back in and drops him to the floor like trash.
The crowd erupts in cheers.
Except Adams.
He watches Ethan carefully. Not with admiration—but with fear.
Because lawyers don't dangle people out of windows.
Not unless they're something far more dangerous than a lawyer.