Rain pattered softly against the café windows, but inside, the air was electric.
Everything was ready.
Michael adjusted the tiny mic hidden in the centerpiece of the meeting table. A small camera blinked to life behind a row of books on the shelf. Lynn paced nearby, dressed in sleek black, every part of her radiating calm control—even if her heart thundered like war drums.
"He's on his way," Michael said, checking the feed. "Alone. Just like we hoped."
Lynn nodded, settling into the chair across from the decoy "whistleblower"—a trusted friend of Michael's, disguised perfectly. Their story was airtight. The bait had been set for days.
Jayden entered fifteen minutes later.
He looked sharp—expensive suit, fake smile, and eyes that burned with malice. He shook hands with the decoy, barely glancing at Lynn.
"You sure this place is secure?" he asked.
The man nodded. "Completely. No one knows I'm talking to you."
Jayden leaned in, his voice dropping. "Then let's be clear. Lynn needs to be dealt with. She's gotten too bold. I don't care how—ruin her, silence her, bury her if you have to."
Lynn's jaw tightened, but she said nothing. Let him talk.
Jayden chuckled. "Mokoena wants it clean. No mess, no noise. But me? I don't mind a little fire."
He reached into his coat, just briefly. Enough to flash the grip of a gun.
That was it. The final proof.
Michael, listening from the back room, pressed a button. Sirens in the distance. Backup on the way.
Lynn finally stood. "You always did love dramatic exits, Jayden. But this time, the curtain's closing on you."
Jayden spun around, stunned. "What the hell—?"
Michael stepped out with two others, cameras rolling, red light blinking.
Jayden lunged—but Lynn was faster. She kicked the gun out of his hand, sending it skidding across the floor.
As sirens blared outside and officers rushed in, Jayden's eyes met hers—full of betrayal, fury, and disbelief.
"You set me up," he growled.
"No," Lynn whispered coldly. "You set yourself up. I just pressed record."
---