"Right. LC. Liam Chris." Chris's laugh comes bitter. "When my father absorbed it at pennies on the dollar through shell companies and manufactured debt, he kept the name. Said it would be a good reminder of what happens when I try to build something of my own."
The pieces click—Chris's unease every time he dropped him home, how he'd tense up whenever he was there. Always preferring the rundown apartment. But doubt still nags.
"How do I know which story to believe?" Dennis pulls out his phone. "Your father's just a call away."
"Let me prove it." Chris pulls out a paper, an address, date, and time scrawled across it. "This is where I'm meeting her—my mother. Come with me? No more secrets this time."
The garage feels too small suddenly, the air between them heavy with history and uncertainty. Dennis's fingers itch to grab Chris's collar, shake answers out of him—aboutthem, pull him closer—anything to break this careful distance Chris maintains. But Chris stays out of reach, though his eyes never leave Dennis's face.
"I have to go. My father thinks I'm meeting an investor in Oakland. Being here is risky, but I needed you to have this and—"
"And?" Dennis steps forward, chin lifting.
"I had to see you again."
“Well… now you've seen me.”
Chris smiles a sad little smile. “I have. Thank you for coming, it means the world.”
There's a moment of silence before Dennis says:
"Why does this sound like goodbye?"
Chris shakes his head. “Never, princess. Not unless you want me gone.”
Dennis swallows hard. He doesn’t.
Chris's fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach out. Instead, he backs toward his car door. "Three days, princess. I'll meet you downtown an hour before. Not here, they might be watching.”
Chris breaks the eye contact first, then he’s gone.
Dennis watches the Lexus disappear up the ramp, his body rigid with the effort of not chasing after it.
Three days to decide if he's walking into another trap or if Chris is finally telling the truth.
Three days to ignore how his skin still hurts where Chris didn't touch him.
49Three Days
Dennis bursts through the office door, startling Jason and two lawyers mid-conversation.
"We've got something." He pulls the USB from his pocket, tossing it to Nathaniel. "Everything—the fire, forgeries, City Hall. Get it to forensics."
The legal team descends like piranhas, laptops opening, phones appearing. Nathaniel's already plugging in the drive while another lawyer dials forensics.
Dennis drops into his chair, suddenly drained. His fingers find the photo in his pocket—fifteen-year-old Chris beaming at the camera, unknowing. "You better be okay, you dumbass," he mutters, smoothing the creased corner.
The rest of the day blazes past in a blur of activity.
Their office transforms into a war room—evidence sorted into growing piles, timelines constructed on whiteboards, case files multiplying. With each document they uncover, each forged permit they identify, the path to saving Kim Industries grows clearer.
Lancaster's face keeps appearing on TV, talking about "sustainable architecture" and "breathing new life into KimIndustries' failed vision." Dennis wants to punch that smug smile right through the screen.
Chris maintains radio silence. Dennis's phone stays dark, exactly as it should. Doesn't make it any easier.
During the lawyers' smoke break, Dennis's phone lights up—unknown number. His heart jumps before he can stop it.
"Chris!"
