Chapter 170: Give Me My Rebate!

They pulled back up to Liam’s place a while later, the sun dipping lower, the day’s momentum finally starting to slow. Darren stretched as he climbed out of the car, groaning theatrically.

"Man, today felt productive," he said. "Building, food, watching you almost get exposed for reckless behavior — good day all around."

"That last one wasn’t about me," Liam muttered.

"Sure it wasn’t." Darren smirked, pulling Keiza in against his side. "Aight, we’re out. Gonna drop this one home before she remembers she’s still mad at me."

"I haven’t forgotten," Keiza said sweetly, patting his chest. "Just pacing myself."

"Terrifying," Darren said, and Liam laughed, giving them both a quick wave.

"Congrats again, man," Darren called out, already heading toward his own car. "Seriously. Proud of you."

"Appreciate you coming through."

"Always." Darren opened the door for Keiza, waited for her to climb in, then rounded to the driver’s side himself. A moment later, headlights swept across the driveway as they pulled off, leaving Liam standing there alone.

He exhaled, glancing at the darkening sky, and pulled out his phone.

"Time to handle this."

He dialed Mrs. Harriet’s number, expecting the same dead-end he’d hit earlier in the day. This time, though, it rang. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then, silence — not a hang-up, just quiet on the other end, like the call had connected but no one was speaking.

"Hello?" Liam said, waiting. Nothing. "Hello? You there?"

Still nothing.

He pulled the phone away, checking the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped entirely. It hadn’t. Just dead air.

"Come on," he muttered, kissing his teeth in frustration. This whole thing had been more complicated than it had any right to be — first not being able to reach her at all, now getting through only to sit in awkward silence.

"Why is finding a simple home address this difficult?"

He knew, logically, that it was a small thing to be annoyed about. In the grand scheme of everything else going on in his life, an unanswered call barely registered. But it was the principle of it — the sheer inefficiency of the whole process — that grated on him.

Just as he was about to hang up, static crackled through, and Mrs. Harriet’s voice finally cut in.

["Sorry about that, bad connection on my end."]

Liam straightened immediately, some of the frustration melting away. "No worries. You good?"

["I’m fine."]

she said, and that was it — no elaboration, no warmth threading through the words at all. Cool, composed, professional, exactly the tone she might use with any associate calling after hours. If Liam hadn’t known better, he might have assumed the last time they’d spoken was strictly business.

He respected it, honestly. No shift in her demeanor meant no shift in how she actually felt about him — steady ground, even if it wasn’t particularly warm ground.

"I have something for you," Liam said, getting straight to it. "Wanted to get your address so I could have it delivered."

["What is it?"]

Liam hesitated for half a second. He couldn’t exactly say a designer handbag, not without sounding like he was making a move that didn’t fit the tone she’d need to actually take this seriously. He needed urgency, not romance.

"It’s information," he said carefully. "Incriminating information, about you specifically. I can’t hand this off to just anyone — I need to deliver it to you directly."

There was a pause on the line, longer this time, clearly her weighing the request.

["Incriminating how?"]

"I’d rather explain in person, preferably somewhere more at home. It’s not something I want floating around unnecessarily."

Another pause. Then, finally: ["Fine. I’ll text you the address."]

"Appreciate it."

["Don’t make me regret this, Liam."]

"You won’t."

The call ended, and a few seconds later his phone buzzed with a text — an actual home address, exactly what he needed. He stared at it for a moment, satisfaction settling in.

"Finally."

Now came the second part of his plan. He pulled up his laptop, queuing up the photos Sara had left him — the folder documenting whatever damning material she’d gathered on Arthur as Liam had already turned it to digital data. Liam wasn’t naive enough to think he could go toe-to-toe with Arthur himself. The man was calculated, patient, several steps ahead in ways Liam hadn’t fully mapped out yet.

But Mrs. Harriet wasn’t Liam. She was sharper, more experienced, better positioned to actually do something with information like this.

He put a copy in a USB drive, sliding it into an envelope, then tucked the envelope inside the Louis Vuitton bag alongside the item itself.

"Let the best of the best handle it."

Satisfied, he sealed the bag, already arranging delivery in his head, one problem quietly being handed off to someone far more capable of solving it than he was.

-

Vanessa sat in the salon chair, watching the stylist work curls into her hair, but her mind was already three steps ahead — at the restaurant, in the car, in whatever came after. She’d told herself this dinner was strictly business, a chance to actually understand what Liam was building. But somewhere between picking out the dress and standing in her bathroom holding two different sets of lingerie up to the mirror, business had quietly stopped being the only thing on her mind.

She’d settled on the green dress — daring, fitted, cut low enough to make her intentions unambiguous without saying a single word. Underneath it, tucked away where only she knew, she’d chosen something considerably less businesslike. Just in case the night went somewhere neither of them said out loud but both of them were clearly circling.

"You’ve got a glow today," the stylist commented, catching her smile in the mirror.

"Big night," Vanessa admitted, unable to fully suppress it.

She had no idea where Liam was actually taking her — he’d kept the details vague, just told her to dress nice — but she assumed somewhere upscale, somewhere that matched the version of him she’d started piecing together. The version behind the business proposal she’d read, sharper and more ambitious than the office ever gave him credit for.

Her phone buzzed with the time. Two hours until he picked her up.

Plenty of time to get everything exactly right.