Addison watched through office windows as the men’s intense conversation reached its conclusion. Their body language radiated controlled tension, two forces who had reached some kind of tactical understanding despite their mutual hatred.

Both men nodded curtly to each other before emerging from glass sanctuary. Jaxon’s gaze found hers immediately—warm recognition that transcended their circumstances—but he said nothing as they separated to resume their opposing roles.

Wyatt’s scarred features turned toward her briefly, silent acknowledgment blazing in his eyes before tactical priorities reclaimed his attention.

“Brick! Secure upper levels!” Wyatt commanded, his military authority reasserting control over operational reality.

“Viper! Communication monitoring!”

“Sarah! Marcus! Report immediately!” Jaxon called simultaneously, his executive presence restored despite fresh injuries marking his face.

Bank employees clustered around Jaxon with nervous efficiency, their professional loyalty overriding fear as they awaited instructions.

“I need document retrieval from upper floor offices,” Jaxon announced with corporate precision. “Each of you gets specific access codes for classified international files.”

He distributed paper slips like tactical orders, his executive planning functioning despite whatever psychological warfare had just concluded.

“Mr. Wellington,” Sarah asked carefully, “what kind of international files?”

“Henderson Consulting records,” Jaxon replied with mechanical authority. “Complete financial documentation for all offshore arrangements.”

“Addison,” he continued, his attention focusing on her with intensity that made her pulse hammer. “You’re coming with me. I need your technical expertise for executive-level encryption.”

“Understood,” she replied, following him toward elevator banks while armed escorts formed protective formation around them.

The silent ascent felt like funeral march toward revelation that would determine their future. Addison’s heart screamed for words—apologies for her confusion, explanations for her impossible choice, reassurance that love could survive whatever truth awaited them.

But Jaxon’s rigid posture warned against conversation while hostile witnesses surrounded them with tactical precision.

His executive office maintained its corporate elegance, leather and mahogany testament to success built through systematic precision. Jaxon moved immediately toward his private safe while gesturing toward his computer terminal.

“Sit there,” he instructed, placing yellow sticky note beside keyboard. “Search parameters are written down. Files are heavily encrypted, but those access codes should unlock everything.”

“What am I looking for exactly?” she asked, studying his handwritten instructions.

“Evidence,” Jaxon replied with voice that carried steel determination. “Proof of what really happened with those military contracts.”

Addison’s fingers moved across keys while Jaxon sorted through documents with executive efficiency. The office filled with rustling papers and clicking keyboards as they assembled whatever proof would support his claims of innocence.

Navigation through corporate databases felt like archaeological expedition. Each directory revealed another layer of international complexity that had funded Jaxon’s empire through systematic precision.

Ten minutes of searching uncovered files buried beneath layers of executive security. The access codes unlocked directories that had been hidden from standard system queries, revealing documents that carried weight of life and death.

Her hands began trembling as file lists appeared on screen. Henderson Consulting. Elimination protocols. International transfers. Contract authorizations.

Everything Wyatt had accused, organized with corporate efficiency that made her stomach clench with mounting horror.

“My God,” she whispered, staring at evidence that could confirm Jaxon as systematic killer.

Document titles blazed across screen like accusations written in digital fire. Payment schedules. Target eliminations. Family termination protocols. All bearing timestamps that matched Wyatt’s claims with mathematical precision.

Did she want to open them? Could she survive learning that her child’s father had signed death warrants with executive authority?

“I am not a killer,” Jaxon continued with absolute certainty. “Whatever evidence he thinks he has, whatever accusations he’s making—I never authorized murder. I’ll prove it to you right here, right now.”

“How can you prove—”

“By showing you what those files really contain,” he replied with executive determination that promised revelation. “Not elimination contracts, but evacuation protocols. Not assassination orders, but extraction procedures for assets under threat.”

“I have our escape plan finalized,” he continued with tactical precision that matched Wyatt’s military efficiency. “After we hand over this evidence, you need to be ready to run. Can you do that?”

Before she could answer, he moved closer with vulnerability that replaced executive composure completely.

“I regret every word I said in that bathroom,” Jaxon confessed with voice that broke under accumulated guilt. “Every cruel accusation, every hurtful attack—you didn’t deserve any of it.”

His hands took hers with reverent care that spoke of promises he intended to honor despite chaos surrounding them.

“You and our baby are the only things that matter,” he declared with conviction that blazed through his scarred features. “Everything else means nothing if I lose you.”

“Jaxon—”

The office door exploded inward with violent force.

“Time’s up!” Brick commanded as armed robbers flooded through doorway. “Boss wants everyone back in main lobby immediately!”

“We’re coming,” Jaxon replied with executive dignity that couldn’t mask his desperation to finish their conversation.

Rough hands guided them toward elevator banks, destroying their moment of potential reconciliation as evidence remained unopened on computer screen—truth that glowed like beacon in digital darkness, waiting for someone brave enough to face whatever revelation would determine all their fates.