Morning came gray and brittle, the kind that pressed unease into the bones.
They were still at the table when the knock returned—no pretense this time, no politeness.
Thomas stiffened. "He doesn't waste time."
Mary stood. "Let him in."
Jacques entered like a man arriving to claim property, a leather folio tucked beneath his arm. He didn't bother with pleasantries. He placed the folio on the table and opened it with deliberate care.
Paper whispered.
"I warned you last night," he said calmly. "That was courtesy. This—" he tapped the page with a gloved finger, "—is obligation."
Isabelle's breath caught. She stared at the document as if it were a living thing.
Jacques slid it toward her. "Your signature. Dated two years ago. Witnessed. Sealed."
Mary picked it up before Isabelle could. Her eyes scanned the dense legal language, the elegant traps hidden in phrasing. Her jaw tightened.
"What is this?" Mary asked.
"A private patronage contract," Jacques replied smoothly. "Debt assumption in exchange for exclusive rights."
Thomas snapped, "Exclusive rights to what?"
Jacques smiled thinly. "To Isabelle."
The word landed like a blow.
Isabelle stood abruptly, chair scraping back. "You said it was temporary. You said it was protection."
"And it was," Jacques said. "Until you decided to forget who owns the shield."
Mary looked up sharply. "Owns?"
Jacques leaned forward, voice low and precise. "Clause seven. 'In the event of breach or defiance, the benefactor may claim full recompense—social, personal, and custodial—until debts are satisfied.'"
Thomas's fists clenched. "This is extortion."
"No," Jacques corrected. "This is law. Signed willingly." His eyes flicked to Isabelle. "You begged me, if memory serves."
Isabelle's voice broke. "I didn't understand what it meant."
"Understanding," Jacques said, "is not a requirement for consent."
Mary's blood went cold—but her mind stayed sharp.
She placed the contract flat on the table. "You came last night to warn us," she said evenly. "Why return now?"
"Because you embarrassed me," Jacques replied. "And because today, I'm done waiting."
He turned to Isabelle. "Pack your things. You'll move into my residence by dusk. Publicly, you'll be introduced as my companion. Privately—" his smile sharpened, "—you'll comply."
Thomas stepped forward. "Over my dead body."
Jacques's gaze hardened. "That can be arranged."
Mary raised a hand—calm, commanding. "No threats. Not yet."
She looked down at the contract again, then at Jacques. "You're very confident."
"As I should be."
Mary nodded slowly. "Then you won't mind leaving this with us."
Jacques laughed. "I'm not asking permission."
"And I'm not asking either," Mary said, meeting his eyes. "You'll leave it because if you don't, this becomes public—today. Every clause. Every name attached."
He leaned closer. "You don't have proof proves coercion."
Mary smiled faintly. "Not yet."
Something flickered in his expression—annoyance, not fear, but calculation.
"By dusk," Jacques said, straightening. "If Isabelle isn't ready, the city will hear things about your family that can't be unspoken."
He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Read carefully," he added. "Contracts are honest. People aren't."
The door shut.
Isabelle collapsed into Mary's arms, shaking. "I signed my life away."
Mary held her tightly. "No," she said. "You signed under pressure. And pressure leaves fingerprints."
Thomas picked up the contract, eyes burning. "If this is his weapon…"
Mary looked up, resolve steel-hard. "Then we take it from him."
She wiped Isabelle's tears gently. "You're not going anywhere tonight."
Outside, church bells rang noon—slow, deliberate.
And somewhere across the city, Jacques Moreau believed the endgame had finally arrived.
He was wrong.