Shifting Pieces

The hum of tension was no longer just in the shadows. It bled into the daylight.

Richard Lansing made his first move.

It was subtle—on the surface.

A press release issued by the Lansing Group announced a new strategic merger with the Lawrence Corporation, to be solidified by a formal engagement between David Lansing and Jenny Lawrence.

The city's business press fawned over it. Two dynasties merging. The headlines read like royal proclamations:

"The Future of Power: Lansing & Lawrence"

But behind the scenes, the message was for Gina.

Dave hadn't agreed to any of it. Richard hadn't even consulted him. But now the world had seen it, and in that one calculated move, Richard tried to erase Gina's existence and rewrite Davina's.

A direct shot across the bow.

---

Gina read the article in silence from her private study. Her lips didn't move, but her jaw tightened just slightly with each paragraph. The edges of the printed paper curled in her hand, a slight tremble in her fingers the only visible crack in her otherwise unshakable composure.

So, it begins, she thought.

She didn't call Dave. She didn't need to. The move wasn't about marriage—it was about reclaiming legacy. Richard was planting a seed in the public eye, one he hoped would grow into an unshakable truth. But Gina knew better.

Truth could be buried beneath money, fame, and name—but it didn't rot. It waited. It matured like wine in a locked cellar. And when it surfaced, it burned.

"Veda," she called.

The woman appeared at the door in seconds, dressed in black slacks, tablet in hand.

"Activate Rami. I want him watching Jenny Lawrence. Closely. And keep the cameras rolling. I want the moment her father's secrets surface to be captured in 4K."

Veda smirked. "Already done. We've tracked their offshore accounts. There's a mistress and a silenced intern in Prague. It won't take much to blow it wide open."

Gina's expression didn't shift. "Good. Make sure it breaks the same day Richard celebrates the engagement."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She rose from her desk and moved to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, arms crossed as dusk began to fall. The skyline glowed like fire beneath storm-colored clouds.

"You see this, Veda?" she said quietly.

"The city?"

"No. The calm."

Veda blinked. "It's deceptive."

"Exactly."

---

At home, Davina sat curled in a window nook of the penthouse, knees drawn to her chest, sketchpad in hand. Her recovery had been swift, almost unnaturally so, and though her energy had returned, her spirit remained observant. Always watching. Always listening.

She wasn't in the hospital anymore. She was safe in her mother's arms, tucked behind layers of security no outsider could easily breach. Dave had insisted on staying—partly for her, but also, Gina suspected, to stay near the fire of truth that now surrounded all of them.

Davina overheard more than they thought.

The late-night arguments behind closed doors. The whispers about Richard Lansing. About legacies. About secrets.

She knew her mother was more than she appeared to be. She always had. But now she was beginning to understand how much more.

She flipped her sketchbook open and continued the drawing she'd started days ago—a girl with a flaming crown standing between a castle of glass and a man cloaked in smoke.

"Whatcha working on?"

Dave's voice interrupted her thoughts. He walked over with two mugs in hand, setting one gently beside her.

She turned her pad over before he could see. "Just... ideas."

"You're a little artist."

"Mom says it helps me understand things."

He nodded and sat beside her. "She's right."

Davina looked up at him. "You knew I was yours before I did."

Dave's jaw tightened slightly. "I had no idea. Not until your mom told me."

"Do you believe in fate?" she asked.

"Sometimes," he said. "But I believe more in choice."

Davina studied his face carefully. "Then why are we pretending?"

Dave blinked. "Pretending?"

"That everything is normal."

He hesitated, then reached for her hand. "Because sometimes pretending buys us time to figure out how to fix things."

Davina nodded solemnly. "Then I won't tell them I know. I'll pretend too."

His eyes softened. "You're too smart for your age, you know that?"

She smiled just a little. "I think I get that from Mom."

---

Across the city, Richard Lansing stared at the photo on his desk—Gina, Davina, Dave. Captured at a charity function three weeks ago. He knew the child's blood now. The match was irrefutable. She was his granddaughter.

And that changed everything.

He had once thought Gina Michaels a fling. A distraction his son needed to forget. But now, she was a liability. A threat to legacy. And Davina? A pawn.

"I'll bring him home," he whispered.

He didn't care how.

"I want every movement tracked. Friends. Staff. Drivers. Even her hairdresser. Find out who she leans on. Who she trusts. And break them."

His assistant nodded.

"And Dave?"

Richard's face darkened. "He doesn't need to know yet. When the time comes, I'll show him what that woman really is."

He poured himself another drink, the amber liquid glinting under the office lights.

"She played her part well," he said. "But this is still my board. And my blood doesn't fall into shadows."

---

Later that night, Gina watched from her private surveillance feed. Davina was asleep, arms wrapped around her sketchpad, flame-crowned figures drawn in pencil across the page.

Gina blinked slowly, one thought weighing in her chest.

She's waking up.

And she's watching.

The game had officially begun.