Chapter Sixty Two

Chapter 62

The tension within Jemima was as palpable as ever, even in the glow of JEMARC's inauguration success. Jemima sat at the edge of her bed, hands gripping the soft fabric of her robe, staring at the moonlit skyline through the open balcony doors. She'd thought the night would bring peace, a moment of clarity after the whirlwind of the day. Instead, it brought unease.

The echoes of Jon Ross's words lingered. “Ambition has a way of making enemies...” What did he mean? Was it a threat, or just a warning? Jemima couldn't shake the weight of his gaze or the cryptic undertone of Alan's comments. And then there were her dreams, clawing their way into her waking thoughts.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, jolting her back to the present. It was Ava. Jemima glanced at the clock—it was well past midnight. Concern flickered in her chest as she swiped to answer.

"Hello?"

"Did I wake you?" Ava's voice was warm but tinged with worry.

"No, I wasn't sleeping," Jemima admitted. "What's wrong?"

There was a pause, filled with the faint sound of children laughing in the background. Ava's tone softened. "I just wanted to check on you. Marcus said the ceremony was a success, but he also said you seemed... off."

Jemima sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I'm fine, Ava. It's just... everything feels heavier than I expected. Like there's a storm coming, and I can't figure out how to prepare for it."

"Jem, you've faced worse," Ava said gently. "You're the strongest person I know. If anyone can handle whatever's coming, it's you."

The words were comforting, but Jemima knew Ava didn't have the full picture. "Thanks," she said softly. "How are the kids?"

"They're fine. Sleeping now, thankfully," Ava chuckled. "You should come by soon. They miss their aunt."

"I will," Jemima promised. "Tell them I love them."

"I will. And Jem?" Ava hesitated. "You don't have to face everything alone. I'm here. Always."

Jemima smiled faintly. "I know. Thank you."

“You just don’t understand,” Jemima whispered out loud right before Jay walked back into the room.

Jemima sat in silence for a long moment. Ava's support was unwavering, but there were things she couldn't tell her. Things Ava couldn't know. Jemima's secrets weren't just hers anymore; they were tied to a world Ava had left behind when she chose a quieter life.

“Let’s get some sleep Jem.”

---

The following morning, Jemima arrived at the JEMARC office early, hoping to bury herself in work. Marcus was already there, his sleeves rolled up, typing furiously at his desk.

"You're here early," he said without looking up.

"So are you," Jemima countered, dropping her bag onto her desk.

Marcus finally glanced up, concern etched into his features. "Did you sleep?"

"Enough," she lied.

"Jem, we need to talk about yesterday," Marcus began, standing and crossing the room to lean against her desk. "What was that with Alan? And his father, Jon Ross? They seemed... off."

Jemima hesitated. "Alan's... unnerving. I can't explain it, but something about him feels wrong. And Jon? I think he was trying to warn me, but it came off more like a threat."

Marcus frowned. "Do you think they know something?"

"I don't know," Jemima admitted. "But we need to be careful. JEMARC's mission puts us in the spotlight. If someone wants to use our- my past against us..." She trailed off, the implication hanging heavy in the air.

Marcus nodded, his jaw tightening. "We've kept everything buried for this long. We just have to stay ahead of them."

"Agreed," Jemima said. "Have you heard from Jay?"

Marcus's expression darkened. "Not since yesterday. Why?"

"He's been... closer lately," Jemima said cautiously. "I can't shake the feeling he's keeping something from me."

Marcus's eyes narrowed. "And that’s a bad thing because—"

"I don't know," Jemima interrupted. "But I need to find out."

By the time lunch rolled around, Jemima was restless. She stepped out of the office for air, her phone in hand, debating whether to call Jay. Before she could decide, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The driver's door opened, and Jay stepped out, his sharp suit and confident stride commanding attention.

"Jay," Jemima said, surprise and relief mixing in her voice.

"Hey," he greeted, his tone smooth but guarded. "Thought I'd stop by."

She folded her arms, studying him. "What's going on?"

Jay's expression flickered, but he quickly masked it. "Let's talk somewhere private."

They ended up in a small café nearby, tucked into a corner booth where the hum of other patrons drowned out their conversation. Jemima waited, her patience thin, as Jay leaned back in his seat, seemingly choosing his words carefully.

"You've been avoiding me," she said bluntly.

“Babe, we slept in the same room last night,” Jay chuckled pulling her close.

“Well, you didn’t kiss me good morning before bolting out of the house,” Jemima pouted

Jay met her gaze. "I haven't been avoiding you. I've been handling... things."

"What kind of things?" Jemima pressed.

He hesitated. "There's been some noise. Rumblings in the underworld. Someone's been asking questions about you, about JEMARC."

Her stomach dropped. "Who?"

"I don't know yet," Jay admitted. "But it's serious enough that I've had to take precautions."

Jemima's mind raced. "Do you think it's Alan or Jon?"

Jay's jaw tightened. "It's possible. Alan's name has come up in a few circles, and Jon... he's always had his fingers in dirty pies. Jon used to be the dirtiest mafia. But I can't confirm anything yet."

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jay reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "We stay vigilant. And you let me handle this. I won't let anyone touch you or what you've built."

Jemima's heart ached at the weight of his promise. She nodded, but a part of her couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.

---

Later that evening, Jemima met Ava for dinner at Ava's townhouse. The warm glow of the dining room and the laughter of Ava's kids provided a brief respite from the storm brewing in Jemima's life. For a moment, she let herself relax, watching Ava juggle dinner and bedtime stories with effortless grace.

"You're a natural," Jemima said as Ava tucked her youngest into bed.

Ava smiled. "You could be too, you know."

Jemima laughed softly. "Not in this lifetime."

They settled in the living room with glasses of wine, the conversation turning more serious.

"Ava," Jemima began, hesitating. "Do you ever regret leaving the... old life behind?"

Ava's expression softened. "No. Not for a second. But that doesn't mean I don't worry about you and Marcus. You're still in it, whether you want to admit it or not."

Jemima nodded slowly. "I don't think I'll ever really escape it. But JEMARC... it feels like a way to do something good, to make up for—"

"Don't," Ava interrupted gently. "You don't have to justify it to me. I know why you're doing this. Just promise me you'll be careful."

"I promise," Jemima said, though the words felt hollow. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep that promise.

---

As Jemima drove home, her thoughts churned. Alan, Jon, Jay's warnings, her own memories—they all converged into a tangled web she couldn't untangle. She parked her car in the underground garage of her building and stepped into the elevator, the quiet hum doing little to calm her nerves.

When the elevator doors opened on her floor, she froze. The door to her apartment was ajar.

Her heart raced as she approached cautiously, her hand slipping into her bag for the small pistol she kept there. She pushed the door open with the barrel, scanning the darkened room.

"Hello?" she called, her voice steady despite her pounding heart.

There was no response, but the faint scent of cologne lingered in the air—a scent she recognized.

"Alan," she muttered under her breath.

Her grip on the pistol tightened as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The shadows seemed to shift around her, the silence oppressive.

And then, from the corner of the room, a voice emerged.

"Nice place," Alan drawled, stepping into the faint light. "Cozy."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Jemima demanded, aiming the pistol at him.

Alan smirked, unbothered by the weapon. "Relax. I'm not here to hurt you."

"Then why are you here?" she pressed.

Alan's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "To remind you, Jemima, that ambition is dangerous. You've made enemies, whether you realize it or not. And some of them... aren't as forgiving as I am."

“What does that mean? Why do you and your father keep badgering me with cryptic messages?” Jemima demanded to know, her chest heaving with unease as she stared at him.

“Remember Dennis Saunders? The man you killed in Rome?”

Flashes of Rome emerged within her, causing her heart to skip several beats.

“H…how did you know about that?” Jemima’s voice quivered as she asked. It was one of the wrong things she had done even though the motive was justified, the killing wasn’t.

“Let’s just say he was my half brother,” Alan pointed out, putting on his shades.

Before she could respond, he turned and walked out, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, the weight of his words settling heavily on her shoulders.

If Dennis was his half brother then that means, Dennis was also Jon’s son.

“What have I done?” Jemima groaned, lowering her pistol with trembling hands.
Whatever game Alan was playing, she was now a piece on his board. And she hated it.