Vince was transferred from the hospital to general population in Decatur County Jail. Sitting on the hard cot, staring at the gray cement walls, he still couldn't believe he was in this damn place.

It had been two weeks since he and Martha had come down from Richmond, thinking they could snatch Kayla up and drag her back home. But instead of things going as planned, it had gone completely left.

Now, Vince was sitting in a damn cell, his jaw still sore from getting clocked, his mind burning with vengeance. But first, he needed to get the hell out of here.

He was finally allowed to make a phone call. He dialed the house back in Richmond, not expecting his useless wife to answer—and sure enough, she did.

"Martha," he snapped the moment she picked up.

"Vince," she answered, her voice small.

"What the hell is goin' on? Why am I still in here? Why ain't you bailed me out yet?!"

Martha swallowed. "Gwen bailed me out."

Vince went still. "What?"

"Gwen bailed me out," Martha repeated, her voice careful. "She... she wasn't gonna bail you out, Vince."

Rage boiled in his chest.

"The fuck you mean she wasn't gonna bail me out?" he seethed. "So, what—you just sittin' on your ass waitin' on me to rot in here?"

"N-no," Martha stammered. "Vince, I—"

"You're useless," he spat. "You hear me? Useless as hell! I got court tomorrow, Martha. I need to be out before then! You better figure something out."

Martha hesitated. "Vince—"

Click.

He hung up, his teeth grinding so hard his jaw ached.

He didn't give a damn how, but he was getting out of here. And when he did, Kayla was gonna pay.

Vince slammed the receiver down, his chest rising and falling with anger. His hands clenched into fists as he paced the small narrow hallway, his mind racing.

That dumb-ass Martha. Useless. She was probably sitting up in Richmond crying, waiting on somebody to save her. Gwen. That damn woman. He should've known she'd stick her nose where it didn't belong. Bailing Martha out but leaving him in here? That was a slap in the face.

Vince sat back down on the cot, his fingers tapping against his knee.

He needed a plan.

Court was tomorrow. He didn't trust no public defender, but he didn't have a choice. If he got denied bail again, he'd be stuck in here even longer, and that couldn't happen.

His blood boiled at the thought of Kayla out there living it up with that country-ass motherfucker and his rich-ass family.

She should be suffering.

Instead, she was probably laid up, feet kicked up, rubbing her belly, smiling.

His stomach turned at the thought.

No.

This wasn't over.

Vince leaned forward, his mind already scheming. One way or another, he was getting out of here. And when he did, he was coming for everything Kayla loved. Vince sat up on the thin cot, his back stiff from the weeks spent in the hospital bed. When the officer banged on the bars and told him his lawyer was here, his brows furrowed.

Lawyer, he hadn't called for one. Martha sure as hell hadn't done it. That meant somebody—somebody with power—had sent one his way.

He stood slowly, rolling his shoulders back, putting on the same cocky front he always had. But inside? His mind was spinning.

Who the hell was looking out for him?

The officer led him to the visitation room, where a man in an expensive-ass tailored suit sat at the table, calm, collected, like he had all the time in the world. His dark brown skin was smooth, his beard trimmed sharp, and his posture was too damn relaxed for a man sitting across from a criminal.

This man wasn't no damn public defender.

Vince sat down, eyeing him. "Who the hell are you?"

The man smirked, his fingers adjusting the gold watch on his wrist. "Jules Fontaine. Your lawyer."

Vince raised a brow. "And who the hell sent you?"

Jules gave a slow, knowing smile. "Let's just say, you got the right people in your corner."

Vince leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Who you workin' for?"

Jules tapped the table. "I work for results. That's all you need to worry about."

Vince didn't like that answer, but he wasn't stupid. Jules pulled out a thick folder, flipping it open. "You got a whole list of charges stacked against you. Trespassing, child endangerment, assault, terroristic threats." He glanced up, his sharp eyes cutting through Vince. "If this goes the wrong way, you're looking at years."

Vince's jaw tensed. "So what the hell you gon' do?"

Jules smirked, closing the folder. "Make sure that doesn't happen."

Vince sat back, a slow grin spreading across his face. Now they were talking.

Fred and Frank sat in their law office, the scent of leather and rich mahogany filling the air. The office was sleek, modern, and intimidating—just like the men who ran it. Papers were stacked neatly on the desk, legal documents spread out as the two attorneys meticulously reviewed every charge they had stacked against Vince.

Fred leaned back in his leather chair, fingers steepled under his chin. His father, Calvin Sr., a retired but once notoriously crooked judge, had taught him well. Fred didn't always play dirty, but for this case? He had no problem bending the system. Not after what he had come to learn about Vince and what that man had done to Kayla.

Frank, his longtime business partner and brother-in-law, sat across from him, rolling a gold pen between his fingers. His face was unreadable, but Fred knew they were both thinking the same thing: Vince needed to rot.

A sharp knock on the door interrupted their thoughts before their assistant, Roy, stepped inside. Dressed in a crisp button-down and slacks, Roy was efficient and reliable—the kind of man who could get information before it even hit public records. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

"Vince has been transferred to Decatur County Jail," Roy reported. "And according to intel, he's already got a lawyer."

Fred's jaw tightened slightly as he exchanged a glance with Frank.

Frank exhaled and set the pen down. "Of course, he does. These kinds of men never think they'll go down without a fight."

Fred rolled his neck, the weight of responsibility settling in his shoulders. "Who's the lawyer?"

Roy shifted, his fingers moving quickly over his phone. "I'm working on a name. Should have it soon."

Fred nodded, already calculating the next step. He wasn't surprised Vince found legal representation—men like him always had someone willing to help them weasel their way out of things. But that wasn't happening this time.

"Good because I need to know who the hell we're dealing with."

Frank leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk. "We both know how this goes. If his lawyer has connections, they'll try to cut a deal."

Fred let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "That's cute."

Frank arched a brow. "You ain't worried?"

Fred smirked. "Hell no." He tilted his head slightly. "My old man may be retired, but he left me with a whole damn playbook of ways to make sure Vince doesn't walk."

Frank chuckled, shaking his head. "You gonna get dirty?"

Fred exhaled, a slow, deliberate breath. "This situation?" He cracked his knuckles. "Oh, I don't mind getting dirty at all."

Frank leaned back in his chair, pleased. While he wasn't one to abuse power, when it came to men like Vince? There was no sympathy to be found.

Roy's phone buzzed suddenly, and he glanced down, his brows raising slightly before he looked back up.

"I got something."

Fred and Frank both sat up slightly, waiting.

Roy glanced at them, his expression shifting. "The lawyer's name is Jules Fontaine."

The room went silent.

Fred's smirk disappeared, his face darkening. Frank muttered a curse under his breath, his jaw tightening.

Jules Fontaine wasn't just some lawyer.

He was a problem.

Fred exhaled sharply, dragging a hand over his jaw. "Well, shit."

Fred leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the desk. "Jules Fontaine," he repeated, his mind already working through the implications. "That's not some run-of-the-mill defense attorney. That man plays chess, not checkers."

Frank nodded, his face dark with irritation. "Yeah, and he don't come cheap. Ain't no way Vince got the money for Jules on his own."

Fred's eyes narrowed. "Exactly. So the real question is—who the hell is backing Vince?"

Roy, still standing near the door, adjusted his tie. "I'll dig into it," he assured them. "Somebody paid Fontaine, and I'll find out who. I'll get more information as soon as possible."

Fred gave a sharp nod. "Good. Do that."

Without another word, Roy turned on his heel and walked out, his phone already in hand as he prepared to make calls.

Frank exhaled, shaking his head as he watched Roy leave. "Yeah... he's great," he said, turning back to Fred. "Keep him."

Fred smirked slightly. "Oh, I plan to."

Roy walked down the hallway of his office, his phone already in hand as he dialed the only person he trusted to get the kind of information he needed—Mallory.

She answered on the first ring, her voice sharp and teasing. "What do you need, Roy?"

Roy smirked, stepping outside into the crisp Atlanta evening air. "I need to know who's paying Jules Fontaine to represent Vincent Taylor."

There was a pause before Mallory clicked her tongue. "And what's in it for me?"

Roy sighed, already knowing where this was going. "What do you want, Mallory?"

"I want some dick."

Roy chuckled, shaking his head as he unlocked his Mercedes and slid inside. "You always want some dick."

"And you always need information," Mallory shot back. "So what are we doing?"

"Touché, touché." Roy started the car, the smooth hum of the engine filling the space. "See you shortly."

He hung up and pulled out of the lot, heading straight to Midtown Atlanta.

Mallory's high-rise condo was sleek and modern, just like the woman herself. Roy took the elevator up, knocking twice before the door swung open.

Mallory leaned against the frame, her lips curving into a slow smile. "Damn, you made good time."

"I don't like wasting it," Roy replied, stepping inside.

Mallory's place was just as tech-driven as ever, with multiple monitors glowing on her sleek glass desk. She walked over, her manicured fingers flying over the keyboard before he even had to ask.

"Jules Fontaine, huh?" she mused, cracking her neck. "Whoever's paying him has deep-ass pockets."

"That's what I need to know," Roy said, crossing his arms as he watched her work.

She didn't respond, too locked in as she tore through encrypted records and financial trails. The soft glow of the monitors illuminated her focused expression as she hacked into systems most people wouldn't even know existed.

After a few minutes, she let out a victorious little laugh and turned to him with a smirk. "Got it."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

Mallory leaned back, her arms folding over her chest as she delivered the name like a bomb dropping.

"William Caldwell."

Roy's eyes bulged.

That was a problem.

William was a powerhouse—a lawyer with his own law firm with deep connections and a reputation for pulling strings in Atlanta's elite circles. If he was funding Vince's defense, this wasn't just about getting out of jail.

Roy exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "Shit."

Mallory grinned, pleased with herself as she shut her laptop. She stood up, walking over until she was right in front of him, looking up through thick lashes.

"Now... about my payment," she murmured.

Roy chuckled, hands sliding around her waist. "Oh, don't worry, baby. I got you."

Mallory licked her lips. "You better."

Just like that, Roy handled his business—both in the streets and in the sheets. Roy wasted no time. He lifted Mallory onto the edge of her sleek glass desk, his hands gripping her thick thighs as he pulled her closer.

"You always talkin' shit," he murmured against her lips. "Let's see if you can take what you askin' for."

Mallory smirked, her nails dragging down his chest. "You know I can."

That was all the permission he needed.

Roy kissed her hard, his grip firm as he pushed her back onto the desk. The glow from her computer screens flickered against their skin, casting shadows as he undressed her with ease. Mallory was always ready for him, always eager, and he loved that about her.

He took his time teasing her, watching as her body responded to him. But when he finally gave her what she craved, he didn't hold back.

Mallory gasped, her fingers clawing at his back as he pounded into her, each stroke deep and deliberate. "Fuck, Roy!"

He grunted, tightening his grip on her hips, making sure she felt every inch. "This what you wanted, huh?"

"Yes!" she moaned, her legs wrapping around his waist.

Roy smirked, watching her unravel beneath him. He knew exactly how to break her down, exactly how to make her beg for more. And he wasn't stopping until she did.

Their bodies moved in sync, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. Mallory gripped the edge of the desk, her head thrown back as she took everything he gave her.

"Tell me who owns this pussy," Roy demanded, his strokes growing rougher.

"You do," she whimpered.

"Damn right." He wasn't stopping until he had her trembling, until she was spent and satisfied. And even then, he might just go another round.

Roy straightened his tie, adjusting his cufflinks as he smirked down at Mallory. She lay sprawled across her sofa, still catching her breath, her body flushed from their heated exchange.

Mallory ran a lazy hand down her thigh, watching him with a satisfied grin. "You know, I like how you handle your business," she teased. "Makes the sex even better."

Roy chuckled, running a hand over his beard. "You just like a man that gets shit done."

She stretched, letting out a soft sigh. "That too. So, what are you gonna do with this information?"

Roy smirked, already thinking two steps ahead. "You know exactly what I'm gonna do."

He leaned down, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to her lips before pulling away. Mallory arched a brow, watching as he grabbed his suit jacket. She knew Roy didn't waste time—once he had what he needed, he moved with precision. And right now, he had a name. William Caldwell.

Roy couldn't wait to step back into the office and drop this bomb on Frank and Fred. This was why they kept him around, why his monthly bonuses stayed fat—he got results, and he got them fast.

Mallory watched him with amusement as he buttoned up. "Don't work too hard, baby."

He shot her a wink. "Don't wait up."

As he stepped out of her condo, his mind was already spinning with the implications of what he just uncovered. What Roy didn't know—was that William Caldwell wasn't just some power player pulling strings. He was Darling and Dina's father.

Frank and Fred sat in their office, staring at the name Roy had just given them. William Caldwell.

"Hell nah," Fred muttered, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temple. "I should've known that bastard was involved."

Frank shook his head, stretching his arms across his desk. "William Caldwell... as in Darling's daddy William Caldwell?"

"The same," Fred confirmed, dropping the folder on the desk. "It makes sense, don't it? The man is a top lawyer, got deep pockets, and a personal vendetta."

Frank exhaled sharply, thinking back to the years Tank and Darling spent together. William used to act like Tank was already his son-in-law. And now, he was pulling strings, using the law as a weapon, all to try and force his daughter and Tank back together.

"This ain't just about Vince getting off," Frank said, shaking his head. "This is about Kayla."

Fred sat up straighter, connecting the dots. "He's trying to break her. Traumatize her. Probably thinks if he makes life hard enough for her, she'll disappear, and Tank'll go running back to Darling."

Roy scoffed. "That's the dumbest shit I ever heard. Tank ain't leaving Kayla, no matter what the hell they try."

Fred nodded. "That's why we need to shut this shit down now."

Frank's jaw clenched. "William Caldwell is dangerous. He knows how to play the game. He's not gonna fight dirty, he's gonna fight smart. That means we have to be ten steps ahead."

Fred smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Good thing we don't mind getting our hands dirty."

Roy folded his arms. "So what's the move?"

Fred looked at Frank, and a silent agreement passed between them.

"First thing," Frank said, "we put pressure on Vince. Keep stacking the charges, make it impossible for him to get out."

"Second," Fred added, "we start digging into William Caldwell's skeletons. Everybody's got some, and I guarantee he's got a closet full."

Roy smirked. "Y'all really about to take on William Caldwell?"

Frank's expression was deadly serious. "You damn right. He picked the wrong family to mess with."

Fred leaned back in his chair, studying Frank. "You gonna tell Tanya?"

Frank exhaled, rubbing his chin. "No."

Fred arched a brow. "You sure about that? That's her best friend's daddy, and he's playing dirty as hell."

Frank nodded. "That's exactly why I'm not telling her."

Fred smirked. "Ain't that something. You don't want her involved, huh?"

Frank shot him a look. "You know how Tanya is. She's hotheaded. She finds out her best friend's father is out here trying to destroy Kayla, she'll go straight to Darling, straight to William, ready to raise hell. And we cannot afford emotions messing up the plan."

Fred chuckled. "So what you saying is, you protecting your wife from herself?"

Frank sighed. "Something like that."

Fred shrugged. "I get it. Tanya's just like you. She don't know how to back down from a fight."

Frank nodded. "Exactly. And this ain't the kind of fight she needs to be in."

Roy, who had been listening, finally spoke up. "So, what's the next move?"

Frank and Fred exchanged a look before Fred smirked.

"We start making calls," Fred said. "If William wants to play this game, we're gonna show him he's not the only one with power."

Frank leaned forward, his voice cold. "It's time to remind him who he's messing with."