Sean set the phone down, worry threading through his chest. Max had sounded different the last few times they’d spoken, the edges of his usual flat composure starting to fray. Sean made a mental note to check on him properly, not just about the work.

—-----

Downstairs, Makima was in her office reviewing something on her computer when Sean knocked on the open door.

"Morning," she said, looking up. Her expression was more settled than it had been the day before, though there was still something careful in how she held herself.

"Morning," said Sean. "How’s Walsh working out?"

"Quiet," said Makima. "Tenants haven’t noticed anything. He sits in his car most of the day reading what looks like a very boring book." She paused. "I talked to him yesterday evening. He seems competent."

"Good," said Sean.

Makima studied him for a moment. "You look tired."

"Long few days," said Sean.

"Anything new?" she said carefully. She wasn’t pushing, exactly. Just leaving the door open the way he’d left his own door open for her once.

Sean sat down in the chair across from her desk. "I have a meeting tomorrow evening. With whoever’s behind Lockhart Holdings. They reached out directly."

Makima’s expression tightened. "Where?"

"Don’t know yet. They’re sending details today."

"Sean." Her voice had an edge of real fear in it now, the careful composure cracking slightly. "You can’t go alone into a meeting with people who are already watching your apartment."

"I’m not planning to go in blind," said Sean. "Max is working on identifying who’s actually running this. I want a name before I sit down with them."

"And if he doesn’t get one in time?"

"Then I go in without it," said Sean. "But I won’t go in unprepared."

Makima looked at him for a long moment. Then she reached over and pulled a folder from her desk drawer, sliding it across to him.

"What’s this," said Sean, opening it.

Inside was a property deed, old, the paper slightly yellowed at the edges. The building’s original ownership documents.

"My father kept records of everyone he ever dealt with in this city," said Makima. "Contractors, lawyers, city officials, everyone who touched this building over thirty years. I don’t know if any of it is useful to you. But if Lockhart Holdings has been operating in this city for as long as you think, my father might have crossed paths with some of the same people, lawyers, brokers, inspectors. Names that might mean something to your friend Max."

Sean looked at her, something shifting in his chest. "You kept all of this?"

"My father was meticulous," said Makima. "He used to say a building’s history is its protection. I never understood what he meant until recently." She held his gaze. "Take it. If it helps, use it. If it doesn’t, at least you’ll know I’m not just sitting here being scared while you handle everything."

Sean took the folder. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me," said Makima. "Just come back from Friday in one piece."

—--------------------------

Sean went to campus that afternoon mostly to keep some semblance of normal rhythm. His morning class passed without incident, Derek Pierce keeping a wary distance after their last exchange, Rebecca absent entirely.

At lunch, Marcus found him again, sliding into the seat across from him with his laptop already open.

"Did you get a chance to look at that thesis I sent?" said Marcus.

"Some of it," said Sean. "The valuation gap looks real. But you’re underweighting regulatory risk in the second half of your model."

Marcus blinked. "You actually read the whole thing."

"I read what mattered," said Sean.

Marcus pulled up the document on his screen, scrolling to the section Sean had mentioned. "Walk me through what you mean?"

Sean leaned over, half his attention on the model, half his mind still running through the logistics of Friday. He pointed at a section of Marcus’s projections. "You’ve got the FDA approval timeline baked in as a near-certainty. It’s not. There’s at least a thirty percent chance of delay based on how similar approvals have moved historically. If that happens, your whole valuation thesis shifts six months out, and the stock probably drops before it recovers."

Marcus was quiet for a moment, staring at his own model like he was seeing it differently. "You’re right," he said slowly. "I didn’t account for that at all."

"Most people don’t," said Sean. "It’s the difference between a good thesis and a great one."

Marcus looked up at him, something like genuine respect in his expression now instead of just curiosity about Sean’s money. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Where did you actually learn this stuff?" said Marcus. "Not the money. The thinking. The way you break things down. That’s not something you just pick up reading the news."

Sean considered the question for a moment. There was no honest version of the answer he could give. "I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how the world actually works," he said instead. "More than most people my age, probably."

Marcus accepted that without pushing further, which Sean appreciated. Not everyone needed the full story. Some people just needed enough to respect the boundary.

"If you ever want to actually run something with this," said Marcus. "Like a real fund, even something small. I’d want in. Just so you know."

Sean filed that away. Marcus was sharp, genuine, not chasing proximity for status the way half the campus seemed to be doing lately. Useful, eventually, in ways that had nothing to do with Lockhart Holdings or Friday’s meeting.

"I’ll keep that in mind," said Sean.

—-----------

Walking out of the dining hall, Sean nearly collided with Anthony, who’d clearly been waiting near the exit again.

"Sean." Anthony’s voice had lost most of its forced casualness from before. Now it just sounded tired. Cornered. "Tomorrow’s the deadline."

"I know," said Sean.

"I don’t have it," said Anthony. The admission seemed to cost him something. "I’ve tried. I asked my parents, I tried picking up a part time job, I even thought about—" He stopped himself. "I don’t have ten thousand dollars, Sean. I’m not going to have it by tomorrow."