Chapter Nine: Ghosts with Teeth
The past had teeth. Anita had learned that.
But sometimes, it also had allies.
She found herself standing outside an old art gallery in Tribeca—one of the few places her former life never touched. It smelled like oil paint and dust, just as it had five years ago when she walked away from the only person who ever told her no to her face.
The gallery was empty, save for the man arranging canvases at the back. Tall, lean, with paint-streaked fingers and a wild, silver-streaked ponytail.
Julian Rowe.
Former GNV co-founder. Visionary. Rebel. And the only man who ever walked out on her.
Anita cleared her throat. "Still wearing denim to business meetings?"
He looked up.
And stilled.
For a moment, neither spoke. The weight of old wars and old wounds hung in the space between them.
"You're not here for art," he said eventually.
"No," she said. "I'm here to finish something we never started."
Julian narrowed his eyes. "You once told me you'd bury me if I crossed you."
"I did," she replied. "And I meant it."
"So why now?"
Anita stepped forward, lowering her voice. "Because someone worse than either of us is about to do to GNV what you thought I would. He's already started. And I need your mind. Not your forgiveness."
Julian studied her for a long moment. "Marcus Delaney."
He didn't ask. He knew.
"I never trusted him," he said. "But you did."
"I died for that mistake," she replied evenly.
Julian raised an eyebrow. "That's... dramatic."
She said nothing.
His face shifted—skepticism turning to something else. A chill. He didn't ask again.
Instead, he pulled out a folder from a drawer beneath the counter.
"I've been tracking shadow moves around Valkridge. Subshells, straw buyers. Someone's building something dangerous."
"You always were paranoid."
"And you," he said with a wry smile, "were always three steps ahead—except when you weren't."
Anita smiled coldly. "This time, I am."
They stood together over the file, two ghosts from the same war, reunited not by friendship—but necessity.
She didn't trust Julian.
But she didn't need to.
She needed his data. His instincts. His rage.
And she knew he'd help—not for her, but to protect the legacy they both helped build.
This wasn't just revenge anymore.
It was war.