Chapter 4: Tea Parties and Trojan Horses**
The thick carpets of the Crown apartment absorbed tension like sound, leaving the air humid and heavy behind the reinforced glass. Rosa moved through the sterile luxury, a general in occupied territory. Her grandmother's quilt blazed against the beige wall. The earthy scent of simmering black-eyed peas and ham hocks fought the lemon polish. Maya's plastic kingdom sprawled across the plush carpet. Yet, the gleaming surfaces couldn't hide the bars. Vance, a grim storm cloud, stood near the door.
Rosa measured every step. She watched Eli hunched over the Crown laptop, his youthful face etched with concentration far too old. *He's deep in their machine.* Fear was a cold stone. Maya's bright chatter was her lifeline. Her eyes tracked Vance. His scowl was armor, chipped by Maya. She saw his gaze flicker towards the hallway where Maya's first drawing was hidden. *Confusion. Bewilderment.* A crack. On the walk to Ms. Clara's, her senses sharpened. She caught Henderson's subtle nod, the fleeting worry in Ms. Pearl's eyes.
**"Lord, look at her,"** drifted Ms. Pearl's faint murmur from her window as they passed. **"Head high... bless her."**
Rosa filed it away. She noted the green sedan – 7J – parked down the block. *Endure. Adapt. Watch. Wait.*
To Maya, life was *very* interesting. The new place was "sparkly clean!" like a real princess castle. There was a new, very large, very grumpy man who stood *a lot*.
**"His name is Mr. Grumpy Face,"** Maya confided to Mr. Hopper during a tea party. She gestured importantly with a plastic cup towards Vance's rigid back. **"He stands like a frowny statue. Maybe he needs tea?"** Sunshine was nice. Mr. Wiggles was happy. Mr. Grumpy Face needed help. Armed with crayons, she marched over.
**"For you, Mr. Grumpy Face!"** she declared, thrusting a vibrant scribble of a lopsided sun, a purple dog, and a towering stick figure with a deep frown. **"It's you! And Sunshine! And Mr. Wiggles! He's happy. You should be happy too. Sunshine is nice!"**
She watched his face. The deep frown got deeper, then wobbled. He looked at the picture, then at her, then at Mami, then back. Slowly, like it might bite, he took it. He didn't smile. He just stared. Maya beamed. Progress! Later, seeing her picture tucked carefully under the monitor, she felt a warm glow. *He liked it!*
The apartment was a battlefield Vance understood poorly. Orders: contain, observe, report. Simple. Brutal. But the variables… The boy unnerved him. The mother looked at him with chilling assessment. And the *child*… Maya was an assault. Her drawing bewildered him. Now, the siege continued.
**"You look thirsty, Mr. Grumpy Face! Apple's good!"** A half-squeezed juice box thrust at him.
**"Don't let him fall! He gets scared!"** A stuffed rabbit shoved into his hands.
Endless tea party narration while he stood guard.
*Trapped.* His scowl deepened. He found himself, once, quickly straightening the damn rabbit's bow tie. He stepped *over* sprawling block cities with ridiculous care. He started arriving *after* her nap. The slightly crushed lollipop in his pocket found its way onto the counter near her seat one tense afternoon. He refused to acknowledge it, or Rosa's look. Weakness. Silas's warning echoed: *"Loose threads unravel empires."* This tiny thread was dangerously loose.
The Crown's financial network pulsed on Eli's screen. Vance's presence was heavy, but Eli compartmentalized. He executed the laundromat fix flawlessly – the Trojan Horse. His real work thrived hidden. His fingers flew, mapping dirty cash flows, enforcer payrolls, soft points like the vulnerable dockside drop. Every byte fed **Project Unity: Phase 2**. The "Ronnie Bomb" glowed: encrypted proof of large-scale betrayal. *Leverage.* Deadly. Volatile. Fear hummed beneath the focus. Watching his mother's fierce facade, seeing the shadows under her eyes… the cage was corrosive. He noted Vance's reactions – the bewilderment, the lollipop. *Asset Interaction: Vance (Softening Factor - Maya). Data point recorded.* Useful.
Downtown, Silas Jones steepled his fingers. Vance's terse report lay before him. *Fix operational. Efficient.* Efficiency was valuable. But this calm efficiency… dangerous potential. He remembered Silas Reyes. Remembered the ghost in Rosa's eyes. Their son sat in his cage, fixing systems with unnerving ease.
**"Could this tool be honed?"** Silas murmured to the silent room. His gaze drifted to the drawer holding a faded photo – a woman with Rosa's jawline. The resemblance was inconvenient. A flicker stirred. **"Or will it cut the hand that holds it?"** The risk was high. He needed more control. **"Double the patrols,"** he'd ordered Vance. **"Ronnie's getting twitchy."** Let Ronnie be the visible threat. It kept them reliant. It kept Vance sharp. Mostly.
Back in the apartment, the low simmer of beans mixed with Eli's clicking keys and Maya's soft singing. Vance stood near the door, holding the glittery "Nice Grumpy Cloud" drawing, his expression caught between duty and confusion. Outside, the green sedan idled, then slowly pulled away. Ms. Pearl adjusted her curtains. Old Man Henderson noted the sedan's departure and the new patrol.
**"Spider wants the fly close,"** Henderson thought, eyes sharp.
Keys Johnson, perched high, texted rapidly: **<
Rosa watched her children. Eli, mapping the dragon's hoard. Maya, planning her next move.
**"Mr. Grumpy Face might like a *sparkly* crown,"** Maya whispered conspiratorially to Mr. Hopper, holding up a glittering plastic tiara.
The tea party was strategy. The drawings were weapons. The cage was a chessboard. And the four-year-old princess, armed with sunshine and purple glitter, was proving an unexpectedly effective Trojan Horse. The game unfolded, minute by suffocating minute.