A month after the car chase, Detective John finally got his foot in the door.
Thanks to his tireless efforts, Jean, under the pretext of a promising new lead, secured an investigation letter from headquarters.
Reluctantly, she agreed to let him "take a look" at the server room.
John was already inside, waiting.
They had agreed on a time, and Palpatine had confirmed he would provide support from the outside.
Beside Palpatine, his new adjutant eyed the commander's impassive face with suspicion. "Sir, why are you so unmoved?"
Palpatine waved a hand lazily.
"I'm just going in for a look. The internal structure is still uncertain. I suspect the main control program isn't even on Coruscant."
"Then why are we doing this?"
"To test the waters. That wretched orange cat has been too quiet."
The adjutant nodded quickly. "Your Excellency is wise!"
Palpatine accepted the praise with a satisfied nod. "Once that agent sends back accurate information, you know what to do."
"Understood."
✦••┈┈••✦••┈┈••✦
John followed Jean into a private elevator like a curious child, though his curiosity was far from innocent.
When the doors opened, two armed robots greeted them.
Jean stepped forward and submitted to a battery of verification, facial recognition, pupil scan, voiceprint, and DNA sample.
Only then did the robots part, allowing her into the disinfection chamber.
After a thorough chemical shower and a change into sterile clothing, Jean waited for John, who had been deliberately slow.
John knew the drill. Every major corporation's core lab followed a similar routine. What interested him were the subtle differences, the tells of paranoia or confidence.
He found none.
They emerged from disinfection into a fifty-meter corridor. Jean led him to another verification station.
A second round of checks. Then, with a soft chime, the corridor's defense systems deactivated.
John Gartler broke out in a cold sweat.
Laser emitters lined the walls, high-energy nozzles hidden behind seamless panels. He had just walked through a kill box.
One mismatched credential, and he would have been vaporized.
By the time they reached the far end, his legs felt weak.
At the threshold of the laser corridor, John wiped his brow. If he had been exposed here, no excuse would have saved him.
"You seem a little nervous, Detective."
"Not nervous. Excited. This is the legendary server room."
"Then why are you blushing?"
"I'm radiant."
"Why are you suddenly pale?"
"Sour lemons this morning."
"Why are you pale again?"
"Palpitations. The feeling of being in love."
Jean rolled her eyes. "Stop joking. I don't like you like that."
John's face fell into theatrical heartbreak. "Cruel. At least give me a skin to soothe my wounded soul."
Jean crossed her arms, unimpressed. "You're a jerk. Half the precinct's ex-girlfriends, and you're still trying to flirt with me."
"A skin? You'll be lucky if I don't make trouble for you. Come on, let me show you what a real server room looks like."
She pressed her palm to a fingerprint lock. The red light turned green. The door slid open.
John Gartler froze.
Behind the door stood a row of humanoid robots, each the height of a full-grown adult. They were unlike any model he had ever seen.
"So many... and none of them are standard issue. I've never seen these before."
Jean nodded. "Custom-made. Incredibly expensive. Incredibly powerful. That's how High Claw stays on top."
John couldn't argue. High Claw had more money and more power than almost any entity in the galaxy.
They had recently taken over all costs and supplies for Coruscant's perimeter security and the Jedi Order's operational logistics.
Since then, the Jedi's crackdown on criminal elements had become devastatingly effective.
Pirates and raiders had nearly vanished from the outer approaches.
Following Jean inside, John moved slowly, observing everything through thick bulletproof glass.
The facility was enormous, far larger than any server room he had imagined. He had expected silent mainframes running autonomously with minimal staff.
Instead, engineers bustled about, inspecting equipment and adjusting parameters.
And everywhere, the custom combat robots stood watch.
After a carefully measured tour, Jean led him back out. They returned to her office, where a secretary poured tea.
Sipping her cup, Jean fixed John with a knowing look. "So? Different from what you imagined?"
"Satisfied your curiosity? You can brag about this for the rest of your life."
John kept his face serious. "I requested entry for the sake of a case. Please don't doubt that, Ms. Jean Grey."
Jean laughed. "Of course not. And I don't believe a word of it. The so-called 'investigation' is just an epic adventure to explore the mysterious High Claw server room.
Legend says over a hundred thousand women of various races are willing to dedicate their passion to the warrior who completes the quest."
John finally let his mask slip into a sheepish grin. "Alright, alright. Besides the case, there's that."
"But listen—I think the real reason someone attacked you was to get access to High Claw's servers. The company's success is built entirely on the game."
"And the game's success depends on the servers and source code."
He continued, more seriously: "Whoever hit you probably wanted to kidnap you, force you to break your NDA, or hand over personal credentials."
"Maybe use you to blackmail King Garfield. They planned well, but they underestimated how fast High Claw's fleet would react."
He set down his teacup. "And here's the thing, an operation that large left no traces in Coruscant's underground."
"No witnesses or loose ends. That means whoever is behind this is big. And they're hiding something bigger."
Jean listened without surprise. After spending three days at Garfield's estate, she had already pieced most of it together.
Rival conglomerates. Powerful space pirates. Ambitious member states. It didn't matter.
She didn't need to solve it.
She just needed to run the company. The rest, the magic, the chaos, the heart-stopping unpredictability… that was her boss's problem.
John finished his tea and stood. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Grey."
They shook hands. He left.
In his flying car, alone at last, John pulled a small communicator from his pocket.
He keyed a frequency and spoke quietly into the static.
"Sir. I have something to report."