That answer made Mercer hide the beginning of a smile behind his hand. Annie seemed satisfied with the parameters. She slid her fingers along the edge of the table, then asked the question that mattered most to her core. "Are you really going to help my mama?"
Charles looked at Lena before addressing the child. "Yes."
Lena crossed her arms. "Help how, exactly?"
"First," he said, breaking down the steps, "stable housing. If you wish to move somewhere safer or closer to the academy and training studio, the trust will cover the lease structure entirely so it does not function as a personal gift or leverage. Second, educational advancement for yourself, if you wish to transition out of hotel night shifts. Third, complete legal protection so no publicist or organization can exploit Annie's image or story without your explicit written consent."
Lena studied his features. "You already thought through these steps."
"Yes."
"Before the dance?"
"No," he said. "After. The dance was the variable that mattered."
Mercer nodded slightly, as if noting the baseline distinction. "Mr. Whitmore called my office at 6:00 a.m. yesterday morning, Mrs. Bell. That is the sole reason I am sitting in this room."
Lena looked between the billionaire and the judge. "So this is real?"
"Yes," Mercer said. "But real structures still require caution and step-by-step review."
Annie slid off her chair quietly and walked slowly toward the wide mirrors against the wall. She looked at her reflection in the blue dress, at her scuffed shoes, and at the studio room reflected in the glass. Then, she turned around and said with absolute seriousness, "If I learn to dance better, I can dance on big stages?"
Charles answered, "Yes."