Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Gambit
Ethan picked up the receiver, putting the call on speakerphone.
"Speak," Ethan commanded.
A oily, refined voice with a faint southern cadence echoed through the room. "Ethan, my dear brother. I just heard the tragic news about poor Margaret. A perimeter breach at the estate? How dreadful."
It was Victor Vance.
Ethan's expression didn't change, but his eyes turned into sharp flint. "She's dead, Victor. And her private ledger is sitting on my desk."
Silence stretched over the line for three agonizing seconds.
When Victor spoke again, the warm, fraternal tone was entirely gone. His voice was cold, sharp, and dripping with malicious confidence.
"Then you know," Victor said softly. "It's a pity, really. Margaret was supposed to keep the boy quiet for another six months until the trust transfer went through. But you always had a bad habit of hiring overly nosey staff, Ethan."
"I'm coming for you, Victor," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a register that promised absolute annihilation. "There is nowhere on this earth you can hide where I won't find you."
"Oh, I'm not hiding, Ethan," Victor chuckled softly. "In fact, I'm already in New York. I've called an emergency meeting of the Commission for tomorrow night at the Plaza Hotel. I am officially petitioning the board to strip you of your title and your shipping routes on the grounds of incompetence and mental instability."
"Good luck with that," Ethan sneered.
"I don't need luck, Ethan," Victor replied smoothly. "I have the medical reports signed by three board-certified specialists stating that your son is permanently paralyzed and mentally incapacitated. The Commission doesn't leave three billion dollars in shipping assets in the hands of a grieving, unstable widower. Unless, of course... you can prove your son is healthy?"
Victor let out a dark laugh.
"Bring the boy to the Plaza tomorrow night, Ethan," Victor taunted. "Let the Five Families see him stand on his own two feet. If he walks, I forfeit my claim and leave the country. If he stays in that wheelchair... you surrender your empire to me."
The line went dead.
Ethan slammed the receiver back onto the cradle, his breathing heavy.
I looked at Ethan, my mind spinning. "He knows Noah can't walk across a ballroom, Ethan! Noah took eight steps today because his nervous system is just beginning to recover from the poison! He needs weeks—months—of intensive physical therapy to regain his strength!"
"Victor knows that," Ethan growled, pacing across the room. "That's why he set the meeting for tomorrow. He knows Noah can't do it. He's forcing my hand."
"Then we don't bring Noah," I urged, stepping in front of him to block his path. "We fight Victor with the evidence! We have the photos of the poison, the ledger, Margaret's wire transfers!"
"The Commission doesn't care about evidence, Clara!" Ethan snapped, his frustration boiling over. "They care about strength! If they see a leader who was fooled by his own housekeeper for two years, whose heir is broken, they will tear my territory apart like wolves!"
He stopped, staring at me, his chest heaving.
"I can't lose my empire, Clara," Ethan whispered. "Because if I lose my empire, I lose the power to protect my son."
I looked over at Noah, sleeping peacefully on the leather couch. Then I looked back at Ethan.
An crazy, impossible idea began to form in my head.
"Ethan," I said slowly, stepping closer to him. "How many hours do we have before the meeting tomorrow night?"
"Twenty-four hours," he answered.
"Then we have twenty-four hours to teach your son how to stand tall," I said, my voice filled with fiery determination. "Not to walk a marathon. Just to take ten steps across that stage and look his uncle in the eye."
Ethan stared at me, dumbfounded. "Is that even medically possible?"
"With standard therapy? No," I replied, a small, confident smile touching my lips. "But Noah isn't a standard patient. He has his father's blood in his veins. And he has a nanny who refuses to lose."
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Ethan looked at me for a long moment. A slow, breathtaking grin broke across his handsome face—the first real smile I had seen from him since I arrived at the estate.
"Alright, Miss Clara," Ethan whispered, taking my hand into his warm, powerful grip. "Show me what you can do."
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