Chapter 4 - The Storm on the Streets
By midday, the world outside the penthouse had exploded.
The SEC filing Ethan submitted at ten o'clock had detonated through the financial markets like a dirty bomb. News networks were running wall-to-wall coverage of the corporate civil war inside Blackwood Group. Victoria Hayes had fled to the Hamptons with her phone turned off, Julian Hayes had released a blistering statement accusing Ethan of corporate sabotage, and the paparazzi had doubled in size around the base of the Fifth Avenue tower.
Inside, the penthouse felt like a peaceful, sunlit bunker.
Leo was sitting on the floor of the expansive master study, surrounded by a mountain of luxury infant toys that Ethan had ordered delivered via private courier at noon. There were plush velvet bears, wooden puzzle blocks from Germany, and an interactive train set that Ethan was currently attempting to assemble on the Persian rug.
The sight was so absurd that I couldn't help but laugh softly from the leather armchair where I was curled up with a cup of tea.
"You've put the locomotive wheels on backward, Mr. CEO," I said.
Ethan paused, a plastic red wheel in one hand and a miniature screwdriver in the other. He looked up, his dark curls falling messily over his forehead, looking younger and more vulnerable than I had seen him in years.
"I can restructure a debt portfolio in my sleep, but this instruction manual was written by an evil genius," he muttered, though a genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
Leo crawled over, grabbed the plastic train car, and immediately shoved the bumper into his mouth, testing it with his four front teeth.
"Hey, buddy, that's not edible," Ethan said gently, reaching out with lightning reflexes to substitute the train car with a soft rubber teether. Leo took the teether happily, grinning up at Ethan with drool shining on his chin.
Ethan didn't pull away. He sat back on his heels, watching Leo with an expression so full of wonder that it made my heart ache with a bittersweet pang.
"He really looks like you, you know," I said quietly. "Everyone in Boston said he was my twin, but the older he gets... the way he furrows his brow when he's concentrating on a toy. It’s you, Ethan. Exactly you."
Ethan reached out, his large, scarred hand gently cupping the back of Leo's dark, curly head. "I missed so much, Sarah. How did you do it? Alone in that city?"
The warmth in the room suddenly grew heavy with old grief. I set my tea down on the glass side table and looked at my lap.
"The first six months were the hardest," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "My mother was already sick with the cancer. She was doing chemotherapy twice a week, and I was working freelance graphic design between feedings. There were nights when I had six dollars in my checking account, Ethan. I would sit on the kitchen floor, holding Leo while he cried with colic, and I would pull out that forged letter just to read the part where you told me I meant nothing to you."
Ethan closed his eyes, his breathing shallow, his hand still resting against our son’s hair.
"Why?" he choked out. "Why would you read it?"
"Because I needed to kill the hope," I said, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Because every time Leo smiled, I saw your face. And if I allowed myself to believe that you still loved me—that you were just busy, that you were going to come back—I wouldn't have had the strength to survive. I had to believe you were a monster. It was the only armor I had."
Ethan rose from the floor and crossed the space between us in two steps. He knelt beside my armchair, taking both of my cold hands into his warm palms.
"I was never a monster, Sarah," he whispered, looking directly into my eyes with an intensity that burned through every wall I had spent two years building. "I was an idiot. I was a blind, arrogant fool who let his family’s cynicism poison the purest thing he had ever known. But I loved you. I loved you every single day. Even when I was drinking myself to sleep in Zurich, hating you for an email you never wrote, I was still in love with you."
"Ethan..."
"I don't expect you to forgive me today," he continued, his thumbs softly stroking the backs of my hands. "I don't expect you to fall back into my arms just because the truth came out. But let me be a father to him. And let me show you who I am when my family’s shadow isn't hanging over me."
Before I could answer, the security intercom buzzed sharply from the desk.
Ethan stood up, his jaw tightening as he walked over and pressed the speaker button. "Yes, Marcus?"
*"Sir, we have an emergency,"* Marcus's voice crackled through the speaker, urgent and tight. *"Julian Hayes just held a live press conference from the New York Stock Exchange floor."*
Ethan frowned, grabbing the remote to turn on the wall-mounted television.
The screen flickered to life. Julian Hayes, a silver-haired titan with an aristocratic snarl, stood before a forest of microphones. Victoria was standing behind him, her eyes red-rimmed and wearing an oversized dark coat, looking like a shattered victim of corporate cruelty.
*"My daughter’s life and reputation have been systematically defamed by Ethan Blackwood,"* Julian Hayes was saying, his voice booming through the speakers. *"In an attempt to cover up his long-standing infidelity and financial irregularities within the Blackwood trust, Mr. Blackwood has attempted to frame my daughter for cyber-crimes. Furthermore, we have credible evidence that the woman currently harboring the child has a history of financial extortion in Chicago."*
"He's lying!" I cried out, rising to my feet, sheer panic seizing my lungs. "I've never extorted anyone in my life!"
*"We have petitioned the New York Family Court for an emergency protective custody review regarding the welfare of that minor child,"* Julian continued, his cold eyes staring directly through the camera. *"A child raised in an environment of fraud and manipulation belongs under state guardianship until a proper paternity and fitness assessment can be completed."*
"They're trying to take Leo," I gasped, the room spinning around me. "Ethan! They're trying to take my baby!"
Ethan stared at the screen, his eyes burning with a terrifying, absolute fury. He picked up his secure satellite phone and dialed a three-digit speed dial.
May you like
"Marcus," Ethan said, his voice deadly quiet. "Have the jet prepped at Teterboro. And tell Arthur Vance that if he doesn't have the chief judge of the Manhattan Family Court on a conference line in ten minutes, I will buy his entire law firm and fire him by lunch."
***
