Chapter 10 - THE MAN WHO RAN WITH FOUR HUNDRED MILLION
Richard Hayes made it as far as Montreal.
Not because Ethan stopped him.
Because Victoria did.
She gave federal investigators the account numbers.
Flight records.
Passport copies.
A private property address her father kept outside the city.
By sunrise, Canadian authorities were involved.
By noon, Richard was detained.
By evening, financial news channels were showing his photograph beneath the words INTERNATIONAL FRAUD INVESTIGATION.
I watched from my mother’s kitchen while Leo threw cereal onto the floor.
Justice looked surprisingly ordinary beside toddler breakfast.
Ethan arrived at eight.
He stopped in the doorway.
“Why is there cereal on the wall?”
“Art.”
“Should we stop him?”
“Eventually.”
Leo saw Ethan.
“Daddy!”
Ethan smiled.
Every time.
No matter what else was happening.
He always smiled.
“Good morning.”
Leo held up cereal.
“Eat.”
Ethan accepted one piece.
I stared.
“You know that was on the floor.”
His face changed.
“It was?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
I laughed.
“You faced Richard Hayes but toddler germs defeat you.”
“I have standards.”
“No, you have a son.”
Ethan washed his hands for too long.
It had been six weeks since the elevator.
Six weeks since Leo grabbed Ethan’s tie.
Six weeks since my entire understanding of the past had cracked open.
Everything had changed.
And not enough had.
Richard would face charges.
The Blackwood board had scheduled another vote.
Margaret had moved out of Blackwood House temporarily and entered therapy.
That one shocked everyone.
Victoria had ended her involvement with Hayes International and agreed to cooperate with prosecutors.
And Ethan still lived fifteen minutes away.
Not with us.
He never asked.
That restraint had become part of the reason I was beginning to trust him.
Beginning.
Dangerous word.
After breakfast, Ethan handed me a folder.
I groaned.
“Please tell me this isn’t another trust.”
“No.”
“Corporate fraud?”
“No.”
“Secret medical records?”
“No.”
“Forged letters?”
“Definitely not.”
I opened it.
A consulting proposal.
For me.
I looked up.
“No.”
He smiled slightly.
“You haven’t read it.”
“You’re trying to hire me.”
“Technically Blackwood Hospitality wants to hire your firm.”
“I have one employee.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
“They’re aware.”
“Ethan.”
“Read it.”
I did.
A six-month consulting project across four Blackwood hotels.
Independent vendor.
Market-rate compensation.
No exclusivity.
No strange clauses.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Who wrote this?”
“Our hotel division.”
“Did you tell them to?”
“No.”
“Did you suggest me?”
“Yes.”
“Then no.”
His expression fell.
“Why?”
“Because I need work that exists without you.”
“That’s fair.”
Again.
Too easy.
“You’re not arguing?”
“No.”
“That’s irritating.”
“I’m learning.”
I handed the folder back.
“Thank you.”
He accepted it.
“No pressure.”
I stared.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Being reasonable.”
His mouth curved.
“I’m sorry?”
“I know how to fight arrogant Ethan.”
“And this version?”
“Annoying.”
“Good.”
Leo climbed into his lap.
Conversation over.
Later that afternoon, the Blackwood board voted.
Richard’s influence had collapsed.
The forensic investigation cleared enough independent directors to reconsider.
Ethan won.
He could return as CEO.
He declined.
The announcement shocked Wall Street.
It shocked Margaret.
It shocked me.
“What?”
We stood in my mother’s backyard.
Leo was digging in mud.
Ethan wore an expensive coat that was definitely not surviving.
“I’m not going back.”
“You fought for the board vote.”
“To remove Richard.”
“But Blackwood is yours.”
“No.”
He looked toward Leo.
“That is exactly the thinking that ruined all of us.”
I stared.
“What will you do?”
“Remain chairman temporarily.”
“That still sounds powerful.”
“It is.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll appoint a professional CEO.”
“You?”
“No.”
I laughed.
“I heard you.”
“I don’t want Leo growing up believing the company is a destiny.”
My heart tightened.
“What if he wants it?”
“Then he can choose.”
Choose.
Everything came back to that.
The thing none of us had been allowed.
I looked at Ethan.
“What do you want?”
He went quiet.
“I don’t know.”
“Seriously?”
“I’ve never been asked that without Blackwood attached.”
I understood more than I expected.
“You could do nothing.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“You’d last two days.”
“Maybe three.”
I smiled.
He stepped closer.
“Sarah.”
Something in his voice changed.
I knew before he spoke.
“No.”
He stopped.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re about to.”
“Probably.”
I folded my arms.
“What?”
“Dinner.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“We eat dinner four times a week because of Leo.”
“No.”
His eyes held mine.
“Dinner with me.”
My chest tightened.
“A date.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
His face remained calm.
“All right.”
That surprised me.
“That’s it?”
“You said no.”
“Correct.”
“So no.”
I stared.
He turned toward Leo.
For some reason, his immediate acceptance bothered me.
Ridiculous.
I wanted him to respect boundaries.
He respected one.
Now I was annoyed.
That was not psychologically healthy.
Two days later, I called him.
“I changed my mind.”
Silence.
Then, “About?”
“You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
I nearly hung up.
“Dinner.”
“A date?”
“You’re ruining it.”
He laughed.
“Yes?”
“One.”
“Okay.”
“No expectations.”
“Yes.”
“No photographers.”
“Obviously.”
“No restaurant you own.”
Long pause.
“That eliminates many options.”
“Problem?”
“No.”
We went to a tiny Italian restaurant in Brooklyn.
Ethan had not been there before.
He looked suspicious of the paper menus.
I laughed.
“You’re impossible.”
“There are no prices on wine.”
“That’s usually your natural habitat.”
“Fair.”
For the first hour, we did not discuss Leo.
Or Richard.
Or Margaret.
We talked about work.
Movies.
My mother’s obsession with garden tomatoes.
Ethan’s hatred of running despite every magazine claiming he ran six miles every morning.
“That is your public biography.”
“My public biography lies.”
“Apparently a family tradition.”
He winced.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
He reached across the table.
Then stopped before touching my hand.
I looked at his fingers.
Then placed mine over them.
His breathing changed.
That tiny movement felt more intimate than every kiss we had shared years ago.
Because this time it was chosen carefully.
After dinner, we walked.
Cold air.
Brooklyn lights.
Normal people passing us without cameras.
Ethan looked at me.
“Can I kiss you?”
I stopped.
He waited.
I thought about the hospital.
The forged letter.
Leo calling him Daddy.
The way he kept coming back.
“Yes.”
His hand touched my cheek.
Slowly.
Carefully.
The kiss was nothing like I remembered.
Not desperate.
Not claiming.
Just warm.
Familiar and unfamiliar at once.
I pulled back first.
Ethan opened his eyes.
“You okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
I laughed softly.
“You say that a lot.”
“I mean it.”
My phone rang.
My mother.
I answered.
“Mom?”
Her voice was panicked.
“Sarah.”
Everything inside me froze.
“What happened?”
“It’s Leo.”
Ethan heard the name.
His face changed.
“What about Leo?”
My mother was crying.
“He’s gone.”
The street disappeared.
“What?”
“I turned around for thirty seconds.”
“No.”
“Sarah, someone took him from the yard.”
I dropped the phone.
Ethan caught it before it hit the pavement.
My entire body went cold.
“No.”
He grabbed my shoulders.
“Sarah.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“My baby.”
“We’re going.”
He was already calling security.
Police.
Anyone.
The twenty-minute drive took twelve.
My mother stood in the driveway sobbing.
The backyard gate was open.
Leo’s red toy truck lay on the grass.
I screamed his name even though I knew he was not there.
Ethan stood beside the gate.
Then crouched.
He picked up a white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
SARAH.
For one horrible second, the handwriting looked like the forged letter.
Inside was a single photograph.
Leo.
Sitting in a car seat.
Alive.
Confused.
Holding Bo, his stuffed elephant.
Beneath it were six words.
THE BLACKWOOD HEIR BELONGS WITH BLACKWOODS.
I looked at Ethan.
His face had become terrifyingly blank.
“No.”
My voice broke.
“Margaret.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
He looked at the photograph.
“But if my mother touched our son, I will never forgive her.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered with shaking hands.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Withdraw the trust.”
My knees almost gave out.
“What?”
“Transfer control to the Blackwood family trustee.”
Ethan grabbed a second phone, tracing the call.
I whispered, “Let me hear him.”
Silence.
Then Leo’s little voice came through.
“Mommy?”
I broke.
“Leo!”
“Mommy?”
Then the call ended.
I screamed.
Ethan caught me.
For the first time since I met him, I did not pull away.
I collapsed against him.
He held me.
“I’m getting him back.”
I shook my head violently.
“Don’t promise.”
He understood immediately.
No impossible guarantees.
His face pressed against my hair.
“Then this.”
“What?”
“I will not stop until we find him.”
That I could believe.
Police lights filled the road.
Security teams moved.
Margaret arrived twenty minutes later.
She stepped from the car.
I ran toward her.
“Where is my son?”
Her face went white.
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Ethan stepped between us.
“Leo was taken.”
Margaret staggered.
“No.”
“A message said the Blackwood heir belongs with Blackwoods.”
She covered her mouth.
Then something changed in her eyes.
Not guilt.
Recognition.
“Oh God.”
Ethan saw it.
“What?”
Margaret looked at him.
“There’s only one person who still calls the family trustee ‘the Blackwood trustee.’”
“Who?”
She whispered the name.
“James Whitaker.”
The lawyer who had supposedly surrendered.
The man now under federal protection.
Except when Ethan called investigators, they discovered something impossible.
May you like
James Whitaker had vanished from custody three hours earlier.
And someone inside the federal transport system had helped him escape.
