Chapter 11
The news broke the next morning.
ETHAN PARKER ALIVE.
The headlines screamed it from every newspaper, every website, every television screen.
Ethan Parker, the construction magnate who had been declared dead seven months earlier in a tragic plane crash, had miraculously returned.
And with his return came shocking allegations.
Conspiracy.
Attempted murder.
Fraud.
Margaret Parker and Richard Hale were taken into police custody. They were released on bail a few hours later, but the damage was done.
The world wanted answers.
Ethan gave them none.
He stayed in the house in Buckhead—his house—surrounded by security that Robert had arranged. He spoke only to his lawyers and to the police.
But his mind was in Charleston.
With Claire.
With his sons.
The day after the confrontation, he sent Marcus to Charleston with a car and instructions to bring Claire back.
She arrived that afternoon.
Ethan stood in the driveway waiting for her.
The car pulled up. The door opened.
Claire stepped out.
She looked smaller than he remembered. More fragile. But her eyes were bright.
She walked toward him.
Slowly at first, then faster.
Ethan met her halfway.
He lifted her carefully, mindful of her belly, and spun her around.
“You're home,” he said.
“I'm home.”
He carried her into the house.
Claire looked around as they walked through the foyer, the living room, the kitchen. Everything was the same, but different. Margaret had changed things. Rearranged furniture. Replaced artwork. Removed traces of Claire.
“It feels cold,” Claire said.
“It was cold without you.”
Ethan carried her up the stairs to their bedroom. He laid her gently on the bed and sat beside her.
“Triplets,” he said, placing his hand on her belly. “Three boys.”
Claire smiled.
“The doctor says they'll be here in about two months. She's worried because I've been under so much stress. She says I need to rest.”
“Then you'll rest. I'll hire nurses. Chefs. Whatever you need. You don't have to lift a finger ever again.”
Claire reached up and touched his face. Her fingers traced the scars.
“They tried to kill you,” she said quietly.
“They tried.”
“And they almost succeeded.”
“But they didn't.” Ethan took her hand. “I'm here. You're here. Our boys are on their way. That's all that matters.”
Claire sat up. She winced slightly, then steadied herself.
“What happens now? With Margaret? With Hale?”
“The police are investigating. Robert is handling the legal side of things. The merger is off. The board has already voted to reinstate me as CEO. But it's complicated. There are legal challenges. Margaret still controls a significant number of shares. Hale has resources. This could take a while.”
“And the plane crash?”
“Marcus is still digging. The police are looking into it again. Hale is smart. He covered his tracks well. We have motive. We have opportunity. But we don't have the smoking gun yet.”
Claire was quiet for a moment.
“Ethan, there's something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“When Margaret threw me out... she took something. A box. From the back of our closet. She said it was... family property. That I had no right to it.”
Ethan frowned.
“What was in the box?”
“I don't know. It was locked. You told me once that it belonged to your father. That he had given it to you before he died. That it contained important documents. I never asked what. You said you would tell me when the time was right.”
Ethan stood.
His father's box.
He had forgotten all about it.
His father had given it to him the week before he died. He had been sick for a long time—cancer that had spread too far to treat.
“Keep this safe,” his father had said. “When the time comes, you'll know what to do with it.”
Ethan had never opened it. Had never found the right time.
And now Margaret had it.
“Where would she keep it?” Claire asked.
Ethan thought.
Margaret had always been sentimental about certain things. She kept important documents in the safe in the study. But something personal, something from his father...
She would keep it somewhere closer.
Somewhere private.
Her bedroom.
Ethan walked to the door.
“Stay here,” he said. “I'll be right back.”
He went down the hall to Margaret's bedroom. It was exactly as she had left it—expensive furniture, silk sheets, the smell of her perfume lingering in the air.
Ethan began searching.
He went through her closet. Her dresser drawers. Under the bed.
Nothing.
Then he saw it.
A small painting on the wall—a landscape that had belonged to his father. Margaret had always hated it. Why would she hang it in her bedroom?
Ethan walked over to the painting. He lifted it from the wall.
Behind it, set into the wall, was a safe.
Small. Old.
Ethan's heart raced.
He tried the combination he knew his mother used for everything—her birthday.
Nothing.
He tried Vanessa's birthday.
Nothing.
He tried his father's birthday.
The safe clicked.
The door swung open.
Inside was the box.
Wooden. Old. Carved with his father's initials.
Ethan lifted it out. It was heavier than he remembered.
He carried it back to the bedroom.
Claire was sitting up against the headboard, waiting.
“Did you find it?”
Ethan placed the box on the bed between them.
May you like
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then he opened it.
