Chapter 9
Robert found Margaret ten minutes later.
He told her there was someone in the study she needed to see. Someone with important information about the company.
Margaret, ever the businesswoman, excused herself from her guests.
She walked into the study.
And froze.
Ethan stood in the middle of the room, in front of the fireplace. The firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the scars.
Margaret's hand flew to her chest.
Her face went pale. Then red. Then pale again.
“Ethan,” she whispered.
“Hello, Mother.”
She stared at him. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. For the first time in Ethan's memory, his mother looked completely unprepared. Completely vulnerable.
“You're dead,” she said finally.
“Not quite.”
Margaret recovered. Her spine straightened. The mask of the grieving mother slipped back into place, though it was shaky now.
“You... you've been alive this whole time?”
“Seven months in a coma. Burned. Broken. Unidentified. When I woke up, the first person I saw was you. And the first thing you told me was that my wife had left me.”
Margaret's eyes darted around the room.
“Claire... she's not here, is she?”
Ethan took a step toward her.
“No. She's safe. Unlike when you threw her out of our home. While I was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for my life, you threw my pregnant wife out on the street.”
Margaret's face hardened.
“Pregnant? She was never—”
“She's carrying triplets. My sons. Did you know that? Did you know when you took her phone, her cards, her keys, her documents? Did you know when you fired Rosa for trying to defend her?”
Margaret looked away.
“She was no good for you, Ethan. She never gave you an heir. She held you back—”
“She held me up!” Ethan's voice rose. “She was there when we had nothing. She believed in me when no one else did. She loved me when you only loved what I could do for you!”
“I am your mother!”
“And what kind of mother tries to kill her own son?”
The words hung in the air between them.
Margaret's eyes widened.
“What are you saying?”
“I'm saying the plane crash wasn't an accident. I'm saying you and Hale arranged it. I'm saying you tried to murder me so you could take my company, my money, and run off together.”
Margaret's face went ashen.
“That's... that's absurd. I would never—”
“Save it.” Ethan pulled a stack of documents from his jacket and threw them onto the desk. “Financial records. Emails. Meeting minutes. Everything you tried to hide. I know about the merger. I know about the stock you bought. I know about Hale.”
Margaret stared at the documents. Her hands trembled.
“Where did you get these?”
“That doesn't matter. What matters is that I have them. And I'm going to use them to destroy you. Both of you.”
Margaret looked at him.
And in that moment, Ethan saw it.
The coldness. The calculation. The complete lack of maternal love.
“You think you can win?” she asked. Her voice was steady now. Dangerous. “You've been gone for seven months, Ethan. I control the company. I control the board. I control the police. You have nothing but pieces of paper that I can explain away.”
“I have the truth.”
“The truth doesn't matter. Only power matters. And I have all the power now.”
She turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Ethan asked.
“To call the police. To tell them there's an imposter in my home. A dangerous man who is claiming to be my dead son. By morning, you'll be in a mental institution. And this time, you won't wake up.”
She reached for the doorknob.
The door opened before she could touch it.
Hale stood in the doorway.
Behind him stood two men. Big men. Dangerous men.
Hale smiled.
May you like
It was not a nice smile.
“Hello, Ethan. Welcome back from the dead.”
