Chapter 11 - The Dead Man Walks
By six o'clock the following morning, the sun broke through the heavy gray
clouds.
Golden light spilled across the manicured lawns of the Hamptons estate.
The rain had washed the driveways clean.
The morning air smelled of wet pine needles and ocean salt.
I stood on the stone veranda holding a cup of black coffee, watching the ocean
waves crash against the private cliffs below.
Behind me, the front page of the New York Times sat on the iron patio table.
“Ethan Vale Alive: Coup Inside Billionaire’s Empire Foiled by Federal Raid.”
The world was reeling from the news.
My stock prices had plummeted during the night, only to rebound by thirty
percent the moment the morning markets opened.
The corporate vultures who had gathered to carve up my assets were scurrying
back into their holes.
I heard soft footsteps behind me.
Sophie stepped out onto the veranda, holding a cup of herbal tea.
She wore a simple beige knit sweater that brought out the warmth in her dark
eyes.
The terror from the night before was gone, replaced by a quiet, steady calm.
“You didn't sleep,” she said softly, leaning against the stone balustrade beside
me.
“Sleep is a luxury for men who don't have empires to rebuild,” I replied with a
faint smile.
“Did you?”
“A few hours,” she admitted.
“Every time I closed my eyes, I kept hearing the glass breaking.”
“The sound fades,” I promised her.
“In a few weeks, it will feel like a bad dream you had years ago.”
She looked out over the sparkling Atlantic water.
“What will happen to Caroline?” she asked.
“Her bail was denied two hours ago,” I said flatly.
“Vance is charging her under the RICO statutes.”
“Her father’s firm dropped her legal defense to protect their own reputation.”
“She’s on her own.”
Sophie took a slow sip of her tea, watching the sea gulls circle above the
waves.
“She had everything, Ethan,” Sophie said quietly.
“Wealth, beauty, a man who loved her… why would she throw it away for Marcus?”
“Greed doesn't have a ceiling, Sophie,” I answered.
“Caroline didn't want a partner. She wanted absolute control.”
“She thought Marcus would be her puppet.”
“And Marcus thought he was the puppet master.”
“In the end, puppets and masters both end up in the same wooden box.”
Sophie turned her head to look at me.
Her gaze was searching.
Deep.
“And what about you?” she asked.
“What do you want?”
I set my coffee cup down on the stone rail and looked into her eyes.
For the first time in ten years, I didn't see an angle.
I didn't see someone calculating how much my name was worth.
I saw a woman who had risked her life to warn a stranger in the dark.
A woman who had fought beside me when everyone else had abandoned the ship.
“I want peace, Sophie,” I said honestly.
“I spent thirty-two years surviving wars I didn't start.”
“I want to build something that doesn't require guards with assault rifles
standing by the front gate.”
A faint, beautiful smile touched her lips.
“That sounds like a good plan,” she murmured.
“It starts today,” I said.
“And the first order of business is your resignation.”
Sophie’s smile vanished instantly.
Her eyes widened with confusion and hurt.
May you like
“My… my resignation?” she stammered, pulling back slightly.
“Are you firing me?”
