Chapter 5 - The Basement Interrogation and the New Dawn
The concrete walls of the Blackwood Estate basement holding cells dripped with condensation, the air smelling of rust, old dampness, and suppressed terror.
Victor Vance sat strapped to a heavy steel chair, his expensive Italian suit torn and stained with dirt, his face bruised and swollen from the rapid, efficient interrogation conducted by Harold and the security team three hours prior.
The heavy iron door swung open with a loud, grinding screech.
Ethan Blackwood walked down the concrete steps, his tall frame cutting an imposing figure in the dim fluorescent light.
He wore a fresh black dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his dark gaze fixed entirely on the man who had tried to kill him and ruined the woman he loved.
Victor lifted his head, his eyes wide and bloodshot, trembling as Ethan stopped two feet away from him.
“Ethan,” Victor croaked, his voice cracking.
“Look... we can talk about this. The shipping routes, the board seats... we can split the profits—!”
Ethan raised a single hand, silencing him instantly.
“You planted a bomb under my Bentley, Victor,” Ethan said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“You terrorized my city. And six years ago, you framed an innocent woman for corporate theft and drove her into hiding.”
Victor swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead.
“She... she was just a loose end—!”
“She is the mother of my child,” Ethan interrupted, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper that made the hairs on the back of Victor’s neck stand up.
“And that is a very, very expensive mistake.”
Ethan turned his head slightly toward the shadows near the stairs.
“Harold,” Ethan called out.
“Sir?” the head of household stepped forward, holding a thick manila folder and a sleek digital tablet.
“Send the complete dossier on Victor Vance’s illegal offshore accounts, tax evasion schemes, and federal securities violations to the U.S. Attorney’s office in Manhattan,” Ethan instructed coldly.
“And make sure the federal marshals pick him up at our front gate before breakfast. I want him tried in federal court where he will spend the rest of his natural life staring at gray concrete walls.”
“Yes, sir,” Harold nodded, tapping his tablet to execute the transfer.
Victor let out a desperate, strangled cry.
“No! Not federal prison! Ethan, please! Just put a bullet in my head, don't send me there—!”
“A bullet would be too merciful, Victor,” Ethan replied without even looking back as he turned and walked toward the stairs.
“You’re going to spend decades contemplating the true cost of crossing Blackwood Estate.”
Ethan climbed the concrete steps, leaving the screams of the broken syndicate traitor echoing behind him in the dark.
He pushed open the heavy iron door, stepping out into the bright, crisp morning air of the estate grounds.
The storm was entirely gone.
The sun was shining brilliantly overhead, melting the remaining slush along the heated driveways of Blackwood Estate.
Ethan walked across the courtyard toward the private east wing clinic.
He pushed open the double doors, walking quietly down the sterile hallway until he reached the guest suite.
Inside, the door was cracked open.
Ethan peeked inside.
Elena was propped up against the pillows, looking significantly healthier with a hint of natural color returning to her cheeks, while Emma sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, showing her mother a colorful drawing she had just made with a fresh box of crayons.
Emma looked up, spotting Ethan standing in the doorway.
Her face lit up with a brilliant, gap-toothed smile.
“Mister Blackwood!” she chirped cheerfully.
“Look! I drew a picture of our new house!”
Ethan walked into the room, stepping up to the side of the bed.
He looked down at the drawing—a crude, beautiful depiction of a grand estate with a little girl standing proudly in the doorway beside a tall man and a smiling woman.
Ethan knelt down, looking from the drawing to Emma, and then to Elena, whose pale blue eyes were shining with unshed tears of pure happiness.
“It’s a masterpiece, Emma,” Ethan said, his voice thick with emotion.
“And you know what?”
“What?” she asked.
May you like
Ethan reached out, gently taking Elena’s hand in his while resting his other hand over Emma’s small shoulder.
“We’re never going to leave this house again.”
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