Chapter 7 - THE SMOKING GUN IN THE FALSE BOTTOM
Ethan released Marcus’s collar with a look of utter disgust, letting the older man collapse back onto the cushions like a broken marionette. Without wasting a single second, Ethan strode across the marble-tiled room to the mahogany desk, pulled open the top drawer, and jammed his fingers against the wooden side panel.
With a faint mechanical click, a false bottom sprang open, revealing a sleek black metal thumb drive resting on a piece of black velvet.
Ethan picked it up, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle ticked visibly in his cheek.
“Is that it?” I asked, walking over to stand beside him, keeping a cautious eye on Marcus, who was now weeping softly into his hands.
“This is it,” Ethan said, slipping the drive into his pocket. “Every transaction record, every text exchange, and an unedited audio recording of Richard Hayes dictating the forged letter step-by-step.”
Marcus looked up, his eyes bloodshot and desperate. “Mr. Blackwood... Ethan... please. You got what you wanted. You have the proof. Don't ruin me. I did what I was told under duress!”
“You ruined two and a half years of an innocent woman’s life, and you robbed a father of his son’s first steps, his first words, and every single moment of his infancy,” Ethan said, his voice completely devoid of mercy. “Duress doesn't excuse treason, Marcus. My security team is waiting outside. You can explain your definition of duress to the federal prosecutor.”
Before Marcus could scream or plead further, two of Ethan’s private security guards stepped into the foyer, their dark suits and stoic expressions leaving zero room for negotiation.
“Take him to the private airstrip and lock him in the secure holding cabin,” Ethan ordered crisply. “We’re flying straight back to Manhattan. We have an annual shareholder meeting starting at noon, and Richard Hayes is about to receive a very unpleasant surprise.”
As the guards escorted a sobbing Marcus out to the Maybach, Ethan turned to me, the harsh, unforgiving lines of his face softening instantly as his eyes met mine.
“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my cheek gently, lingering for a moment.
“I’m better than okay,” I said, looking up into those familiar green eyes that now held no shadows of doubt or regret. “I’m ready to end this.”
We walked out to the waiting car just as the Florida sun crested the horizon, painting the coastal landscape in brilliant shades of gold and orange. Leo was still fast asleep in his car seat inside the vehicle, stirring slightly as the door opened, letting out a soft yawn before settling back into his peaceful dream.
As the Maybach sped back toward the private airfield, Ethan pulled out his laptop once more, plugging in the black thumb drive. The audio file popped up immediately on the screen.
With a single click, Richard Hayes’s smooth, arrogant voice filled the quiet cabin of the car.
“Make sure the handwriting matches his old college journals, Marcus. If Sarah suspects for a second that this came from outside, the whole house of cards falls down. Once she’s out of the penthouse, cut all her communication lines and make sure she never crosses paths with Ethan again. My daughter is marrying into Blackwood Holdings, and no common designer is going to stand in our way.”
I closed my eyes as the recording played, feeling a strange mixture of vindication and profound sadness for the years we could never get back. But looking at Ethan, and then back at our son resting safely in my arms, I knew the past was gone—and the future belonged entirely to us.
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“The annual shareholder meeting is in four hours,” Ethan said, his fingers resting on the enter key. “Richard Hayes is going to chair it, expecting to celebrate his corporate victory and his daughter's high-society wedding.”
“And instead,” I smiled, a fierce, determined spark lighting up inside me, “he’s going to find out who really runs Blackwood Holdings.”
