Chapter 6 - Dawn at Hawthorne Ridge
The pale morning light of Thursday broke over the rolling hills of Hawthorne Ridge, casting long, fractured shadows across the bedroom floor where Ethan and I stood getting dressed in dead silence. My fingers fumbled slightly with the buttons of my dark maternity blazer, my reflection in the mirror showing pale skin and dark circles under my eyes, but my posture was straight and unyielding. Downstairs, the low rumble of Ethan’s car engine idling in the driveway reminded us that reality was waiting outside, unforgiving and dangerous.
Ethan walked into the bedroom wearing a freshly pressed charcoal suit that actually fit his broad shoulders, looking every bit the rightful heir of a multi-national defense empire rather than a ghost returning from a war zone.
—You’re certain you want to come to the headquarters, Claire? he asked softly, resting his hands gently on my shoulders as he looked at me in the mirror. You can stay here with Arthur; it’s going to be hostile in that boardroom.
I turned around to face him, placing my hands against his chest to feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath his shirt.
—Margaret tried to burn me with an iron in my own dining room to steal my daughter, Ethan, I said, my voice steady and cold. I am not hiding in the nursery while she and her lapdogs try to finish what she started.
Ethan held my gaze for a long moment, searching my face before giving a slow, respectful nod of his head.
—Let’s go take our company back, then, he said, kissing my forehead gently.
The drive to Hawthorne Defense Components headquarters was quiet, the modern glass-and-steel monolith looming against the clear morning sky like an impenetrable fortress of corporate power. When Ethan pulled his sedan into the executive parking lot, a small cluster of reporters and local news vans had already gathered near the main entrance, tipped off by police scanners about Margaret’s dramatic arrest the previous afternoon. Flashbulbs went off like lightning as we stepped out of the car, the harsh white light blinding me momentarily before Ethan looped his arm securely around my waist, guiding me past the shouting crowd of journalists toward the glass revolving doors.
—Mr. Hawthorne! Is it true your mother forged your death certificate?
—Mrs. Hawthorne, did you sign the custody papers under duress?
Ethan ignored the barrage of questions, using his size and steady stride to shield me from the rushing reporters as security guards hastily unlocked the glass doors and slammed them shut behind us. We stepped into the soaring, marble-tiled lobby, where the air smelled of expensive coffee and corporate intimidation, and walked straight toward the private executive elevators that led to the top-floor boardroom.
Arthur Vance was waiting for us by the elevator banks, tapping his foot nervously against the marble floor while clutching a thick stack of blue-backed legal briefs.
May you like
—You made it, Vance breathed a sigh of relief as we approached. Sterling just arrived five minutes ago with three corporate attorneys. They’re locking down the boardroom right now to draft an emergency motion bypassing the shareholder vote entirely.
—Not if we walk through that door first, Ethan replied, pressing the elevator call button with a firm thumb. Let’s go pay our general counsel a visit.
