Chapter 4 - Point Blank
The cold muzzle of the silver pistol hovered mere inches from Ava's forehead, radiating a lethal stillness that made the surrounding air feel entirely frozen.
Ethan Morgan stood in the doorway of room 404, his tall frame tense and rigid, his dark eyes narrowing as he scanned every inch of her face through the dim hallway light.
For three agonizing seconds, neither of them spoke or moved, locked in a silent standoff where a single twitch of a finger could end everything.
Then, recognition flickered deep within Ethan's dark eyes, cutting through the fierce paranoia and protective instincts that had kept him alive on the streets for the past three months.
The heavy pistol began to tremble slightly in his grip, the iron-clad resolve in his expression fracturing into a wave of raw, unfiltered shock.
“Ava?” he whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood.
The weapon slowly lowered toward the floor, though he didn't put it away completely, keeping his stance defensively coiled.
Ava let out a ragged breath she didn't realize she had been holding, tears instantly blurring her vision as she looked at her long-lost brother face-to-face for the first time in fifteen years.
“Put the gun down, Ethan,” she pleaded, her voice barely audible over the hum of the overhead fluorescent light. “Please.”
Ethan stared at her as if she were a ghost conjured up by his own guilt-ridden mind, stepping backward into the dimly lit loft apartment.
“How did you find me?” he demanded, his voice hardening again as old fears rushed back to the surface. “Did Richard send you? Is that why you're standing in my hallway with clean shoes and blood money on your breath?”
“He didn't send me to protect him,” Ava said quickly, stepping past the threshold into the dusty loft before he could slam the door in her face. “He sent me to kill you.”
Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, a humorless, chilling smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Of course he did,” Ethan muttered bitterly, tossing the pistol onto a cluttered wooden table littered with notebooks, newspaper clippings, and financial printouts. “The great Richard Morgan never leaves loose ends. Especially not a son who knows where the bodies are buried.”
Ava shut the heavy door behind her, locking it automatically before turning to survey the cramped, chaotic space.
The walls were covered in a sprawling web of corkboards, red yarn connecting old newspaper articles about their mother’s tragic death, corporate bank statements dating back fifteen years, and grainy surveillance photographs of their father entering secure offshore banking facilities.
It looked less like a temporary home and more like the war room of a man obsessed with a single, consuming vengeance.
“When Dad brought me into his study tonight, he showed me your picture,” Ava said, stepping further into the room and keeping her eyes locked on her brother. “He told me you were alive. He told me you knew something about the night our mother died.”
Ethan turned around sharply, his face twisting into an expression of profound anger and disbelief.
“He told you that I knew something?” Ethan spat out, stepping closer until he towered over her. “Ava, our father didn't just have something to do with our mother's death—he murdered her with his own hands. And he tried to kill me that exact same night when I walked in on them in the study.”
The words hit Ava like a physical blow to the stomach, knocking the wind completely out of her lungs.
“That's impossible,” Ava whispered, shaking her head frantically as she backed up against a bookshelf. “Mom died in a tragic house fire fifteen years ago. The police report concluded it was an electrical fault in the library.”
“It wasn't an electrical fault, and it wasn't an accident,” Ethan shouted, his voice echoing off the concrete walls with terrifying conviction. “I saw him push her down the marble staircase after she threatened to expose his embezzlement and his illegal shell companies to the federal authorities. When he saw me standing at the top of the stairs, he didn't comfort me—he looked at me like an executioner looking at his next victim.”
Ava stared at her brother, her mind spinning wildly as the foundation of everything she had believed for her entire life began to crumble into dust.
“If what you're saying is true... why didn't you go to the police back then?” Ava asked, her voice trembling violently. “Why did you run away and hide for fifteen years?”
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Ethan let out a harsh, agonizing laugh, walking over to the window and pulling the dirty blind back slightly to peer down at the street below.
“Because a twelve-year-old boy trying to accuse one of the most powerful and feared billionaires in the country of murder is a death sentence, Ava,” Ethan said quietly, turning back to face her with eyes full of sorrow. “And tonight, your presence here proves that I was right all along.”
