Chapter 2 - The Ghost At The Perimeter
Julian Sterling marched onto the terrace with the furious stride of a man accustomed to absolute obedience.
He held a silver cigar clipper in his hand, flicking it open and shut with a rhythmic, metallic snap.
"If those brats ruined Clara’s custom train, I will personally throw their legal paperwork into the harbor," Julian snapped into his phone headset.
"Find them before Clara finishes her makeup, or none of you gets your bonus checks tonight," he barked at the two guards.
The guards split up, jogging toward the manicured rose gardens that sloped down to the cliffs.
Julian took two aggressive strides toward the low stone wall overlooking the ocean to light his Cuban cigar.
Then his eyes drifted toward the lone patron sitting at Table Four.
The lighter stopped an inch from the tip of the unlit cigar.
The flame flickered against Julian’s suddenly pale skin as the seaside wind whistled through the terrace columns.
Julian’s eyes narrowed into slits of disbelief, disbelief giving way to primal shock.
"Ethan?" Julian breathed, the lighter snapping shut with a dull thud.
Ethan slowly raised his head, letting his eyes lock onto the man who had stolen his family name and assets.
Ethan did not flinch, nor did he offer a welcoming smile.
"Julian," Ethan replied casually, taking a deliberate sip of his lukewarm coffee.
Julian took a step back, his designer leather shoes slipping slightly on the slick marble.
"You're dead," Julian whispered, glancing frantically toward the empty courtyard behind him.
"The board declared you deceased three years ago when the search team found your raft off the Oregon cape," Julian stammered.
"Paperwork has a funny way of lying when the people filing it stand to inherit forty million dollars in liquid shares," Ethan answered quietly.
Underneath the table cloth, Ethan felt four small hands gripping his trouser legs with agonizing strength.
The oldest girl was breathing so shallowly he could feel the faint warmth of her breath radiating through the fabric.
Julian adjusted his cuff links, attempting to regain his aristocratic composure, though a bead of sweat now glistened at his hairline.
"You shouldn't be here, Ethan," Julian said, his voice dropping into a harsh, predatory hiss.
"This is private property today, reserved for the union of the Sterling and Davenport families."
"I don't care about your wedding, Julian," Ethan replied coldly.
"I’m having coffee before I head north."
"Then finish it and leave through the back delivery gate," Julian warned, taking a threatening step closer to the table.
Ethan did not budge an inch, his heavy frame anchoring the chair directly against the table drape.
"Still ordering people around like you built this world with your own hands?" Ethan remarked calmly.
Julian’s jaw twitched, a vein bulging beside his manicured temple.
"I built everything you abandoned," Julian sneered, leaning over the table just inches from Ethan’s face.
"Your father’s foundation, the shipping contracts, the Hampton estates—they all answer to me now."
"And Clara Davenport is wearing the heirloom emeralds your mother wore on her wedding day," Julian whispered with cruel delight.
Underneath the cloth, the youngest girl let out a tiny, involuntary hiccup.
Julian froze instantly, his eyes darting downward toward the heavy white tablecloth hanging between Ethan’s knees.
"What was that?" Julian demanded, his eyebrows shooting up in suspicion.
Ethan casually dropped his silver spoon, letting it clatter loudly against the marble tile right by Julian’s shiny shoe.
"Nervous, Julian?" Ethan asked, staring right into Julian’s eyes without breaking contact.
"You used to jump at shadows when we were boys, too."
Julian glared at the fallen spoon, his chest heaving under his silk vest.
Before Julian could reach down to inspect the linen, the ballroom doors swung open violently.
A frantic woman in a champagne-colored bridesmaid gown ran out onto the terrace, waving a diamond-encrusted compact.
"Julian! Clara is having a complete breakdown in the presidential suite!" the woman screamed.
"The photographer needs the family portraits done right now, and the flower girls haven't been dressed in their pearls yet!"
Julian shot one last murderous glare at Ethan, pointing a manicured finger at his chest.
"If I see your face when the doors open for the bridal march, Ethan, my security team won't just escort you out."
"They will ensure you disappear for good this time."
Julian spun on his heel and rushed back into the ballroom, the heavy glass doors slamming shut behind him.
The terrace fell deathly silent again, except for the crashing waves below.
Ethan looked down between his knees and pulled back the thick cloth.
"He's gone for now," Ethan whispered.
Four pale little faces looked up at him from the darkness, their eyes wide with awe and absolute desperation.
The oldest girl crawled forward slightly, her knuckles white as she reached into the hidden lining of her organza petticoat.
"He’s not our family," she sobbed softly.
May you like
She pulled out an old smartphone with a severely spider-webbed screen and pushed it into Ethan's open palm.
"Our mom said if anything happened to her at this hotel, we had to find Ethan Vance."
