THE BLOOD ON THE IMPERIAL BOARDROOM
The high-pitched ringing in Ethan Parker’s ears didn’t stop when the phone screen timed out and turned black.
He sat frozen on the concrete floor of the financial district, his custom-tailored grey suit soaking up the dirt of the street and the drying blood of his only son. Noah’s weight in his arms felt impossibly heavy, a devastating anchor pulling the billionaire down into a dark, hollow abyss he had spent forty years running away from. Paramedics were already sprinting toward them, their heavy boots thudding against the pavement, their voices shouting clinical terms that Ethan’s brilliant, calculating mind simply refused to process.
“Sir, you need to let us through,” a paramedic said gently but firmly, placing a hand on Ethan’s shoulder.
Ethan didn't move. His jaw was locked so tightly his teeth threatened to crack. It was Lily who pulled him back, her fingers slick with tears and blood as she wrapped her arms around his chest. “Ethan, let them save him. Please. Let them take him.”
The moment Noah was lifted onto the gurney, Ethan’s hand snapped out like a mechanical vice, snatching his phone off the asphalt. He stood up slowly, his tall frame towering over the gathering crowd of onlookers and paparazzi who were already snapping photos of the fallen prince of Parker Industries. He didn't look at the cameras. He looked at the message text.
“The board meeting has been rescheduled, Ethan. The boy was just the first payment for your silence.”
The phone number was heavily encrypted, routing through three separate offshore servers in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands. But Ethan didn't need a digital trace to know who had pulled the trigger. There was only one man who knew the exact timing of Noah's morning walk from his downtown apartment. There was only one man who stood to inherit the entire multi-billion-dollar energy conglomerate if Ethan was forced out of the voting chair at the noon board meeting.
Thomas Vance. Ethan’s brother-in-law. The executive vice president who had spent the last five years quietly buying out minority shareholders with dirty money funneled from a shadow cartel in Eastern Europe.
"Lily," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a flat, freezing current that made the young woman shudder. "Get in the ambulance with Noah. Do not leave his side. If anyone besides Dr. Ross tries to enter his recovery room, you tell the security detail I personally authorized them to use lethal force."
"Ethan, where are you going?" Lily cried, clutching the blood-stained cream cardigan against her chest. "You can't go to the tower. They're waiting for you!"
"No," Ethan whispered, his eyes turning into two pieces of polished gray steel as he looked up at the glass monolith of Parker Industries rising sixty stories into the Chicago sky. "They are waiting for a broken father. They have no idea what is coming up that elevator."
He turned on his heel, walking past his private driver who stood trembling by the open door of the Mercedes. Ethan didn't get into the back seat. He stepped into the driver’s seat himself, slammed the door, and threw the vehicle into gear. The sports sedan roared to life, tearing through the afternoon traffic with a lethal, uncoordinated violence.
When Ethan threw open the heavy mahogany doors of the penthouse boardroom on the sixtieth floor, the room was suffocatingly quiet. Twelve board members sat around a polished obsidian conference table, holding crystal glasses of scotch. At the head of the table sat Thomas Vance, his dark blue tie perfectly knotted, a smug, relaxed smile spread across his handsome, middle-aged face.
"Ethan," Thomas cooed, leaning back in his leather throne. "We heard there was a... tragic accident downtown. We were just about to vote to postpone the acquisition in your honor. You shouldn't be here."
Ethan walked to the center of the room. He didn't scream. He didn't throw a fist. He simply pulled his phone out, connected it to the boardroom’s massive digital presentation screen, and pressed play.
The aerial surveillance video of Noah being pushed to his death filled the room in blinding high-definition. The board members gasped, several of them putting down their drinks as the dark, ugly reality of the assassination filled the sterile space.
"That's a terrible piece of footage, Ethan," Thomas said, his smile thinning but his voice remaining steady. "But it shows a man in a generic suit. It doesn't prove anything. And frankly, your emotional state makes you completely unfit to lead this vote."
"I didn't bring the video to convince the board, Thomas," Ethan said, walking slowly toward the head of the table. He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a thick, sealed manila folder, and dropped it onto the obsidian glass right in front of his brother-in-law.
May you like
The folder split open. Inside were three decades' worth of transaction ledgers from the global DNA registry, bank wire transfers, and a copy of a birth certificate from a private clinic in Munich dated twenty-four years ago.
Thomas looked down at the papers, and for the first time all day, his eyes widened in pure, unadulterated terror.
