Chapter 3 - The Shadow of Sabotage
By midnight, the mansion was completely dark, except for the dim amber glow of the fireplace in my private library.
Sammy was fast asleep upstairs in the master guest suite—a room I had personally ordered Rebecca to move into immediately. No more maid's quarters for my brother's family. They were Caldwells, and as long as I had a breath left in my body, they would live like royalty.
Rebecca sat opposite me in a leather armchair, holding a steaming mug of tea, her eyes still red from crying.
"I took the job here three months ago under my maiden name," Rebecca explained quietly. "I needed to see what kind of man you were, Ethan. Julian loved you so much, but after your accident, the news said you had turned bitter, cruel, and cold. I was afraid to bring Sammy into your life if you were going to push him away."
"I was bitter," I admitted, looking down at my lifeless legs beneath the wool blanket. "I thought I had lost everything worth living for. I thought money was all I had left."
"And now?" she asked softly.
I looked toward the door leading up to the bedrooms. "Now I have a reason to fight."
I reached into my robe, pulled out my encrypted satellite phone, and dialed a private ten-digit number I hadn't called since the day I woke up in the intensive care unit.
It rang twice before a deep, calm voice answered.
"Ethan. I was wondering when you'd wake up from your nap."
The man on the other end was Victor Stone. He was a former military intelligence operative and the chief of my personal private security team—the only man in Chicago whose loyalty couldn't be bought for any amount of money.
"Victor," I said, my voice dropping into a cold, lethal steel. "I need you at the estate. Right now. Use the rear service gate. Tell no one."
There was a brief pause on the line. "You sound different, Boss."
"I am different. Bring the original accident report for my crash six months ago. And run a deep forensic audit on Dr. Harrison."
"Dr. Harrison?" Victor asked, surprised. "Your chief neurologist?"
"Just do it, Victor. And bring two armed men you trust with your life to guard the interior of the mansion. Rebecca and her son are staying here permanently. If a single stranger steps onto the lawn, shoot first."
"Understood, Boss. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
I ended the call and looked over at Rebecca. "Dr. Harrison was recommended to me by Marcus Vance two days after my crash. He’s been handling my physical therapy, my medication, and my nerve treatments ever since."
Rebecca’s eyes widened in horror. "Ethan... you don't think..."
"Marcus Vance tried to eliminate Julian nineteen years ago," I said, my teeth grinding together. "Six months ago, Julian died. Marcus must have realized that if Julian was dead, any secret wills or legal claims to Caldwell Enterprises might surface. So Marcus sabotaged my car to get rid of me, too. But I survived."
"So he put his own doctor in charge of your recovery," Rebecca whispered, her hands shaking so hard her tea spilled over the rim of her cup. "To make sure you never got better."
"To make sure I stayed helpless in this chair," I corrected, a dark, dangerous smile creeping across my lips. "To make sure I was too depressed, too drugged, and too broken to look into company finances or contest his takeover of Caldwell Enterprises."
Twenty minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the library opened, and Victor Stone walked in. He was a broad-shouldered man in his late forties with a military haircut and eyes that noticed everything. He carried a thick leather briefcase.
"Boss," Victor said, nodding to me, then offering a polite nod to Rebecca. "I brought the police reports from the crash six months ago, as requested."
"What did the official report say about the brake lines, Victor?" I asked.
Victor opened the file, his brow furrowing. "The police traffic unit concluded that the brake lines melted due to a high-speed fluid leak. They ruled it a mechanical failure."
"And who inspected the vehicle before the police arrived at the impound lot?" I pressed.
Victor flipped through two pages, then stopped. His eyes narrowed. "A private forensic team hired by Marcus Vance. They had exclusive access to the wreckage for four hours before the city investigators touched it."
A terrible, suffocating silence settled over the room.
"He cut them," I said quietly. "Marcus had his team sabotage the lines, then erased the evidence at the impound lot."
Victor closed the file with a heavy thud. His jaw tightened. "If Vance did this to you, Ethan, we can go to the federal prosecutor tomorrow morning."
"No," I said instantly, raising my hand. "We have no physical proof that would hold up in court against a billionaire like Marcus. The police report is signed. The evidence is destroyed. If we strike now, Marcus will use his influence to tie us up in litigation for years—or worse, he'll realize I know the truth and send professional hitmen to finish the job."
"So what do we do?" Rebecca asked, terror lacing her voice.
I looked down at my hands. For six months, I had been a victim. I had allowed despair to consume me while my enemies celebrated in my boardroom. But the blood of the Caldwells didn't run cold.
"We play his game," I said, my voice dripping with icy resolve. "Marcus thinks I'm a broken, depressed cripple who is ready to give up. Tomorrow, when Dr. Harrison arrives for my morning physical therapy session, we begin our trap."
May you like
"And what about Sammy?" Rebecca asked softly.
I looked at her, my expression softening. "Sammy is my nephew. He is the rightful heir to half of Caldwell Enterprises. I am going to protect him with everything I have. But first, I need to know if the legs every specialist said were dead... are actually broken, or just poisoned."
