My eight-year-old son was nearly beaten to death in his grandfather’s driveway while three grown men held him down and laughed.

The quiet suburban hospital room was bathed in the soft, warm light of the early morning sun.

The heavy rain that had fallen over Los Angeles during the night had passed, leaving bright blue skies and the crisp scent of pine outside the window.

I sat in the armchair beside Jake's hospital bed, wearing a clean denim shirt and dark jeans. The tactical gear, the weapons, and the encrypted phones were gone—dismantled and disposed of by Black Horizon three hours ago.

Jake was sitting up against his pillows, a small plastic bowl of strawberry gelatin resting on his lap.

The swelling on his face had decreased significantly thanks to the overnight medications. His left eye was open now, though still bruised, looking at me with warmth and trust.

"Daddy?" Jake asked softly, taking a small bite of his gelatin.

"Yeah, buddy?" I smiled, leaning forward to brush a lock of blonde hair from his forehead.

"Where is Mommy?" he asked quietly, his lower lip trembling slightly. "Is she mad at me?"

My heart ached for him, but my voice remained steady and reassuring. "Mommy isn't here, Jake. She's... taking some time away to think about things."

Earlier that morning, Sarah had tried to enter the hospital room accompanied by two high-priced family lawyers. But my legal team—backed by the Vance family's newly transferred corporate assets—had already served her with full emergency divorce papers and a temporary restraining order issued by a federal judge.

When Sarah learned that her father's empire was gone, that her brothers were being held in federal custody on child abuse and racketeering charges, her arrogant mask had shattered completely. She had wept in the hospital lobby, begging to speak to me, but I hadn't even looked at her.

She had chosen her family's cruelty over her son's life. And now she had neither.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

The hospital room door opened gently, and a tall man in a sharp charcoal suit stepped inside, holding a leather briefcase.

It was Miller, dressed impeccably as a senior corporate attorney.

"Mr. Davis," Miller said, nodding respectfully toward me before smiling warmly at Jake. "Good morning, young man. How are you feeling today?"

"Better," Jake smiled shyly. "My head doesn't hurt as much."

"That's great news," Miller said. He walked over to my chair and handed me a quiet leather folder. "The transition is complete, Mark. All Vance Enterprises assets have been restructured under the 'Jake Davis Foundation.' The board of directors has been replaced with independent trustees."

I opened the folder, reviewing the legal seals. "And the criminal charges?"

"Arthur Vance, Brian Vance, and Scott Vance were formally indicted an hour ago," Miller reported smoothly. "Given the forensic medical evidence from the ICU and the financial fraud dossiers provided to the Department of Justice, bail has been denied. They are looking at fifteen to twenty years in federal prison."

I closed the folder with a quiet sigh of relief.

"Is the team secure?" I asked softly so Jake wouldn't hear.

"Black Horizon has already exfiltrated the country," Miller whispered back with a quiet smile. "We were never here, Ghost."

Miller leaned down, shaking Jake's tiny hand gently. "You take care of your dad, okay, Jake? He's a very special man."

"I will," Jake promised proudly.

Miller gave me a final nod, turned, and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

I looked back at my son, reaching out to cup his cheek gently. "How about when the doctors let us go home tomorrow, we pack up the fishing gear and head up to the mountain lake for a few weeks?"