Chapter 3 - Bloodline and Deceit
Ten minutes later, the blue and red lights of local and state police cruisers illuminated the long, winding drive of Vance Manor. Rain poured down in sheets, washing the blood from the front steps where two of Julian Sinclair's hired enforcers sat in handcuffs, surrounded by tactical officers.
Inside the library, the fire crackled warmly, but the atmosphere was ice-cold.
Ethan stood by the tall arched window, his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a white bandage wrapped tightly around his left forearm where a glass shard had cut him. Across the room, little Leo was fast asleep in a portable bassinet, guarded by two private security officers Ethan had summoned from his private firm.
Clara sat on the leather sofa, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea that had long since gone cold. She stared down at the floor, unable to meet Ethan's intense, penetrating gaze.
"The Sinclairs are in federal custody," Ethan said quietly, his voice dangerously calm as he turned to face her. "Victoria was picked up by state troopers three miles down the highway. She had three passports and two million dollars in bearer bonds in her trunk."
Clara remained silent, her shoulders trembling.
Ethan walked over, pulled a chair across from her, and sat down. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Julian Sinclair called you Clara Sterling before my security team dragged him out. My father’s original business partner was Arthur Sterling. He died in a mysterious plane crash eight years ago, and his entire estate vanished overnight."
He reached out, gently placing two fingers under Clara’s chin and lifting her face so her tear-streaked eyes met his. "Arthur Sterling had one daughter. She disappeared a year after his death. Clara... who are you?"
Tears spilled over Clara’s eyelashes, tracking through the dust on her cheeks. "My name is Clara Sterling," she admitted, her voice cracking. "Arthur Sterling was my father."
Ethan closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, heavy breath. "Why would Arthur Sterling's daughter be cleaning my floors for minimum wage?"
"Because your father didn't just lose my father’s shares after he died," Clara whispered, her hands gripping the tea mug so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Your father was murdered by the Sinclairs! And they framed my father for corporate treason before killing him too!"
Ethan stiffened. "What are you talking about? My father died of a heart attack seven years ago!"
"It wasn't a heart attack, Ethan," Clara said fiercely, her eyes blazing with raw truth. "I was there that night. I was nineteen years old. I was hiding in the study at the Sterling estate when Richard Sinclair—Victoria's father—walked in with a vial of digitalis. I watched him force your father to sign over the controlling interest of the harbor terminals before they injected him!"
She took a shaky breath, leaning closer to Ethan. "I fled the country that night because the Sinclairs put a hit out on me. I spent six years hiding in Europe under false names. But a year ago, I found out Victoria Sinclair was getting close to you. I knew what she was going to do to you and Leo. She was going to do the exact same thing her father did to ours. I couldn't let them destroy the last piece of my father’s legacy. I came here as a maid to protect you."
Ethan stared at her, the shock visible on his sharp, masculine features. The puzzle pieces of his past—the sudden deaths, the aggressive corporate takeover by Sinclair Global, Victoria's strange insistence on managing the family trust—instantly fell into place.
"You came here to protect us..." Ethan murmured, looking from Clara to the sleeping baby in the bassinet.
"I didn't know Victoria would go so far as to hurt Leo," Clara sobbed, covering her face. "I'm so sorry, Ethan. I should have told you the truth from day one."
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Ethan stood up, walked over to the sofa, and sat right beside her. Without a word, he wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders and pulled her close against his chest.
"You saved my son's life tonight, Clara," Ethan whispered into her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "You stood between a scalding iron and my baby. You don't ever have to apologize to me again."
