Save the man who raised him, or secure the fortune.
He pressed the power button.
The phone went dark.
Then he placed it in the bottom drawer of the credenza.
“Okay,” Ethan whispered. “We wait.”
Something inside me broke forever.
The love I had carried for that boy turned to ash.
He was not just a victim of Margaret’s lies.
He was willing to let me die.
They stood around my body, preparing their story. Madison opened the binder.
“Ethan, date his signature here. Use the blue pen.”
I waited until he uncapped it.
Then I inhaled violently, coughed, and rolled onto my back.
The silence was absolute.
Three people stared down at me as if hell had opened under their feet.
“What happened?” I rasped, pretending to be confused.
Margaret recovered first. She threw herself beside me.
“Charles! Thank God! You collapsed. We were just about to call an ambulance!”
“Of course I’m alive,” I muttered. “Takes more than a dizzy spell to bury me.”
They helped me to the sofa, their eyes darting to one another in panic.
“This scare made me realize something,” I said weakly. “Life is fragile.”
“Dad, you should rest,” Ethan said, pale and shaking.
“No. Next week is our fortieth wedding anniversary. I rented the grand ballroom at The Langham. I’m launching the Whitman Family Foundation. I want everyone there—the board, the politicians, our friends. Pastor Daniel too.”
I looked directly at Margaret.
