Chapter 9
The boardroom of Valeon Financial Group was a fortress of glass and mahogany.
Suspended on the 84th floor, just below Ethan’s penthouse, the room was designed to intimidate. The table was carved from a single piece of dark oak. The chairs were black leather. The air was kept intentionally cold.
Today, the cold felt absolute.
Ethan pushed open the heavy glass doors. He wore a fresh black suit, his posture rigid, his face a mask of pure ice. The vulnerable boy who had cried in the lobby was gone.
The ruthless CEO had returned.
Twelve board members sat around the table. At the far end sat Marcus Vance, leaning back with an arrogant smirk.
“Ethan,” Marcus said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. “We didn’t expect you to leave your… family reunion.”
Ethan didn’t sit down. He stood at the head of the table, his eyes locking onto Marcus.
“Why was an emergency board meeting called without my authorization?” Ethan’s voice was dangerously low.
“Because the stock is tanking, Ethan!” shouted Eleanor Davies, one of the oldest investors. She threw a folder onto the table. “Our shares have dropped twelve percent since yesterday! The media is painting you as an unstable, emotional wreck who has been secretly obsessing over a dead woman for decades!”
“She is not dead,” Ethan replied coldly. “She is resting upstairs. And my personal life does not affect this company.”
Marcus stood up, resting his hands on the table.
“Doesn’t it?” Marcus asked, pulling out a remote and clicking a button.
The massive screen behind Ethan flickered to life.
It wasn't financial charts. It was a police report. A very old one. Dated twenty-four years ago.
“What is this, Marcus?” Ethan demanded, his fists clenching.
“I did some digging into that tragic fire, Ethan,” Marcus said smoothly. “The fire that supposedly separated you from your mother. But that’s not what the police suspected, is it?”
Marcus highlighted a section of the text on the screen.
“The report says the fire started inside your mother’s bedroom. Near a tipped-over whiskey bottle. The authorities didn't think she died trying to save you, Ethan. They thought she started the fire. And then ran away.”
The boardroom erupted into murmurs.
Ethan’s vision went red. He slammed his hands onto the oak table so hard the wood cracked. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Silence instantly fell over the room.
“My mother,” Ethan said, his voice shaking with a terrifying fury, “wrapped burning blankets around her own hands to pull me out of a collapsing building. She has the scars to prove it.”
“So she claims,” Marcus countered smoothly. “But the public sees a liability. A CEO blinded by trauma, handing over his fortune to an opportunistic old woman who scrubbed toilets yesterday. The board demands you step down temporarily. Pending a full psychiatric evaluation.”
Ethan stared at the men and women he had made rich. None of them met his eye. They were choosing money over loyalty.
“If anyone tries to remove me,” Ethan whispered, “I will burn this company to the ground and build a new one on your ashes.”
He turned and walked out.
But as the glass doors swung shut, Ethan felt a cold knot in his stomach. The police report. Why would they say the fire started in her room? His mother didn't drink.
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Someone had lied.
Twenty-four years ago, someone had intentionally tried to kill them.
