Chapter 17 - Margaret's Desperate Play
Claire didn't pull away immediately.
Her fingers twitched against her sides, hovering over my hair as if an old, forgotten instinct urged her to comfort me. But the scars of nine years were too deep to heal in a single afternoon. After a long, agonizing moment, her hands rested gently on my shoulders, pushing me back—not with anger, but with boundaries.
"Don't do this on your knees, Ethan," she whispered, her voice rough with emotion. "Get up."
I stood up slowly, wiping the dampness from my face, feeling the cold weight of reality settle back over us.
Before either of us could say another word, my phone vibrated violently against my hip.
It was Marcus Cole.
I answered it, stepping toward the window that overlooked the snowy courtyard. "What is it, Marcus?"
"Ethan, Margaret is moving again," Marcus’s voice was taut with urgency. "She left the Daley Center and went straight to the Whitmore Tower. She called an emergency session of the Board of Trustees for six o'clock tonight."
I checked my watch. It was 4:45 PM.
"On what grounds?" I demanded.
"Article IV of the corporate charter," Marcus explained. "Moral turpitude and executive instability. She’s claiming that your public scene at the Palmer House, followed by the scandal at the Daley Center and the altercation at St. Jude’s Elementary, has created an existential public relations crisis for Whitmore Industries. She has the proxy votes of the European institutional investors."
My mother was going for the jugular.
If she could strip me of the CEO position, she would regain control of the corporate trusts, the real estate holding companies, and the billions of dollars that funded our empire. She would leave me powerless to protect Claire and the boys from endless legal attrition.
"She doesn't have the majority," I said through gritted teeth.
"She does, Ethan," Marcus countered grimly. "Arthur Sterling spent the last three hours calling the conservative board members. The stock dropped four percent at the closing bell because of the press rumors about secret triplets. The board is terrified of a messy paternity scandal."
"Let them be terrified," I said, my voice hardening into steel. "Order my helicopter to the rooftop pad at the tower. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
I hung up and turned back to Claire.
She had heard every word. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest, the old fear flickering back into her eyes.
"She’s trying to take your company," Claire said.
"She’s trying to take away my ability to protect you," I corrected. "I have to go to the tower, Claire. I have to finish this."
"Ethan, wait," she said, taking a step toward me.
She looked up at the ceiling, where the faint sound of our three sons laughing in their new bedrooms drifted down the stairwell.
"Don't let her win," Claire whispered, her hazel eyes meeting mine with an intensity that took my breath away. "Not this time."
A fierce, protective warmth bloomed behind my ribs. "She won't win, Claire. Not ever again."
I hurried to the front door, slipping into my fresh coat that Thomas had retrieved from the car. Before I stepped out into the falling snow, I turned back one last time.
"There's food in the pantry. The security detail outside has strict orders not to let anyone through the gate without your permission. I will be back before the boys go to sleep."
"Ethan," she called out just as my hand touched the brass handle.
I turned.
"Be careful," she said softly.
May you like
It was the first time in nine years she had cared whether I came home.
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