Chapter 4

The doctor' s face was grim. "Mr. Miller, you have a severe bleeding ulcer. The stress you're under is literally killing you. You need to be admitted. You need complete rest. Any more agitation could cause a perforation. Do you understand how serious that is?"

I understood. I also understood that rest was a luxury I couldn't afford. I signed the papers to discharge myself against medical advice, promising to take the medication and follow up.

The next few days were a blur of pain and isolation. The huge, empty house I had once shared with Sarah and Mia felt like a tomb. I spent Thanksgiving alone, eating a can of soup while staring at the phone, which never rang. Not once.

They didn't call. They didn't text. It was as if I had already ceased to exist.

The house was cold. I realized the heating was off. I went to the thermostat and saw it was broken. Sabotaged. The wires had been clipped. A petty, cruel act designed to make my solitary confinement even more miserable. It had Liam' s fingerprints all over it.

My phone rang, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought it might be Sarah. It was a video call from Liam. I answered.

His face filled the screen, grinning, a glass of champagne in his hand. The background was my parents' house, decorated for Christmas. A fire roared in the fireplace.

"Hey, bro!" he said, his voice loud. "Just wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving! We're all thinking of you!"

He panned the camera around the room. My mother was laughing. My father was carving a turkey. Sarah was sitting on the couch, her head resting on Liam's empty chair, a contented smile on her face. Mia was showing off a new dress to her grandmother. It was a perfect family portrait, and I was the only piece that had been cut out.

"Looks like you' re having fun," I said, my voice a dead monotone.

"We miss you, of course," he said, the lie rolling off his tongue. "But we have to keep our spirits up. By the way, how's the house? A little chilly?" He winked.

I just stared at him, my face a blank mask. I wouldn' t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Nothing to say? Well, gotta go. Sarah's calling me. Enjoy your soup!" He ended the call.

I dropped the phone on the table. The silence that followed was deafening. He had cut off my credit cards, too. I checked my account. Zero balance. Of course. They wanted me destitute and desperate before the press conference.

I was lying on the couch, a blanket wrapped around my shivering body, when the doorbell rang. I ignored it. It rang again, more insistent this time.

I dragged myself to the door and looked through the peephole. A woman in a simple coat stood on my porch, holding a large insulated bag. I didn't recognize her.

I opened the door a crack. "Can I help you?"

"Mr. Miller?" she asked, her voice gentle. "My name is Mrs. Gable. A... friend of yours was worried you weren't eating. She asked me to bring you this."

She held out the bag. The smell of hot food wafted from it-roast chicken, mashed potatoes, fresh bread. It was a Thanksgiving dinner.

"A friend?" I asked, confused.

"She wishes to remain anonymous," Mrs. Gable said with a kind smile. "She just said to tell you that not all debts are burdens. Some are investments in good people."

It was a phrase Eleanor Vance had used once. This was from her. A simple act of kindness from a near-stranger.

I took the bag. "Thank you," I managed to say.

As I closed the door, the unexpected warmth of the gesture, the simple human decency of it, broke through the wall of ice I had built around my heart. I set the bag on the kitchen counter, and the dam inside me finally burst. I leaned against the counter and wept. Not for them, not for what I had lost, but for the one small bit of compassion that had found its way into my cold, empty world.

When the tears stopped, I felt a new kind of resolve harden within me. They wanted to destroy Ethan Miller. Fine. But they had no idea what Elias Vance had in store for them.

"Eleanor," I said into the phone when she answered. "It's time. Let's burn it all down."

The next evening, I returned home to find the front door unlocked. A light was on in my office. My heart pounded. I crept to the door and saw Liam and Sarah inside. They were shredding documents, planting evidence. My evidence. They were setting the stage, making it look like I had tried to destroy proof of my own guilt.

I slipped away, my mind racing. I called security, the company' s internal team that still answered to me, for now.

"There's been a break-in at my house," I said. "Send a team. Now."

When I walked back into the house twenty minutes later, with two security guards behind me, I found my entire family waiting for me in the living room. They were arranged like a tribunal. Liam and Sarah stood together, looking grim. My parents sat on the couch, their faces etched with disappointment.

"Ethan, where have you been?" my father demanded.

Liam pointed to a beautiful, handcrafted wooden box on the coffee table. It was a gift from Eleanor, delivered that afternoon. "And what is this? Where did you get the money for something like this? Did you steal more from the company?"

Sarah stepped forward, her voice shaking with practiced rage. "I can't believe you, Ethan! After everything we are doing to protect you, you go out and spend money we don't have? On yourself? You are the most selfish man I have ever known!"