Chapter 3 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
Ethan took the tarnished watch from the boy’s trembling hands.
He recognized it instantly.
It was the watch his grandfather had worn every day until he died. The watch that had supposedly been lost in the ambulance.
Ethan pried the back casing open.
The inscription was still there, but it wasn’t a date or a quote.
It was a bank account number.
“Sloane’s family didn’t just steal his patent,” Margaret said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “They drained his initial investments. They used that money to build the Mercer empire, while your grandfather spent years fighting his way back from bankruptcy.”
Ethan slowly closed the watch.
The click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
He looked at Sloane.
She wasn’t the woman he had loved. She was a corporate assassin, sent to tie up the final loose end of a fifty-year-old crime.
“You didn’t want to marry me,” Ethan realized, the betrayal twisting in his chest. “You wanted to merge our companies so the Vale assets would legally cover up your family’s theft.”
“Ethan, please,” Sloane begged, tears finally spilling over her mascara. “My father forced me into this. Our company is drowning in debt. If this comes out, we lose everything!”
“You already have,” Ethan said coldly.
He signaled his security chief. “Call the police. I want her arrested for extortion, theft, and corporate fraud.”
“Wait!” Sloane screamed as the guards took her arms. “Ethan, you don’t have the painting! Without the original canvas, those letters are just circumstantial evidence!”
Ethan froze.
“Where is the painting, Sloane?”
She smiled bitterly through her tears.
“My father took it yesterday. It’s already on a private jet to Zurich. You’ll never see it again.”
As the guards dragged Sloane out of the gallery, the remaining guests began to quickly filter out, desperate to avoid the impending scandal.
Ethan stood alone in the center of the room with Margaret and the terrified boy, Leo.
“She’s right,” Ethan said, his voice hollowing out. “If Richard Mercer destroys that painting, my grandfather’s legacy is erased.”
Margaret sighed, reaching into her purse once more.
“Richard Mercer is a greedy man, Ethan. But he is also a predictable one.”
She pulled out a crumpled boarding pass and handed it to Ethan.
“He isn’t going to Zurich,” Margaret said. “He’s going to Chicago. Tonight.”
Ethan looked at the boarding pass. It belonged to Richard Mercer.
“How did you get this?”
Margaret looked toward the gallery’s back exit.
“Because Richard didn’t steal the painting himself. He hired someone to move it.”
A figure stepped out from the shadows of the hallway.
It was a man in his late fifties, wearing a sharp grey suit.
He walked slowly, relying on a wooden cane.
Ethan felt his breath catch in his throat.
“Uncle David?” Ethan whispered.
The man who had raised Ethan after his parents died. The man who sat on the Vale corporate board.
David wouldn’t meet Ethan’s eyes.
May you like
He simply dropped a heavy velvet bag onto the floor.
“I’m sorry, Ethan,” David rasped. “But if you open that bag, this family is going to war.”
