Chapter 3

Just as I got Caleb settled in his room, the doorbell chimed. A new player had entered the game. I left Caleb with a promise to return and went downstairs to face her.

Debra Clarkson swept into the foyer like a storm front, all sharp angles and expensive perfume. She was flanked by two assistants who looked like they ate nails for breakfast. She barely glanced at me.

"Where is he?" she demanded, her voice like gravel. "We have a fitting. I don't have all day."

Andrew and the girls scurried to her side like eager puppies.

"He's upstairs with his father," Andrew said smoothly. "Nathaniel just arrived."

Debra finally turned her cold eyes on me. A flicker of amusement crossed her face. "Ah, the retired genius. I hear the tech world has forgotten you. Can't secure any new deals from your little island, can you?"

She looked me up and down with disdain. "Your boy is damaged goods, Hughes. Frankly, he's an embarrassment. I'm doing you a favor by taking him off your hands."

I stared at her, my face a mask of stone.

"But a favor like this has a price," she continued, a cruel smirk on her lips. "I'll require a spousal support trust to be established in my name. Let's say... a nice round fifty million dollars. Consider it a fee for managing your family's little problem."

Jennifer nodded eagerly. "It's a very reasonable solution, Nathaniel. It protects the family's reputation."

"And it ensures Caleb is... cared for," Gabrielle added, as if the word left a bad taste in her mouth.

I was about to respond when Debra's gaze fell on Gabrielle. She reached out and slapped her hard across the face. The sound echoed in the cavernous hall.

"Don't speak unless I ask you a question, little girl," Debra snarled. "Do you think you have a place at this table? You're just the help."

Gabrielle burst into tears, clutching her red cheek. Andrew rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her.

"Debra, please," he said, his voice pleading. "She meant no harm. She's just trying to help." He shot me a look of pure hatred. "This is your fault! You're upsetting everyone! Caleb is a burden, and this is the only way to solve it!"

Debra's eyes narrowed, now fixed on me. "He's right. Your sentimentality is a liability. Your son is a mess, and I am his only way out. He will marry me, you will pay me, and this will all be over."

Her arrogance was breathtaking. It was also her biggest weakness. I felt a cold calm settle over me. She thought she was negotiating from a position of power. She had no idea about Aethelred Digital.

"No," I said, my voice quiet but firm.

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "What did you say?"

Suddenly, Caleb was there, at the top of the stairs. He must have heard the slap. He saw Debra's hand raised again, this time towards me.

"Don't you touch my father!" he yelled, his voice cracking but filled with a protective fire I hadn't heard in years. He started down the stairs, ignoring his limp.

Debra laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Look at the little broken toy, trying to be a hero."

She turned and slapped Caleb across the face.

The world went red.

I moved faster than I thought possible. I grabbed her wrist, my fingers digging into her flesh.

"You will never," I hissed, my face inches from hers, "touch my son again. If you do, I will not just bankrupt you. I will erase you."

She flinched, a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes for the first time. She tried to pull her wrist away, but my grip was iron.

"You abandoned him on this island of yours!" she spat, recovering her bravado. "You left him with these children. This is on you!"

Her words hit a nerve, a painful truth I couldn't deny. I had left him. I had failed him.

Just then, the doorbell rang again.

Andrew, seeing a chance to reassert control, strode to the door and threw it open.

"Finally," he announced with a grand flourish. "The new acquisitions have arrived."

Two men in uniforms from a high-end auction house stood there, with several large, covered objects on dollies behind them. My carefully laid trap was about to spring.

I subtly pulled out my phone and sent a single, pre-written text to my financial manager: Execute.