Not revenge.
Ground.
The company was next.
Years earlier, when Ethan’s logistics business had been close to failing, I bought fifty-one percent of the common shares in exchange for the cash infusion and restructuring work that kept it alive. Ethan remained chief executive because I had trusted him and because I did not want to run a trucking-and-distribution company forever.
The stock had never changed hands.
I still controlled the vote.
Mara had already contacted corporate counsel.
“Do not fire him from a hospital bed,” she said.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I was thinking many things.”
“Good. Think. Then act when you are stable.”
That was harder than acting immediately.
I spent three days in the hospital.
Ethan called twelve times.
The first messages were angry.
You can’t keep Noah from me.
The next were defensive.
You left voluntarily.
Then practical.
We need to discuss the company.
The fourth day, after the trustee served formal notice terminating Ethan’s permission to occupy the house, the messages changed.
What did you do?
Sloane says people came to inventory the property.
Call me now.
I did not.
Mara did.
Ethan and Sloane were given a lawful period to remove their personal belongings. The trustee changed the access codes after they left. I remained with my neighbor and Noah until my doctor cleared me to return.
Walking back into the house was one of the strangest moments of my life.
Sloane’s suitcase was gone.
