Chapter 4 - The Debt Paid
At three o'clock in the morning, the heavy iron gates of Blackwood Manor opened quietly, allowing two black SUVs to glide silently up the winding, snow-dusted driveway.
Inside the grand foyer, Raymond still sat tied to the oak chair in the cellar stairwell, where Vance’s guards had brought him up to wait. His face was buried in his hands, his body wracked by silent, agonizing dry sobs.
The heavy front doors swung open.
Nathan stepped into the foyer, carrying six-year-old Leo wrapped safely inside his heavy wool coat. The boy was asleep, worn out by terror and the sudden warmth of the vehicle.
Raymond looked up. His eyes opened wide, his breath catching in his throat as he saw his grandson alive, untouched, and sleeping peacefully in the arms of the man he had tried to murder three hours earlier.
"Leo..." Raymond choked out, trying to stand, but the ropes held him tight. "Leo!"
Nathan walked over, handed the sleeping child to Vance, and stepped toward the old valet. He pulled out his tactical knife and sliced through the thick ropes securing Raymond’s wrists.
Raymond collapsed to his knees at Nathan’s boots, grabbing the hem of Nathan’s trousers, weeping so hard his chest heaved.
"Thank you... oh God, Nathan, thank you!" Raymond sobbed. "Kill me now! Do whatever you want to me, but thank you for saving my boy!"
Nathan looked down at the old man who had served his family for thirty years.
"I won't kill you, Raymond," Nathan said quietly. "Your debt to this house is paid by your grandson's survival. But your service here is finished."
He gestured to Vance. "Take them to the airport. Put them on my private transport to Toronto. There is a house waiting for them in the countryside, under a new identity. Raymond will never step foot on American soil again."
"Yes, Boss," Vance replied, carrying the child toward the side exit while two guards helped the weeping old man to his feet.
As the foyer cleared, the house returned to its heavy, watchful silence.
Nathan stood alone beneath the grand crystal chandelier, his tactical vest smelling of rain, gunpowder, and frozen ice.
He walked slowly up the grand spiral staircase to the east wing basement quarters. He pushed open the heavy mahogany door to the guest suite.
Hannah sat in a plush armchair near the bed, a soft lamp casting a warm golden glow across her shoulders. She was reading a book, but the moment the door clicked, she sat up straight, her eyes searching Nathan’s face.
"Is the boy..." she whispered.
"He's safe," Nathan said. "He is on his way to Canada with his grandfather."
Hannah let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, leaning back against the cushions. "Thank God."
Nathan walked across the room and stopped beside the bed.
Lily lay under a thick goose-down duvet, her cheeks rosy, her breathing deep, rhythmic, and clear. On the nightstand beside her lay her pink rabbit backpack, fully cleaned and repaired by the estate staff, with three brand-new, pharmaceutical-grade inhalers sitting neatly beside it.
"Dr. Sterling checked her blood work again," Hannah said softly, standing up beside Nathan. "He said her lungs are responding remarkably well to the new preventative treatments you ordered. He told me... he told me she might not ever have another severe attack if she stays on this protocol."
Nathan didn't take his eyes off the sleeping child. "She won't."
"Mr. Blackwood," Hannah said, her voice dropping into a sincere, emotional whisper. "I don't know who you really are. I know people in this city are terrified of your name. I know there are guns in this house and men who look like soldiers. But tonight... I saw a man who saved a little boy and spared an old man who hurt him."
Nathan turned his grey eyes toward her. "Don't mistake my actions for nobility, Mrs. Collins. I am a violent man who lives in a violent world."
"A violent man wouldn't look at my daughter the way you do," Hannah challenged gently, stepping closer to him, her brown eyes bright with an unyielding, intuitive truth. "You look at her like she's a light in a very dark room."
Nathan closed his eyes for a single second, feeling a sudden, sharp ache in his chest—not from the aerosolized poison he had inhaled earlier, but from the sudden, terrifying thawing of a heart that had been frozen solid for three years.
"Tomorrow morning," Nathan said, opening his eyes and returning to his stoic tone, "you and Lily move into the master guest house in the north garden. It has its own kitchen, a private garden, and round-the-clock security. You will no longer work as a housekeeper."
Hannah blinked, stunned. "What? But... I need to earn my keep! I can't just take your charity!"
"It isn't charity," Nathan replied coldly, though his eyes held a strange warmth. "You are my personal administrative assistant now, Mrs. Collins. Starting salary is one hundred and fifty thousand a year. Your first assignment is to help me organize the legal destruction of Vanguard Development and Arthur Pendelton."
Hannah’s jaw dropped. "One hundred and... Mr. Blackwood, that's..."
"That is the standard wage for someone who keeps me breathing," Nathan said.
May you like
He turned and walked toward the door, stopping with his hand on the brass handle.
"Get some sleep, Hannah," he said softly, using her first name for the very first time. "Tomorrow, we go after the men who thought they could ruin our lives."
