Chapter 5 - The War of the Mercers
The rain was still falling at 7:00 AM when Ethan’s black SUV pulled up to the curb outside my apartment building in Pilsen.
I stepped out of the front entrance wearing a trench coat, a thick scarf wrapped around my neck, carrying a small leather notebook that held every medical record, contract, and bank statement from my time with Julian Mercer.
Ethan got out of the driver's side, holding an umbrella over my head as I reached the sidewalk. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes suggesting he hadn't slept a single minute since I left the ballroom.
"Thank you for coming down," he said softly, holding the passenger door open for me.
"Where are we going?" I asked, sliding into the heated leather seat.
"My private office," Ethan replied, closing the door and walking around to the driver's side. "Not Ashford Tower. My father's security team monitors every camera in that building. I have a loft in the West Loop where my father has no jurisdiction."
As we drove through the gray, rain-drenched streets of Chicago, Ethan turned on the radio. A local talk show was already discussing the incident.
"...the video has now reached twelve million views. The Ashford Group issued a brief statement late last night claiming the incident was an 'unfortunate disturbance by a former employee,' but social media is having none of it. #ClaraVance and #KneelWalter are currently trending number one nationwide..."
Ethan switched off the radio, letting a heavy silence fill the cabin.
"My father is holding an emergency board meeting at noon," Ethan said, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "He’s trying to force a vote to buy out my voting shares in Ashford Global. He thinks if he isolates me, he can handle the press without any internal opposition."
"Why are you doing this, Ethan?" I turned to look at him, searching his side profile. "He’s your father. Ashford Global is your inheritance. You're risking everything you own for a woman you met over a broken champagne glass."
Ethan slowed the car down at a red light, turning his head to look at me. His dark eyes were remarkably steady, filled with a quiet, burning conviction.
"When I was fourteen years old," Ethan said softly, "my mother caught my father having an affair with his executive assistant. When my mother threatened to leave him, my father spent two million dollars on lawyers, private investigators, and fake medical reports until he had her declared mentally unfit. She spent three years in a private facility in Vermont before she finally gave up and signed away her rights."
A cold shudder ran down my spine.
"My mother died six years ago in a small apartment in Boston," Ethan continued, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "Isolated, forgotten, and stripped of her dignity. I was too young to stop him then, Clara. I was too terrified of my father's power to stand up for her."
He looked straight into my eyes.
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"Last night, when I saw you look my father in the eye and demand his apology, I saw what my mother never had the chance to do. I’m not doing this for you, Clara. I’m doing this because I refuse to let him break another innocent person."
The light turned green. Ethan stepped on the gas, the SUV accelerating through the intersection as the rain washed over the windshield, clearing the way forward.
