THE DISCARDED SON-IN-LAWS GOD-LEVEL DOMINION SYSTEM

Chapter 10

Ethan closed the door behind him. The lock clicked softly.

He did not sit down. He walked slowly across the thick carpet until he stood in front of the heavy desk. Three years ago he had stood in this same spot with a cleaning cloth in his hand, waiting to be told when he could leave. Old Mr. Whitmore had not looked up from his papers then. He had only waved his hand.

Now the old man looked up and kept looking.

He had aged ten years in a single night. His hair, always black and sharp, looked gray at the edges. His face was thinner. His eyes had deep shadows under them. But his back was still straight and his voice, when it came, was still the voice that had ruled a company for thirty years.

"You are standing in my office," Old Mr. Whitmore said. "In my building. You took it from me in one morning. I want to understand how."

"You are sitting in my office," Ethan said. "In my building. The guards were told to lock the door."

"I found the key." A thin smile crossed the old man's face. It had no warmth. "I built this company with my own hands, Ethan. I know every door in it. Every lock. Every guard. Do not think that a few papers can erase thirty years."

"Papers are all that matter in a company," Ethan said. "You taught me that yourself. Do you remember? The first week I moved into your house. You told me that a man without a signature is a man without a name."

The old man did not answer. His fingers tapped once on the desk.

"Why are you here?" Ethan asked.

"I came to make you an offer."

Ethan said nothing. He waited.

Old Mr. Whitmore leaned back in the leather chair. He folded his hands over the top of his cane. When he spoke again, his voice had become smooth and slow, the voice he used with clients.

"You are young. You are clever. Somehow you have made a great deal of money in a very short time, and I do not need to know how. I only know that the Whitmore family is old and has deep roots. My friends sit in the offices of the city. My name opens doors that your money cannot. You can sit on top of a company, but it takes more than a chair to rule one."

"Your offer," Ethan said.

"Give me back my company. Fifty-one percent, transferred to me today. In exchange, I will give you something better. You will return to the family. Vanessa will take you back. She will apologize in front of everyone. You will have the title of son-in-law and a seat on the board. In ten years, when I retire, I will give you the chairman's chair myself."

The room went quiet.

Ethan looked at the old man for a long moment. Then he laughed. It was a low, soft sound with nothing happy in it.

"You want me to go back," he said. "To the same house. To the same woman. To the same table where I ate the leftover food that your cook gave me from the kitchen sink."

"That was a misunderstanding," the old man said.

"Three hundred people watched me get kicked down the stairs. Your son kicked me. Your daughter watched. You were sitting at the front table, Mr. Whitmore. I saw you. You did not say a word."

The old man's jaw tightened. For a moment, something moved behind his eyes. Then it was gone.

"Pride makes children out of men," he said coldly. "Do not be a child. I am giving you a way up. Take it."

"No," Ethan said.

The word was quiet. It landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.

Old Mr. Whitmore's face did not change, but his hand closed tighter on the cane. "Then I will fight you," he said. "I have lawyers. I have friends in the courts. I will take this to every judge in the city. It will take years and it will cost you everything."

"You can try," Ethan said. "But you will lose."

He turned to leave. His hand reached for the door.

"Wait."

The word was sharp. It was not the voice of a chairman. It sounded almost like fear.

Ethan stopped and looked back over his shoulder. Old Mr. Whitmore was staring at his neck.

A thin black cord hung around Ethan's neck. His shirt collar had fallen open when he turned. On the end of the cord, half hidden against his chest, sat a small jade pendant. It was no bigger than a coin. It was carved with the shape of a coiled dragon, and the green stone glowed softly in the light from the window.

Ethan had worn it every day since he was eighteen. It was the last thing his mother had given him.

The old man had gone white. All the color had left his face. His eyes were fixed on the pendant like he was looking at a ghost.

"Where did you get that?" he whispered.

Ethan turned back around slowly. His voice stayed calm, but his eyes grew sharp. "It was my mother's."

"That is not possible." Old Mr. Whitmore's hand shook on the cane. The cane tapped against the desk with a small, ugly sound. "That pendant belonged to the Cross family. The Cross family died ten years ago. Every one of them. There was a fire."

Ethan did not move. He felt the room grow very cold, though the air conditioner had not changed.

"You know about the Cross family," he said.

The old man stopped. His mouth closed. He seemed to realize that he had said too much. He pressed his lips together and forced his face back into stillness, but the damage had been done. His breathing was fast. A line of sweat ran down his forehead.

"Everyone in this city knew about the Cross family," Old Mr. Whitmore said slowly. "They were powerful once. Then they were gone. It is old news. It means nothing."

"You said every one of them died," Ethan said. "A fire. How do you know it was a fire?"

"It was in the papers."

"It was never in the papers." Ethan stepped back toward the desk. His shadow fell across the old man's folded hands. "The reports said it was a gas accident. A small house on the edge of town. Two people. I read every article when I was eighteen. None of them said anything about a fire at a larger estate. None of them said the name Cross."

Old Mr. Whitmore stared up at him. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Why did you take me into your house three years ago?" Ethan asked.

The old man did not answer.

"I was twenty-five. Nobody. No family. Why did you accept me as a son-in-law when Vanessa could have married anyone in the city?"

"Because she asked me to," the old man said. The words came out quickly, too quickly. "She said she loved you."

"Vanessa never loved me. She told me so herself last night."

Silence. The clock on the wall ticked loudly.

Old Mr. Whitmore stood up slowly. He leaned on the cane and for the first time he looked small. He walked around the desk to stand in front of Ethan, close enough that Ethan could see the tremor in his hands.

"Take off that pendant," the old man said. His voice was hoarse. "Take it off and give it to me. In exchange I will give you the company back and anything else you ask for. Anything. Please."

Ethan looked at the shaking hand held out toward his chest. The great chairman who once waved him away like a fly was now begging.

"Why?" Ethan asked.

"Because if anyone else sees it..." The old man stopped himself. His eyes darted toward the window, then the door. "You do not understand what you are wearing. It is not safe. You must hide it. Give it to me and I will protect it."

Ethan stepped back. His hand closed over the jade pendant. It was warm against his palm, warmer than it should have been.

"No," he said again.

Old Mr. Whitmore's hand dropped to his side. His face turned from fear to something harder. When he spoke again, the old, cold chairman had returned.

"Then you have chosen your own grave," he said quietly. "Leave my office."

"This is my office," Ethan said. "You are the one who is leaving."

The old man did not move for a long moment. Then he took his cane from the desk and walked past Ethan toward the door. His steps were slow and uneven. At the door, he turned back one last time.

"The Cross family did not die by accident," Old Mr. Whitmore said. "And if you keep walking this road, neither will you."

He opened the door and left.

Ethan stood alone in the quiet office. The late morning sun poured through the tall windows. His heart beat steady and hard.

The System screen opened slowly in front of him. The text was dark red for the first time.

[Warning: Hidden bloodline mission detected.]

[Mission: Uncover the truth of the Cross family fire.]

[Reward: Unknown.]

[Failure: Unknown.]

Ethan read the words twice. He lifted the jade pendant from his chest and held it up to the light. The coiled dragon seemed to move a little in the green glow.

For ten years he had believed his parents died in a small, sad accident. He had mourned them quietly and never asked questions. Now a man who had spent three years pretending not to know him had just shaken in fear at the sight of a stone.

Somewhere in this city, a ten-year-old secret was waiting.

He put the pendant back under his shirt and buttoned his collar to the top.

"I will find you," he said softly to the empty room. "Whoever you are."