The Drowned Heir Returns

Chapter 7. Digging Your Own Grave

Ethan made the call before he left Oakdale that evening.

Two guards. Around the clock. Stationed at the tree line and the front gate. No one touched the Bennett house without him knowing about it.

His grandfather's bandaged leg flashed in his mind every time he closed his eyes. The black car. The deliberate angle. The way the old man had smiled through the pain and told him to go help his grandmother in the kitchen.

*They'll keep coming for the people I love. Every single one of them.*

Ethan wouldn't let it happen again.

---

The café was quiet. A corner booth, away from the windows. Ethan sat with his back to the wall, a half-empty coffee in front of him.

The woman who walked in was mid-thirties, sharp blazer, red lipstick, hair cut in a precise bob. She spotted him immediately and crossed the room like she owned it.

Ethan stood. Extended his hand. "Diane Keller. Thanks for coming."

"Mr. Carter." She shook his hand firmly and sat down. "You said you had a business proposition. I'm listening."

"I ordered you a latte. Hope that's fine."

"Perfect. Now." She crossed her legs. "What do you want to know?"

Ethan leaned forward. "You and Sandra Voss go back a long way."

Diane laughed. Short. Dry. "High school. Same university. Same social circles. Twenty years of cold war." She took a sip of the coffee Ethan had ordered. "I know everything about that woman. And I know about her husband. We went to college together, Richard and I."

"Then you know about their businesses too."

"Of course I do. You don't survive as someone's rival for two decades without learning where they keep their money." She set the cup down. "Ask me anything. I won't lie to you. Not with the kind of partnership you're offering."

Ethan nodded. He didn't waste time.

"Richard had a wife before Sandra. Margaret. Do you know about her?"

Diane's expression shifted. Softer. Sadder. "I know. Sandra was crazy about Richard since we were sixteen. But he married Margaret instead. Sandra never got over it. Kept circling him like a shark." She paused. "Then, out of nowhere, they got married. Sandra and Richard. I couldn't figure out why. Until I dug a little."

She leaned closer.

"Margaret had a son. A boy with hearing problems. Richard never introduced him to anyone. Kept the kid hidden like he was something to be ashamed of. I tried to find out more, but the boy was invisible. No photos. No school events. Nothing."

Ethan's throat tightened. His fingers pressed flat against the table. The café noise faded. All he could hear was his own pulse.

*Hidden. Like I was something to be ashamed of.*

The old anger flared. Hot and familiar.

"Do you know where Margaret is now?" he asked. His voice was steady. Barely.

Diane shook her head. "No idea. I didn't even know they divorced. But here's the strange part." She tapped a nail against the table. "One of Richard's companies — his biggest earner — is still registered under Margaret's name. If they'd truly split, he would've changed that years ago. He wouldn't keep her name on something that valuable."

Ethan went still.

The pieces clicked. Cold. Clean. Final.

*They didn't kill her. They couldn't. Because the company needs her name. Needs her signature. Needs her alive.*

His fist curled under the table.

*So they locked her away. Somewhere no one can find her. Because dead, she's useless. But alive, she's a key they can't throw away.*

"Thank you for your time, Diane." Ethan stood, buttoning his jacket. "Let's meet at my office next week to finalize the partnership."

"Looking forward to it, Mr. Carter." She smiled. "Pleasure doing business with you."

---

The next morning, Ethan's car turned into the parking lot of Vanguard Group's headquarters and stopped.

The sidewalk was a wall of cameras. Microphones. Shouting reporters. At least thirty of them, pressed against the glass doors like ants on sugar.

Aaron glanced at Ethan from the driver's seat. "I'll handle them, sir. You stay—"

"No." Ethan's voice was flat. "Drive around back. Fast."

Aaron reversed. The tires squealed. Reporters scattered, shouting. The car swung around the building and stopped at the service entrance. Ethan was out before it fully stopped, striding through the steel door. Aaron locked it behind them.

"Find out what's happening," Ethan said, already heading for the elevator. "Come to me when you know."

"Yes, sir."

The elevator rose. Floor after floor. Ethan stood with his hands in his pockets, watching the numbers climb. His face was stone. No tension. No worry. Just patience.

The doors opened on the top floor. He walked to his office, shrugged off his suit jacket, and draped it over the chair. Sat down. Closed his eyes.

A knock.

"Come in."

Aaron entered with a tablet in his hand. His jaw was tight.

"Report, sir. The crowd outside is about a rumor that you cancelled the Star Fragrances deal because the formula contained toxic chemicals. Harmful to skin. Richard went on camera this morning and confirmed it. Said the ingredients caused allergic reactions." Aaron swiped the tablet. "Several teenagers were hospitalized with rashes and burns. Photos are everywhere. Every news site has Richard's face on it."

Ethan opened his eyes.

And laughed.

It was a short, hollow sound. He shook his head, a thin smile cutting across his face.

"He thinks he's burying me," Ethan said. "But he's digging his own grave. Same as always. Reckless. Sloppy." He leaned back in the chair. "When Mom was around, she cleaned up his messes. Now all he's got is Sandra. And that woman runs on greed and spite, not brains."

"What do we do about the coverage, sir?"

"Nothing."

Aaron blinked. "Nothing?"

"Nothing. I'll send every single one of those reporters back to Richard's doorstep myself." Ethan's smile sharpened. "Tell the employees they can go home for the day."

"Yes, sir." Aaron turned to leave.

"And Aaron." Ethan's voice stopped him at the door. "Pull the security footage from the Star Fragrances warehouse. The loading dock cameras. Last month."

Aaron nodded. "I'll get it done."

The door clicked shut.

Ethan turned to his computer. Woke the screen. The news was still running on the mounted TV — a live feed of reporters camped outside his building, speculating, filling airtime with Richard's lies.

Ethan hit the power button. The screen went black.

He picked up his phone. Typed a message. Hit send.

Then he dialed a number. Held it to his ear.

"Release everything I sent you. The warehouse logs. The safety certifications. And the CCTV footage from the loading dock." His voice was quiet. Precise. "All of it. Every frame."

He hung up.

And smiled.