Chapter 4 - Resurrection in GrayGriffin's face shifted from shock to deathly pale in a heartbeat. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over the ergonomic leather chair behind him. "You — you—" He couldn't form a sentence, his jaw flapping like a fish out of water.
The room forgot how to breathe. The air turned so thin and freezing that the steam from their breath seemed to materialize in the room.
Ezra didn't rush. He stood there, still as a statue carved from stone, his gray eyes colder than the Boston winter howling outside. Slowly they swept across every face in the room. They landed on Griffin, then moved past the stunned capos, settling on Victor Slade. Victor’s pen slipped from his fingers, clattering softly against the table—the only sound in the cavernous room.
"Don't stop on my account," Ezra said, his voice low and unhurried, each word dropping like a cold stone into a deep well. "Continue. Keep reading."
He stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing with a rhythmic, menacing thud against the parquet floor. He bent down, picked the emergency will up off the floor, glanced at it with a look of profound disgust, and then tossed it back onto the table.
"I'm curious to hear how you plan to divide my fortune while my body wasn't even cold yet."
Griffin gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white, blood draining entirely from his face. "You... you died! The helicopter... the explosion! We saw the footage!"
"You saw what I wanted you to see, brother," Ezra replied smoothly, walking closer until he stood right at the edge of the table, towering over Griffin. "A clever trick. Very theatrical. But it had one wonderful side effect: it showed me exactly who was waiting in the shadows with a knife."
Paige stood up abruptly, knocking her chair backward. Her face was contorted in terror and disbelief. "No! This is a ghost—it's a trick! Guards! Security!"
She screamed for guards, but none came. The heavy double doors remained flanked on the outside not by syndicate thugs loyal to Victor, but by heavily armed operatives wearing black tactical gear bearing no insignia—Willa’s team, taking full control of the building.
Victor Slade was the only one who didn't panic. The old advisor slowly closed his ledger, leaning back in his chair with a cold, calculating sigh. He looked at Ezra with something resembling grim respect.
"You set a trap for your own blood," Victor noted quietly, his voice devoid of fear.
"I tested loyalty," Ezra corrected, his gaze locking onto Victor with laser precision. "And you, Victor... you watched in silence while my brother and this viper planned to murder my five-year-old daughter. Is that what my father taught you to do?"
Victor closed his eyes for a brief second, accepting his fate. "Power corrupts absolute minds, Ezra. I grew old, and I grew tired of waiting for you to show weakness. But I never touched the child myself."
"In this house, watching a wolf circle a lamb and doing nothing makes you the wolf," Ezra said softly.
He turned his back on Victor and looked directly at Griffin, who was now trembling so violently he looked ready to collapse.
"Take them," Ezra commanded without raising his voice.
The heavy doors pushed open further, and two massive enforcers stepped in, grabbing Griffin and Paige by their arms, dragging them backward as they screamed and thrashed.
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"Ezra! You can't do this! I'm your brother!" Griffin shrieked as he was hauled toward the exit.
"That," Ezra said coldly, "is the only reason you're still breathing. For now."
