Chapter 3 - The Wolf at the DoorThe following morning, the storm cleared, leaving Chicago blanketed in a blinding, pristine layer of white snow. Inside the Whitman estate, however, the air was charged with a heavy, lethal tension.
Ethan, dressed in custom-tailored cashmere clothes that swallowed his small frame, sat at the massive dining table. He stared nervously at the plates of food, still unable to believe he wasn't locked in a dark room. Andrew sat across from him, reading a tablet, occasionally looking up to ensure the boy ate.
"You're safe here, Ethan," Andrew said softly, breaking the silence. "Nobody is taking you anywhere."
Before Ethan could reply, the heavy iron security gates at the front of the estate let out a jarring, electronic buzz.
On the security monitors in the corner of the dining room, a sleek, silver Mercedes-Maybach glided up the private drive, flanked by four black SUVs. Four armed private security guards stepped out into the snow, forming a perimeter.
From the Maybach emerged Victor Sterling. He wore an immaculate charcoal tailored suit, a silver silk tie, and carried himself with the sickening, predatory grace of a man who believed he owned the world.
"Mr. Whitman," Mrs. Gable muttered, walking into the room with tight lips. "There are uninvited, highly aggressive men at the front doors. They claim they have a court order."
"They have nothing of the sort," Andrew said, standing up smoothly. He straightened his cuffs, his face an impenetrable mask of absolute power. "Ethan, stay in the study with Marcus. Do not open that door for anyone except me."
Andrew walked down the grand marble hallway, his footsteps echoing like gunshots. When he reached the heavy oak front doors, he didn't wait for the guards to knock. He swung them wide open, letting the freezing morning air rush in.
Victor Sterling stood on the porch, a thin, patronizing smile carved into his sharp features.
"Andrew," Sterling purred, stepping forward uninvited. "I trust I'm not interrupting your morning solitude. But rumors travel fast in this city. I heard you picked up a stray last night—a very special little stray that happens to belong under the care of my philanthropic foundation."
Andrew didn't move an inch. He blocked the doorway entirely, his towering frame casting a shadow over Sterling.
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"You have thirty seconds to turn your cars around, Victor, before I have my security detail throw your men into the frozen lake," Andrew said, his voice dangerously low.
Sterling’s smile flickered, replaced by a flash of genuine menace. "Don't play the savior with me, Andrew. That boy is property of St. Jude’s. And more importantly, he holds a very expensive encryption key that doesn't belong to you. Hand him over, or I will dismantle your company piece by legal piece before the week is out."
