Chapter 9 - The Broken Mirror
By late afternoon, the executive suite was quiet again. The sun was beginning to dip below the Hudson River, casting long crimson shadows across the empty glass table.
Ethan sat alone in the corner office, staring out at the rain clouds building over the city. On the desk beside him sat his coffee, untouched, cold, and dark.
The door clicked open. Samuel walked in carrying two crystal glasses and a bottle of thirty-year-old scotch. He set them down on the desk, pouring two fingers into each glass.
"You did well today," Samuel said gently, handing a glass to his son. "Most men would have hesitated when she started crying on the street."
Ethan took a slow sip, the burning liquid doing nothing to melt the cold knot in his chest. "I didn't hesitate because of the water, Dad."
Samuel raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Ethan looked up, his eyes filled with a quiet, lingering grief. "I hesitated because when I pulled that ring off her finger, I saw her face. She wasn't sad that she lost me. She was angry that her dress got dirty. She never saw me as a person. Just an access code."
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Samuel looked at his son, his hardened face softening with a rare moment of fatherly warmth.
"That's the trap of people like the Sterlings, Ethan," Samuel said softly, leaning against the edge of the desk. "They spend so much time dressing up the outside that they forget the inside is rotting away. You didn't lose a wife today. You avoided a execution."
