Chapter 3 - The Hostile Takeover
I didn't change out of my scrubs. I didn't care about the blood on my shoes.
I bypassed the hospital valet, stepped into the back of a black SUV my family’s security firm had kept on standby for me for five years, and rode straight to the Gold Coast.
The heavy iron gates of the Harrison estate swung open.
My mother, Eleanor, was sitting in the formal dining room, sipping her morning tea and reviewing a charity gala guest list, looking as untouchable and aristocratic as she always did.
She looked up when the mahogany doors burst open.
Her polished smile froze when she saw me standing there, flanked by four heavily armed private security contractors.
"Ethan?" she said, setting her teacup down, her eyes darting to my blood-stained scrubs. "What on earth are you doing? Why are you dressed like a butcher in my home?"
"It's not your home anymore, Eleanor," I stated lethally, my voice echoing off the marble floors.
Her face hardened into that familiar, cruel mask of superiority. "Don't be dramatic, Ethan. I don't have time for your childish rebellion today. Go back to your little hospital."
"I did go to my hospital," I whispered, walking slowly toward the head of the table. "I spent the last two hours saving the life of the woman you tried to murder in a warehouse in Cicero."
Eleanor’s mask slipped. The color completely drained from her face.
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"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, standing up.
"You bought her apartment building to evict her. You bought the warehouse to fire her. You tried to starve a pregnant woman into the grave to protect a family name I despise," I decreed, stopping inches from her face. "But you made one fatal miscalculation, Mother. You forgot who actually owns this empire."
