Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Stairwell
“What did you say?” Ethan’s voice cracked, the sound sharp in the vast, silent office.
Lily blinked, entirely unfazed by the sudden intensity in the billionaire's eyes. She held up Mr. Buttons by his paws. “Mr. Buttons wants a cracker now. Do you have crackers in the big desk?”
Ethan didn’t answer. His mind was racing, violently pulling up memories he had buried under skyscrapers, bank accounts, and an armor of absolute ruthlessness.
“The lady in the picture says hello... by the stairs where the light is broken.”
There was only one stairwell in Harrington Tower with a broken light—the emergency service stairwell at the end of the east corridor, on the forty-second floor, right past the service elevators. It was an area designated strictly for maintenance staff, housekeeping carts, and service personnel. It was an area Ethan had never visited in his life.
And there were no pictures of Clara in this building. Not one. After she left, Ethan had ordered his executive assistant to scrub every trace of her existence from his corporate files, his personal records, and his life. He had told himself she was dead to him. He had convinced himself that her idealism, her protests against his corporate restructuring, and her refusal to sell the family land were acts of betrayal.
So how could a three-year-old child—the daughter of a maid he had never met—know about a picture of a lady by a broken light?
Before Ethan could process the terrifying impossibility of the moment, a sharp knock echoed against the heavy mahogany office doors.
“Mr. Harrington?” a crisp, cool voice called out.
It was Victoria Vance, his chief operating officer and the woman who had managed the day-to-day operations of Harrington Enterprises with the cold efficiency of a machine.
“Mr. Harrington, the board is waiting for the preliminary Q3 review on line three. Are you ready?”
Ethan looked down at Lily. The little girl pressed her finger to her lips, mimicking the gesture her mother had taught her downstairs. Shh.
A strange, protective instinct—one he hadn't felt since he was a teenager trying to shield Clara from their father’s temper—flared up inside him. He didn't want Victoria walking in here and finding this child. He didn't want the corporate sharks sniffing around a vulnerability.
“Give me five minutes, Victoria,” Ethan called back, his voice steadying. “Hold all calls.”
“Understood, sir. But remember, the SEC compliance meeting is at ten. Don’t be late.”
Her footsteps clicked away down the private hallway.
May you like
Ethan looked back at Lily. He stood up slowly, his joints popping, and offered his hand to the three-year-old. Surprisingly, she took it without hesitation, her small fingers wrapping securely around his thumb.
“Come on, Lily,” Ethan whispered, a strange, grim determination settling over him. “Let’s go find your stairs.”
