Chapter Ninety-Four: The Ghost Named Ethan
Chapter Ninety-Four: The Ghost Named Ethan
The room remained silent long after Harold’s letter was read.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
Oliver stared at the name written in his grandfather’s elegant handwriting.
Ethan Cross.
It meant nothing to him.
Yet Harold had written as though the name carried the weight of an entire dynasty.
Marcus was already typing furiously into his laptop.
“Ethan Cross,” he muttered. “Let’s see who you really were.”
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
Nothing.
Marcus frowned.
“No birth records.”
“No death certificate.”
“No driver’s license.”
“No tax history.”
Oliver folded his arms.
“Victor erased him.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No.”
“This is older than Victor.”
He looked at Oliver.
“It’s as if Ethan Cross was erased before the digital age.”
Nuella stepped closer.
“So where do we look?”
Oliver looked around Harold’s underground archive.
“If Grandfather left us this name…”
“…he left us something else.”
“Search everything.”
For the next three hours, the archive became a maze of opened boxes and scattered files.
FBI agents catalogued every document.
Marcus searched the filing cabinets.
Nuella examined old journals.
Sophia carefully sorted photographs.
Oliver opened cabinet after cabinet.
Most contained business records.
Family correspondence.
Board meeting minutes.
Nothing about Ethan.
Until…
“Oliver.”
Sophia’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Everyone turned.
She held an old photograph.
Its edges had yellowed with age.
“There are four people here.”
Oliver took it.
Harold Haywood stood on the left, much younger than Oliver had ever known him.
Beside him stood Richard, no older than twenty-five.
A smiling woman Oliver recognized as his late grandmother.
And…
One unfamiliar man.
He looked about Richard’s age.
Dark hair.
Sharp eyes.
An easy smile.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written:
Harold. Richard. Eleanor. Ethan. Summer, 1997.
Oliver stared.
“This is him.”
Marcus leaned over.
“So Ethan knew the family.”
Oliver nodded slowly.
“He wasn’t an outsider.”
“He was standing beside my grandfather.”
Nuella frowned.
“If Harold trusted him enough to take family photographs…”
“…what happened?”
Across the city…
Victor Sloan entered an underground parking garage.
A black SUV waited.
Inside sat the silver-haired man.
His face remained hidden.
“You’ve seen Harold’s letter.”
Victor nodded.
“They’ve found Ethan’s name.”
The older man sighed.
“I was hoping that archive had been destroyed.”
Victor’s voice remained calm.
“I can still stop them.”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
“You’ve spent years solving problems with violence.”
“This one requires something different.”
Victor looked confused.
“What do you mean?”
The older man finally looked toward him.
“We don’t eliminate Oliver.”
Victor blinked.
“We recruit him.”
Silence.
Victor searched the man’s face.
“You can’t be serious.”
“If Oliver learns the whole truth…”
“…he’ll hate Richard more than we ever could.”
The old man smiled faintly.
“And when that happens…”
“…he’ll unknowingly finish what Richard started.”
Victor said nothing.
For the first time…
He wasn’t sure whose side he was actually on.
Back at Haywood Manor…
Marcus suddenly froze.
“I found something.”
Everyone hurried over.
He held an old newspaper from nearly thirty years ago.
The headline read:
YOUNG ENTREPRENEUR DIES IN BOATING ACCIDENT
The accompanying photograph showed Ethan Cross.
Oliver read quickly.
“Ethan Cross, age twenty-seven, was presumed drowned after his boat disappeared during a storm…”
Marcus interrupted.
“Keep reading.”
Oliver continued.
“No body was ever recovered.”
Nuella looked up.
“So officially…”
“…he died.”
Marcus smiled grimly.
“Officially.”
He flipped the page over.
“There are handwritten notes.”
Oliver examined them.
Harold’s handwriting again.
The body was never found because there wasn’t one.
Sophia gasped.
“He faked his death?”
Marcus nodded.
“Looks like it.”
Oliver’s heartbeat quickened.
“If Ethan didn’t die…”
“…where did he go?”
That evening…
Oliver sat alone in Harold’s study.
The old photograph rested beside him.
He couldn’t stop staring at Ethan’s face.
Something felt strangely familiar.
Not the man himself.
His eyes.
Oliver opened another family album.
Page after page.
Birthdays.
Vacations.
Corporate events.
Then…
He found another photograph.
Richard stood beside Ethan at a charity fundraiser.
Oliver placed both photographs side by side.
The resemblance was undeniable.
Not between Richard and Ethan.
Between Ethan…
…and Oliver.
Nuella entered quietly.
“What is it?”
Oliver handed her both photographs.
She looked from one to the other.
Then back again.
Her eyes widened.
“They have the same eyes.”
“The same smile.”
“The same jawline.”
Oliver nodded slowly.
“I thought I was imagining it.”
Nuella whispered,
“No.”
“You look like him.”
Oliver suddenly remembered something Margaret Ellis had said days earlier.
“Richard always smiled after Victor cleaned up his messes.”
What if…
Ethan Cross had been the very first mess?
Marcus rushed into the room without knocking.
“Oliver.”
“You need to hear this.”
“What happened?”
Marcus held up his phone.
“I finally found someone who remembers Ethan Cross.”
Oliver stood immediately.
“Who?”
“A retired investigative journalist.”
“He covered Ethan’s disappearance.”
Oliver grabbed his coat.
“Where is he?”
Marcus hesitated.
“He agreed to meet.”
“When?”
Marcus looked at the message.
“Tomorrow morning.”
Oliver exhaled.
“Good.”
Marcus didn’t smile.
“There’s one problem.”
“What?”
“He said…”
Marcus read the text aloud.
If you’re coming to ask about Ethan Cross… don’t come alone.
Oliver frowned.
“Why?”
Marcus looked up.
“He says…”
“…someone has been watching his house for the last three days.”
The room fell silent.
Oliver already knew who it was.
Victor Sloan.
Which meant Victor wasn’t trying to hide Ethan Cross anymore.
He was trying to make sure no one else found him first.