Chapter 294
Chapter 294
Calloway
The morning mist rolled across the small farming town of Millbrook, Massachusetts, forty miles west of Boston, as I stepped out of the modest cottage that Hannah and I now called home. The air smelled of wet earth and growing things—a far cry from the expensive cologne and marble corridors of my old life.
Three months had passed since that devastating conversation with Grandfather Everett, when I'd finally found the courage to tell him everything. Every scheme, every lie, every moment of complicity in Dad's war against Beckett and Rosalind. I'd watched the disappointment and disgust grow in his weathered face as I laid bare the full scope of our betrayal.
"I see," he'd said when I finished, his voice carrying the weight of years. "And you expect me to forgive you?"
"No, Grandpa," I'd replied honestly. "I don't expect anything. I just wanted you to know the truth, and to know that I'm sorry. More sorry than I have words for."
He'd stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You'll resign from all positions in Montgomery Industries immediately. You'll surrender your trust fund, your properties, your stock options—everything. And you'll never use the Montgomery name to open doors or gain advantages again."
"Yes."
"And if I ever discover you've returned to that kind of life—if you ever again conspire to hurt innocent people for personal gain—I'll make sure you join your father in federal prison. Are we clear?"
"Crystal clear, Grandpa."
Now, as I walked down the dirt road toward the small hardware store where I worked, I reflected on how much had changed. Gone were the thousand-dollar suits and Italian leather shoes. Today I wore simple jeans, work boots, and a flannel shirt that had seen better days. My hands, once soft from a life of privilege, were now calloused from honest labor.
The cottage Hannah and I rented for three hundred dollars a month was smaller than my old walk-in closet, but it felt more like home than any mansion ever had. We had a vegetable garden, two chickens, and a cat named Redemption that had wandered into our lives during our first week here.
"Morning, Calloway!" called Mrs. Patterson from her front porch as I passed. She was hanging laundry on the line, her movements efficient and practiced.
"Morning, Mrs. Patterson," I called back. "How's Mr. Patterson's back doing?"
"Much better, thanks to that liniment you recommended. You're a good man, Calloway Montgomery."
The simple praise warmed me more than any business deal ever had.
I was almost to the hardware store when I heard familiar voices behind me—the kind of voices that made my stomach clench with recognition and shame.
"Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."
I turned to see three young men in expensive cars parked by the side of the road. I recognized them immediately: Bradley Whitmore, James Ashford, and Todd Berkshire. Sons of Boston's elite families, the same crowd I'd once run with.
"Calloway fucking Montgomery," Bradley said with a nasty grin as he climbed out of his BMW. "Living in Hicksville now, are we? How the mighty have fallen."
"Gentlemen," I said calmly, not breaking stride toward the store.
"Oh no, you don't get to just walk away," James called out, following me. "We want to hear all about your new life as a... what are you now? A farmer? A shopkeeper?"
"I work at the hardware store," I replied honestly.
Todd burst into laughter. "Holy shit, Bradley, he actually answered! The heir to the Montgomery fortune is working retail!"
They were attracting attention now. Other townspeople had stopped to watch, their faces showing concern for me and disapproval for my tormentors.
"You know what the funny part is?" Bradley continued, clearly enjoying himself. "We heard about your dad. Griffin Montgomery, drug dealer and kidnapper. Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"
I stopped walking.
For a moment, I felt the old anger rising—the same fury that had once driven me to help plan someone's destruction. The same pride that had made me think I was better than everyone else simply because of my last name.
Then I looked at Bradley's face, at the cruel satisfaction in his eyes, and I saw myself as I used to be. Arrogant, entitled, willing to hurt others for sport. The realization hit me like cold water.
"You're right," I said quietly.
Bradley blinked, clearly not expecting that response. "What?"