chapter 178

chapter 178
Sebastian's POV:
"I have it under control," I said, the lie automatic even as I knew he wouldn't believe it.
"Under control." He barked out another laugh, returning to his chair and draining his scotch in one long swallow. "Is that what you call it? Maverick's people got to Brown. I don't know what they offered him or what they threatened him with, but he sang like a goddamn canary about the Noah White setup. Admitted everything—the planted drugs, the false testimony, your involvement in the whole operation."
Maverick. The name detonated in my skull like a grenade.
Of course, it was him. Of fucking course. My hands curled into fists against my thighs, nails biting into palms as rage flooded through me.
Brown had been a loose end I'd meant to tie up eventually, but he'd been so thoroughly terrified of me, so thoroughly bought off, that I'd thought him secure.
Clearly, I'd underestimated what Maverick was willing to do to destroy me.
"That was two years ago," I said, grasping for any handhold in this conversation. "Statute of limitations—"
"Doesn't apply to conspiracy to distribute." Father's voice had gone cold now, clinical. "Or to the ongoing drug use they can prove with the right tests. Maverick's lawyers are building a case that would bury you, Sebastian. Bury us."
The words hit like physical blows, each one designed to wound.
"We can fight this," I said, but even I could hear the desperation creeping into my voice. "We have lawyers, we have money—"
"We can't fight Maverick Cross." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and for the first time I saw how exhausted he looked. How old. "Not anymore. We're outgunned, Sebastian. Completely and utterly outgunned."
Silence fell between us, broken only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. I could feel my heartbeat in my swollen cheek, could taste blood and bile mixing in the back of my throat.
"So what do we do?" I finally asked.
"You get on a plane." He stood, moving to the window to stare out at the darkening grounds. "Tonight. I've already made the arrangements. You'll have accounts set up, a place to stay, everything you need to start over somewhere, Maverick's reach doesn't extend quite so far."
"You want me to run?" The word came out strangled. "Just abandon everything here and—"
"I want you to survive." He turned to face me, and I saw something in his expression I'd never seen before—genuine fear. Not for himself, but for me.
"Because if you stay, if you're here when they come with warrants and cameras and questions, there won't be anything left of you by the time they're done. Maverick won't stop until he's destroyed you completely, and I can't—" His voice cracked. "I can't protect you from that. Not anymore."
The admission hung in the air between us, heavy with all the years of trying to make up for my illegitimate birth, for the half-love he could offer when his real family wasn't watching.
"How long?" I asked quietly.
"As long as it takes for this to blow over. I'll work on damage control here, try to negotiate something with Maverick's people."
He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket, tossing it onto the table between us. "Passport, banking information, contact numbers. The plane leaves at eleven tonight from the private airfield. Be on it."
I picked up the envelope with numb fingers, the paper crisp and expensive, and feeling like a surrender.
"Understood."
"Good." He poured himself another scotch. "Now get out of my sight."
---
The drive back to my penthouse passed in a blur.
My apartment felt hollow as I moved through it, pulling out a suitcase and filling it with the essentials. Clothes, documents, a few pieces of jewelry that could be liquidated if needed. Everything else would have to be abandoned.
I paused in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheek had swollen, the skin mottled red and purple where Father's hand had connected. I looked like exactly what I was—a desperate man running from consequences he'd brought upon himself.
The small lacquered box sat in its usual place beneath the sink. I pulled it out, opened it, stared at the neat lines of white powder inside. My salvation and my damnation, the thing that made the endless inadequacy bearable and the thing that was now forcing me into exile.
I should flush it. Should destroy the evidence, eliminate the temptation. Instead, I found myself transferring a small amount into a compact case, tucking it into my jacket pocket. Just enough to get through the flight, I told myself. Just enough to take the edge off.
By the time I arrived at the private airfield, it was ten-forty-five.
The jet sat on the tarmac, stairs extended, a flight attendant visible in the doorway. My escape route, my coward's exit, my father's last desperate attempt to protect a son who'd never quite measured up.
I was halfway to the stairs, overnight bag in hand, when the headlights flared to life.
Three black SUVs materialized from the darkness, forming a semicircle that cut off any retreat. Car doors opened in synchronized precision, and men in dark suits emerged.
And at the center of it all, stepping out of the lead vehicle with the casual confidence of someone who'd already won, was Daniel.
I forced my gaze away from them, kept my stride steady toward the jet stairs. Just ignore them. They had no legal authority to physically stop me.
Ten feet.
I broke into a run.
Hands caught me before I made it three steps—professional, efficient, utterly uncompromising.
Two of the security team had moved with inhuman speed, one locking my arms behind my back while the other relieved me of my overnight bag. I struggled against their grip, twisting violently, but they held firm with the kind of practiced ease that spoke of military training.
"Let me go!" The words came out ragged as I watched the jet's door begin to close, as the pilot received whatever signal told him his passenger wouldn't be boarding.
The engines' whine increased in pitch, and I could see the aircraft starting to taxi away from us, my escape route disappearing into the night.
So close. I'd been so fucking close.
"Easy, Mr. Thorne," one of the men murmured near my ear, his tone almost sympathetic. "Mr. Cross just wants a word with you. That's all."