Chapter 73 THE BANKS ESTATE
Chapter 73 THE BANKS ESTATE
Camila stared at her like she was seeing her for the first time. “You talk like my mother.”
The words landed hard.
Sonia’s jaw tightened. “Your mother is wrong.”
“Is she?” Camila shot back. “She says you’re a hurricane. That you don’t aim—you just destroy and call it weather.”
Sonia flinched.
“I defended you,” Camila continued. “I told her you were different.”Sonia’s voice softened. “Camila—”
“No,” Camila said. “Answer me. Did you know people would get hurt?”
“Yes,” Sonia admitted.
Camila’s breath hitched. “And you did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
An uncomfortable Silence stretched.
Camila wiped at her eyes angrily. “Then don’t pretend you’re better than them.”
Sonia stepped closer, careful, like approaching a wounded animal. “I’m not better. I’m necessary.”
“That’s what monsters say,” Camila whispered.
The words cut deeper than Sonia expected.
Camila turned for the door, then stopped. “If more people get hurt… if my family pays for all this…”
She looked back, eyes blazing "You will have me to contend with!"
Sonia stood there long after the door closed.
When Lena finally approached, Sonia didn’t turn.
“I don’t feel human today,” Sonia said quietly.
Lena rested her forehead against Sonia’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be human to do the right thing.”
“What if the right thing is wrong?” Sonia asked.
Lena had no answer.
That afternoon, Greg watched the damage ripple outward from his office window.
His phone buzzed nonstop—journalists, partners, his father’s assistant.
He ignored them all.
Until the message came through encrypted channel "come home now!"
The Banks estate did not loom the way people expected power to loom.
There were no iron gates groaning open, no intimidating guards with earpieces. Just a long gravel drive lined with old oak trees whose branches arched overhead like a cathedral ceiling. The house itself sat quietly at the end—stone, restrained, almost modest for a family whose name could bend markets.
Greg parked his car and stayed seated longer than necessary, hands resting on the steering wheel.
One year, the message had said.
Come home. We need to talk.
His father did not issue requests.
He issued inevitabilities.
When Greg finally stepped out of the car, the air smelled like wet earth and pine. Home. The word tasted strange now. This place had shaped him, trained him, sharpened him—then released him into the world with invisible armor and an even more invisible leash.
The front door opened before he could knock.
“Gregory.”
His father stood there in a charcoal sweater and pressed slacks, sleeves rolled just enough to appear casual. His father, known in boardrooms as The Banker King, known in headlines as Untouchable, known to Greg simply as Dad.
“Dad,” Greg said quietly.
They regarded each other for a moment, two men measuring distance without moving. Then his father stepped aside.
“Come in. Tea’s already steeped. You always hated when it over-brewed.”
A small thing. A deliberate thing.
Greg followed him inside.
The study hadn’t changed.
Leather-bound books climbed the walls, none of them decorative. Every title had been read, annotated, weaponized. The fireplace was unlit, but the room was warm. Controlled. Like everything else in the Banks empire.
They sat across from each other, tea between them.
No lawyers.
No assistants.
No recording devices.
That alone told Greg how serious this was.
His father spoke first.
“You look thinner.”
Greg smiled faintly. “You look exactly the same.”
A corner of Gregory Banks’ mouth twitched. “I’ve had better nutritionists.”
Silence stretched, comfortable but weighted.
Then, gently, “I watched the press conference.”
Greg’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I assumed you would.”
“You’re in love with her,” his father said, not accusing, not surprised. Simply stating weather.
Greg looked down at his cup. “yes."
He ehaled slowly. “That complicates things.”
“It doesn’t change them.” Greg countered.
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
Greg finally looked up. “Say it.”
His father leaned back, fingers steepled. “The board is restless. The banks are watching. You’ve been gone too long, Gregory. Playing… guardian angel.”
Greg’s eyes hardened. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s accurate.”
“I built things,” Greg said calmly. “I protected people. I stopped wars before they started.”
“And you didn’t take your seat,” his father replied just as calmly. “You didn’t claim what was prepared for you.”
Prepared.
Planned.
Preordained.
Greg laughed softly. “You mean inherited.”
“Yes.”
“I never wanted it handed to me.”
“No,” his father said. “You wanted to earn it.”
Greg stilled.
“That,” He continued, “is why I let you walk away in the first place.”
Greg blinked. “You—what?”
“You think I didn’t know where you were?” his father asked mildly. “Who you were protecting? What strings you were pulling from the shadows?”
Greg swallowed.
“I knew,” his father said. “I allowed it. Because you needed to believe you were choosing.”
That stung more than anger ever could.
“So this,” Greg said quietly, “is you taking the leash back?”
“No,” he said. “This is me offering you a timeline.”
Greg’s chest tightened. “A timeline for what?”
“One year,” his father said, lifting a finger. “You will return. Publicly. You will play the fool, the prodigal son, the wayward heir who finally remembered his destiny.”
Greg scoffed. “You want me to pretend?”
“I want you to survive,” his father replied softly. “And for this family to survive with you.”
“And if I don’t?”
His father met his gaze steadily. “Then you will lose the protection you’ve never acknowledged you had.”
The words were velvet-wrapped steel.
Greg leaned forward. “Is this about Sonia?”
“Yes.”
Finally, honesty.
“She is a storm,” his father continued. “Brilliant. Justified. Dangerous. And she is standing in the path of forces that do not forgive sentiment.”
“She’s not a pawn,” Greg said sharply.
“No,” his father agreed. “She’s a catalyst. And catalysts get crushed when reactions finish.”
Greg stood abruptly, pacing once, then stopping by the window. Outside, the trees swayed gently, unaware of empires.
“You taught me,” Greg said, voice low, “that power exists to shield the vulnerable.”
“I taught you,” his father corrected, “that power exists to decide who is vulnerable.”
Greg turned. “And you want me to decide against her.”
“I want you to decide around her,” his father said. “Distance yourself. Let the dust settle. Come home.”
Greg laughed, hollow. “You’re asking me to abandon her.”
“I’m asking you to buy time.”
“For whom?”
“For you,” his father said. “Because if you keep standing where you are, son, you will be used as leverage.”
Greg’s fists clenched. “By you?”
“No,” his father said gently. “By people far less forgiving than me.”
Silence fell again.
Then Greg asked the question he’d been avoiding.
“And if I come back?”
Gregory Banks’ eyes softened—just slightly. “Then the empire becomes yours in truth. Not just in blood.”
“And her?”
“She will be… insulated,” his father said carefully. “As much as possible.”
“As much as you deem acceptable,” Greg countered.
“Yes.”
Greg closed his eyes briefly.
He saw Sonia’s smile when she was tired.
The way she pretended not to need him.
The way she burned herself alive just to light the path.
“You’re asking me to lie,” Greg said quietly.
“I’m asking you to wait,” his father replied. “One year. Play the fool. Smile for cameras. Attend galas. Let them believe you’ve chosen legacy over loyalty.”