Then his gaze flicked to me.
His face tightened like he’d swallowed something sour. “You.”
Ethan’s voice stayed calm. “Hello, Dad.”
Mark forced a laugh, too loud. “Well, look at that. You finally—”
Ethan cut him off, sliding the folder forward. “Before we talk about anything else, I want to ask you one question.”
Mark’s smile wavered. “What?”
Ethan leaned in, eyes cold and clear. “Did you think I’d never find out about the trust fund you stole… or did you just not care?”
Mark’s throat bobbed. The hallway suddenly felt too quiet, like everyone could hear his breathing.
And then Amber appeared at the end of the corridor—staring at Ethan like she’d seen a ghost.
Amber walked toward us in heels that clicked like a countdown. She looked polished—designer bag, perfect hair—but her eyes were darting, calculating. Mark straightened as if he could physically block the past.
“What is this?” Amber demanded, looking at Mark first. “Who are they?”
Mark snapped, “Not now.”
Ethan didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “I’m his son,” he said. “The one he left behind.”
Amber’s expression flickered—shock first, then irritation. “You said you didn’t have kids.”
Mark’s face went pale. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s not,” I said, finally finding my voice. My cheek didn’t hurt anymore, but I remembered the sound. “You hit me. You abandoned Ethan. And you stole from him.”
Mark’s eyes flashed with anger, like he was still the man who could slap and walk away. “You’re here for money? After all these years?”
Ethan slid a second set of papers out of the folder—already prepared. “No. I’m here for accountability. You drained a minor’s trust. That’s fraud. And if you forged anything, that’s worse.”
Mark scoffed, but it came out weak. “You can’t prove—”
Ethan tapped a page. “Bank transfers. Account closure forms. Your signature. And a recorded statement from the bank manager who handled it.”
Mark’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack. “So what, you want to ruin me?”
Ethan paused, and for a moment I saw the ten-year-old boy again—hurt, desperate for an explanation. Then he exhaled.
“I wanted you to choose us,” he said quietly. “Once. Just once. But you didn’t. So no, I don’t want revenge. I want justice.”
Amber’s face hardened. “Mark, tell me you didn’t steal from your own kid.”
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