Chapter 6 - The Return to the Den
The victory on the porch was temporary, and both Ethan and Clara knew it. A wounded animal like Richard Caldwell wouldn't stay down for long, and the threat of federal prosecution would only make him move faster in the dark. By Friday morning, a formal corporate summit had been called at the Manhattan headquarters of Caldwell-Hart Industries.
“We have to go back,” Ethan said, sitting at Nana Ruth’s dining table, looking over a secure tablet that displayed the board meeting agenda. “They’ve called a full shareholder vote to permanently replace me as CEO. If I don't show up to defend my seat, they take the company, Clara. And if they take the company, they have the financial resources to tie us up in custody courts for the next decade.”
Clara sat across from him, feeding Miles small pieces of banana. She looked out the window at the quiet Charleston street, then back at Ethan. “If we go back, we go back together. As a family. No more hiding in South Carolina, no more running from your mother.”
“Are you sure?” Ethan asked, his voice thick with concern. “Manhattan is going to be a meat grinder, Clara. The press will be waiting at the airport.”
“Let them wait,” Clara said, her voice hard as steel. “Miles deserves to see his father stand up to the bullies, even if those bullies are his grandparents.”
Twenty-four hours later, the private Caldwell-Hart jet—which Ethan still had authority to command under his executive charter—landed at Teterboro Airport. As expected, a small army of paparazzi and financial journalists were gathered near the perimeter fence, tipped off by a Blackwell public relations agent.
Ethan stepped out of the aircraft first, wearing a flawless charcoal three-piece suit, looking every bit the unyielding billionaire CEO. But instead of walking quickly to the waiting limousine alone, he turned back to the stairs, reaching out his hand.
Clara emerged, beautiful and dignified in a dark hunter green dress, holding Miles in a sleek leather baby carrier against her chest. The cameras erupted into a frenzy of flashing lights, reporters shouting questions over the roar of the engines.
“Mr. Caldwell! Is that your secret family?” “Ms. Whitaker! Are you extorting the Caldwell estate?”
Ethan didn't shield his face. He wrapped his arm securely around Clara’s waist, guiding her and his son through the flashbulbs with an absolute, triumphant pride. He stopped right before the lead reporter from the Wall Street Journal.
“Mr. Caldwell, do you have a comment on the upcoming board vote?” the reporter shouted.
Ethan looked directly into the lens of the camera. “The board can vote however they please. But on Monday morning, I will be sitting in the CEO chair. And the woman beside me will be sitting in the vice-chairperson seat. Caldwell-Hart is under new management.”
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He ushered Clara into the limousine, the heavy door shutting out the chaotic noise of the city. As the vehicle accelerated toward Manhattan, Clara looked at him, her heart pounding. “The vice-chairperson seat? Ethan, you didn't tell me about that.”
“You’re the only person who knows how to run that company without burning it down, Clara,” Ethan said, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. “And besides, a Caldwell always takes care of his business partners.”
