Chapter 1 - The Penthouse Secret
The black town car cut through the rainy streets of Chicago like a ghost.
Andrew sat in the spacious backseat with the shivering boy wrapped in his expensive wool coat.
Ethan had not spoken a single word since the guards disappeared into the dark alleys.
He merely stared out the tinted window, watching the blur of holiday lights reflect against the wet glass.
Andrew instructed his driver to bypass the main lobby and use the private underground garage.
He did not want any cameras or curious concierges seeing the terrified child he had just claimed as his own.
They stepped into the private elevator that led directly to the penthouse suite.
The doors slid open to reveal a massive, quiet space constructed of glass, steel, and cold luxury.
Andrew led Ethan to the guest bathroom and handed him a stack of oversized, warm towels.
He told the boy to take a hot shower while he prepared something for them to eat.
Andrew stood in the massive kitchen, staring blankly at a pot of boiling water.
He asked himself what kind of madness had possessed him to interfere with those men.
He was a billionaire CEO, not a foster parent, and certainly not a hero.
Yet, the phantom weight of the boy holding onto him still lingered on his chest.
Ten minutes later, Ethan emerged wearing a far too large t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants tightly rolled at the waist.
His hair was still damp, but some color had finally returned to his pale cheeks.
Andrew set a bowl of warm soup on the marble island.
Ethan climbed onto the high stool and began eating with a desperate, heartbreaking speed.
Andrew watched him in silence, wondering what horrors could make an eight-year-old run so fast.
When the bowl was completely empty, Ethan slid off the stool and began to wander the massive living room.
His small hands brushed against the expensive leather furniture and the cold glass tables.
He stopped suddenly in front of the marble fireplace.
Andrew had cleared away most of his past, but he could never bring himself to move the single silver picture frame resting on the mantel.
It was a photograph of Emily, taken just a week before the crash, smiling brightly in a white sundress.
Ethan stared at the photograph for a long time, his small chest rising and falling rapidly.
Andrew stepped forward softly, not wanting to startle the boy.
He explained that the woman in the picture was his wife, but she had passed away fifteen months ago.
Ethan slowly turned his head, his wide eyes filled with absolute terror.
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The boy pointed a shaking finger at the smiling face behind the glass.
He whispered that she was not dead, because she was the lady who brought him his medicine at the facility yesterday.
