Chapter 4

It was just after nine in the morning when I walked into the modern Wentworth & Turner lobby. The busy streets of New York could be seen through the tall glass doors behind me, but inside, it was quiet. There was modern art on the walls that was softly painted. It was mostly abstract art that seemed more like conversation starters than real works of art. The air smelled a bit of leather and something expensive, maybe a hint of cologne from the person who had been there moments before. The polished marble floor sparkled in the bright lights.

My shoes carefully hit the marble, as I walked up to the front desk, and I gripped my bags a little tighter when I approached the receptionist. She barely looked up from her screen when she talked.

"Emily Clark?"

"Yes," I said, but I was much quieter than I meant to be.

"You're anticipated." Without taking her eyes from the monitor, she pointed to the stairs and stated, "Mr. Turner is ready for you."

I tried to ignore the knot of nerves that was twisting in my gut as I nodded. Even though I hadn't met Ethan Monroe yet, I could feel his presence. Jack had warned me when he said that Ethan had told me everything I needed to know, there was strain in his voice. There was going to be no warm welcome here.

With a subtle hiss, the elevator doors opened and I entered, the only sound coming from the equipment's quiet hum. The mirrored walls reflected my reflection back at me, and I could hardly identify the woman in front of me. My modest blue dress felt too simple for this setting, and my brown hair was pulled back in a tidy knot. I had no time to think about looks, though. I needed clarification.

The elevator made a dinging sound, and the doors opened into an even more immaculate hallway than the entrance. At the far end, beside a big mahogany door with polished brass handles, stood Jack Turner. Although he had a composed, businesslike attitude, there was some tension around his eyes. With a gentle click, he opened the door and motioned for me to follow.

The conference space was quite big and elegant. The center of the room was a massive mahogany table that was polished to a mirror-like sheen, surrounded neatly by sleek black chairs. I hardly had time to take in the breathtaking view of the city skyline from the far wall, which was fully composed of glass.

Why? Ethan Monroe was sitting at the end of the table.

Although I had previously seen pictures of him online or in business publications, nothing had quite prepared me for seeing him in person. His hair was purposefully slightly unkempt, and he was wearing a dark suit that fit him perfectly, but what really caught my attention were his eyes. Chilled, sharp, and incomprehensible. He remained standing as I walked in. With his jaw clenched, he gazed at me as though I were an unwelcome intruder trespassing on his land.

"Ms. Clark," Jack said as he moved up to introduce himself. "This is Henry Monroe's son, Ethan Monroe."

Ethan stayed silent. He just kept looking at me with a cold, cruel gaze. The stillness that elapsed between us held the weight of his criticism, and all of a sudden I felt like a bug being studied for defects under a microscope.

I tried to keep my composure as I stepped forward, cleared my throat, and held out my hand. "Mr. Monroe, nice to meet you."

After giving my hand a brief glance, Ethan ignored it completely. He turned to face Jack, and for an instant I wasn't sure whether he would say anything at all.

Then he asked, "So this is her?" in a low, sharp voice.

Even though I wasn't the subject of the discussion, it still hurt. I could sense Ethan's hostility but I didn't know why. I knew I had done nothing wrong, or at least nothing improper. And yet, here I was, being treated like an outsider.

Jack was hesitant to reply and used a circumspect tone. "Ms. Clark stated in your father's inheritance, as I already stated. We're here to talk about the specifics."

"The specifics don't interest me." With a cold voice, Ethan stopped him. He gently got to his feet, taking his time, and turned to completely face me. "I'm interested as to why. How is it that my father will give anything to an unknown person?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but at first nothing came out. This amount of hostility surprised me because I hadn't expected it. But since I was just as confused as he was, I couldn't allow him to frighten me.

My voice was quieter than I meant it to be, but I still said, "I... I don't know." It was just a few days ago that I even learned who your father was. This letter came out of nowhere for me, too."

Ethan narrowed his eyes and fixed his focused look on me. "You think I'll believe that?"

"It's the truth," I murmured as my anger began to mount. " Just like you, I'm completely confused. I would like to hear an answer if one exists."

As Ethan stepped closer, I could feel the stress in the room change and grow thicker. Even though he was so tall, I stood my ground, and I felt nearly choked by his presence. His eyes darted back to Jack.

With a loud and cutting voice, he said, "Is this some kind of scam? Because if it is, you won't get away with it. I'll see how it goes."

My annoyance finally got to me. I yelled, "I'm not here to con people. I never asked any of this. Like you, I'm simply trying to figure out what's going on."

Ethan's mouth tightened, and I had a brief fear that he would say something harsher. However, he dismissed it and turned to face the window while keeping his fists clinched at his sides.

Jack moved to try to defuse the tension by clearing his throat. He stated, "Let's all take a breath," with composure, but there was also a hint of worry in his voice. "This is just to discuss the terms of Henry's will."

Ethan just glanced out the window without answering, looking back at us. I could feel my heartbeat rising as the unpleasant and thick stillness continued.

Speaking more to myself than to Ethan, I mutely said, "I don't know what your father was thinking. But I think there needs to be a reason. We must solve the problem."

When Ethan turned at last, his face was unreadable. "I'll tell you what I think," he remarked quietly. "I think you are lying. When you got involved in this, I think you understood exactly what you were doing, and I think you are here to take something that is not yours."

Even though my chest was tight, I forced myself to look him in the eye. I muttered, "I'm not a liar," but the tremble in my voice showed the resentment that was beneath the surface. "I'm here to find out why your father named me in his will; I don't know why, just like you don't.

There was silence in the room for a minute. With a keen and unwavering gaze, Ethan seemed to be trying to see beyond me and uncover some hidden goal that was untrue. But I wasn't going to back down. Like him, I was desperate for answers, and I wasn't going to allow him to frighten me into walking away.

Once more moving forward, Jack spoke in a calm yet strong tone. Emily is allowed to be here, Ethan. Your father's objectives were very clear. She is named as a beneficiary, and the conditions need to be discussed.

Ethan took a while to reply. He just kept staring at me, perhaps considering his choices. Then, his hands still clenched at his sides, he let out a quick breath and turned back toward the window.

"Okay," he whispered with clenched teeth. "Don't, however, fool yourself into thinking that I will overlook this. After I settle this, you'll be sorry you came to this city in the first place. I promise."

I was left stunned by the depth of his rage and threats. This meeting was definitely not what I had imagined, but now, I'm not even sure what I had expected.