The elevator rose through the tower's heart with barely a whisper, its mirrored walls reflecting Ethan's face back at him from multiple angles. The air conditioning hummed softly, maintaining the sterile atmosphere that pervaded his father's domain. Each floor marker lit briefly on the display—30, 35, 40—counting upward toward the summit where David Osborne conducted his empire.
Somewhere around the fortieth floor, the lights flickered.
Ethan tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the emergency button. For just a moment, he could have sworn he heard his name whispered in the elevator's mechanical hum—a voice that didn't belong to the building's systems, something deeper, older, more urgent. But when the lights steadied, there was only silence and his reflection staring back with wide, uncertain eyes.
"Just your imagination," he told himself. Too much stress, too many threatening phone calls.
But the feeling lingered—a presence hovering just beyond perception, like someone standing just outside his peripheral vision.
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the fifty-third floor.
David Osborne's corner office occupied nearly a quarter of the tower's summit, its floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Manhattan's glittering expanse. The space was a monument to controlled power—mahogany furniture arranged with mathematical precision, awards and accolades displayed like trophies of corporate conquest, and a massive desk that seemed designed more for intimidation than productivity.
His father stood with his back to the door, silhouetted against the city lights while speaking into a wireless headset. At fifty-two, David Osborne possessed the kind of presence that commanded boardrooms—tall, impeccably groomed, with silver threading through his dark hair that somehow made him look more distinguished than aged. David Osborne's voice exuded the measured authority of an individual accustomed to unquestioning obedience.
"I don't care about their concerns," he was saying, his tone cold as winter steel. "The merger proceeds as scheduled. If they can't handle the regulatory pressure, they shouldn't be playing at this level."
He gestured sharply with his free hand, emphasizing points to an unseen subordinate. Even from behind, Ethan could read the tension in his father's shoulders—a tightness that spoke of pressure building beyond what even David Osborne's legendary control could contain.
"No. No delays. No concessions. Make it clear that Osborne Industries doesn't negotiate from weakness." A pause, then: "Because if we show weakness now, the vultures will tear us apart. Is that what you want?"
Ethan cleared his throat softly.
David turned, his steel-gray eyes focusing on his son with the same calculating attention he gave quarterly reports. "I'll call you back," he said into the headset, then tapped it off. "Sit down."
Ethan dropped into one of the leather chairs facing the desk, forcing his most practiced grin. "So, what's the emergency? Did you finally remember I exist?"
"This isn't about you, Ethan." David moved to his desk with predatory grace, each step measured and deliberate. "Despite what your teenage ego might suggest, the world doesn't revolve around your existence."
The words hit like a slap, but Ethan kept his expression steady. "Great talk, Dad. Really heartfelt. Should I schedule another meeting for next Christmas, or will you pencil me in before then?"
David's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly—a crack in his usually flawless composure. "Your sarcasm isn't helping anyone."
"Neither is pretending we have a normal father-son relationship." Ethan leaned back in his chair, studying his father's face for any sign of genuine emotion. "So what's this really about? The investigation? The stock price? Or are you finally ready to explain why I feel like an orphan with a trust fund?"
For just a moment, something flickered across David's features—pain, regret, maybe even love. But it vanished so quickly Ethan might have imagined it.
"Stay out of the company's affairs," David said finally, his voice returning to its familiar authoritative tone. "Whatever you think you know about the investigation, whatever rumors you've heard at school or seen on the news—forget it. This situation is more complicated than you can possibly understand."
"Try me."
"No." David picked up a crystal paperweight from his desk, turning it over in his hands like a weapon. "There are people who would use you to get to me. People who see family members as... leverage."
The word hung in the air between them, loaded with implications that made Ethan's skin crawl. "Leverage for what?"
"Information. Compliance. Control." David set down the paperweight with deliberate care. "The pharmaceutical industry isn't just about healing people, Ethan. It's about power—over life, death, pain, hope. When you control something that essential, you make enemies who don't follow conventional rules."
Before Ethan could respond, the office door opened without a knock. A thin man in an expensive suit entered, his movements quick and nervous. Ethan recognized him vaguely—one of his father's senior executives, probably a vice president of something important and forgettable.
"Sir, I'm sorry to interrupt, but—"
"What is it, Morrison?" David's voice could have cut glass.
Morrison's eyes flicked to Ethan, then back to David. "The Singapore contracts need your signature before the market opens there. And the legal team needs to brief you on the latest SEC demands before your helicopter departure."
Helicopter departure. Ethan filed that away for later consideration.
David took the documents Morrison offered, scanning them with the rapid efficiency of someone accustomed to making million-dollar decisions in seconds. His signature flowed across multiple pages in practiced strokes.
"Anything else?" David asked without looking up.
Morrison hesitated, glancing at Ethan again. "The other matter we discussed... should I proceed with the arrangements?"
Something passed between the two men—a communication that existed entirely in meaningful looks and careful silences. David's expression darkened.
"Not now," he said quietly. "We'll discuss it after I return."
Morrison nodded and backed toward the door, but his eyes lingered on Ethan with an expression that might have been pity or calculation. The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded oddly final.
"Go home after this," David said, returning his attention to his son. "Whatever plans you had tonight, cancel them. Stay in the penthouse with Maria until you hear from me."
"How long is that supposed to take?"
David moved to the window, staring out at the city lights that sparkled like scattered diamonds below. "I have to handle some business offshore. A meeting that can't be postponed."
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't." David's reflection in the window looked older than his fifty-two years, worn down by pressures Ethan could only guess at. "The situation with the investigation... it's forcing some difficult decisions. People I trusted have proven unreliable. Agreements I thought were solid are crumbling."
He turned back to Ethan, and for the first time in years, his expression held something approaching vulnerability.
"Whatever you've heard about the investigation, it's worse than you think. But stay out of it. Promise me."
The sincerity in his father's voice caught Ethan off guard. Behind the corporate armor, behind the cold authority, he glimpsed something almost human—fear, maybe, or genuine concern for his son's safety.
"I promise," Ethan said, and meant it.
"Good." David checked his watch, then moved toward a wall safe hidden behind a painting of abstract corporate art. "I need to go. The helicopter will be here in ten minutes."
Ethan left his father's office with more questions than answers, but he walked slowly through the outer reception area, his mind churning with half-heard conversations and meaningful glances. The executive floors felt different at night—less bustling with corporate energy, more like a maze of secrets and whispered conspiracies.
As he waited for the elevator, two voices drifted from an adjacent conference room. The door was slightly ajar, and Ethan found himself moving closer without conscious decision.
"—removing liabilities before the next audit cycle," one voice was saying. Male, authoritative, with the kind of accent that spoke of expensive education and inherited privilege.
"The Osborne situation is becoming untenable," replied another. "Too much scrutiny, too many questions. It might be time to consider... alternative approaches."
"What kind of alternatives?"
A pause, heavy with implication. "The kind that ensure he doesn't survive this quarter's earnings report."
Ethan's blood turned to ice water.
The voices stopped abruptly as footsteps approached the conference room door. Ethan ducked around a corner, heart hammering against his ribs, as two figures emerged—senior executives he vaguely recognized from company holiday parties. One was tall and silver-haired, the other shorter with the soft build of someone who'd spent decades behind a desk making other people's lives miserable.
They spotted Ethan immediately.
"Well, hello there," the tall one said, his voice carrying forced joviality that didn't reach his eyes. "Working late, young Osborne?"
"Just visiting Dad," Ethan managed, hoping his voice sounded steadier than it felt.
"How lovely. Family time is so important." The shorter executive smiled, but it was the kind of expression predators wore before they struck. "Give our regards to your father. We hope his trip goes... smoothly."
They walked away, their footsteps echoing down the marble corridor like a countdown to something Ethan didn't want to imagine.
The elevator descended through the tower's heart, but Ethan barely noticed the floors ticking by. His mind raced with fragments of overheard conversation and his father's warnings about enemies who didn't follow conventional rules. The kind that ensures he doesn't survive this quarter.
Through the elevator's small window, he caught a glimpse of the tower's rooftop helipad. A helicopter sat waiting, its rotors beginning their slow spin-up. Even from this distance, he could see a figure walking across the landing pad—his father, moving with the same controlled urgency that had defined their entire conversation.
The elevator reached the lobby, and Ethan walked through the marble cathedral on unsteady legs. Outside, the city continued its evening routine, indifferent to the corporate dramas playing out in the glass towers above. Thomas waited by the Bentley, but Ethan waved him off.
"I'll walk for a bit," he called. "Need some air."
Thomas nodded and pulled away from the curb, leaving Ethan alone on the sidewalk. Above him, the helicopter's engine grew louder as it prepared for departure. He looked up, shielding his eyes against the building's ambient lighting, and watched the aircraft lift off from the pad with mechanical precision.
His phone buzzed.
Same unknown number. Same cold dread settling in his stomach.
"Hello?"
"This is your last chance." The voice was identical to the morning calls—precise, emotionless, carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "Leave the tower NOW."
"Who are you?" Ethan's voice cracked slightly. "What do you want from me?"
"Not you. Your father." A pause that stretched like eternity. "And he's already dead."
Ethan stared at his phone, the screen going dark as the line disconnected. Above him, his father's helicopter rose into the night sky, its navigation lights blinking red and green against the darkness. The aircraft banked east, heading toward whatever offshore meeting David Osborne couldn't postpone, carrying him away from the city and toward a destiny that suddenly felt far more ominous than a simple business trip.
The mysterious caller's words echoed in his head: He's already dead.
Ethan stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the retreating helicopter until it disappeared among the city's constellation of lights, and tried to shake the feeling that he was watching his father fly toward his own destruction.
Standing behind him was the tower, with its fifty-three stories of corporate power and secret plots; above him, in the night sky, David Osborne soared toward the unknown, unprotected by the city's neon light.