Elena Norwood gripped the steering wheel of her SUV, the Manhattan skyline fading in her rearview mirror as she sped toward the family mansion. The call from Sophia had come just after midnight, her sister's voice trembling with urgency: Marc's okay, but someone threw a brick through the window. There's a note, El. It's bad. Elena's pulse hadn't slowed since. The September night was cool, the air heavy with the promise of rain, but her mind burned with questions. The tabloid hit, Kessler's betrayal, the anonymous emails, and now this—a physical threat. The Norwood empire was under siege, and Marcus, already teetering on the edge, was caught in the crossfire.
Sophia met her at the mansion's entrance, her paint-splattered jeans and wild curls a stark contrast to the polished marble foyer. Her eyes were wide, her usual defiance tempered by fear. "El, it's insane. Marcus found it—shattered glass in the living room, a brick with a note: Time's running out, Byano. He's freaked out."
Elena hugged her sister, the embrace grounding them both. At twenty-eight, Elena was the steady one, her sustainable fashion empire built on calculated risks and Byano's mentorship. Sophia, at twenty-five, was the firebrand, her art a rebellion against a world she saw as broken. Together, they were Marcus's lifeline, and now, with their mother's greed and an unknown enemy circling, they needed to be Byano's too.
"Where's Dad?" Elena asked, kicking off her sneakers and striding toward the living room. The scene was jarring—glass shards glinted on the hardwood, the curtains swaying where the window gaped open. Marcus sat on the couch, his hoodie pulled tight, clutching the brick like it was a grenade. The note, taped to it, lay on the coffee table.
"He's on his way," Sophia said, glancing at Marcus. "Called him right after you. He was at the office with Harlan, chasing Kessler's leak."
Elena knelt beside Marcus, her voice soft but firm. "Marc, you okay? Talk to me."
His eyes, shadowed with exhaustion, met hers. "I heard the crash. Thought... I don't know, maybe it was my fault. Like I brought this here." His voice cracked, the weight of his depression twisting the threat into something personal.
Sophia sat on his other side, her hand on his shoulder. "This isn't on you, Marc. Someone's targeting Dad, maybe all of us. But we're tougher than they think."
Elena read the note, her stomach churning. Time's running out, Byano. No signature, just like the anonymous texts and emails. She exchanged a look with Sophia, their unspoken agreement solidifying: they had to protect Marcus and support their father, no matter the cost. Victoria's divorce schemes were bad enough, but this felt bigger, darker—a coordinated attack.
"Let's clean this up," Elena said, standing. "Marc, you don't need to deal with this alone. Soph, call the security team. We need cameras checked, now."
Sophia nodded, already dialing. Marcus stayed quiet, but he helped sweep the glass, his movements mechanical. Elena watched him, her heart aching. His journal, the one Sophia had found, haunted her—lines like I'm drowning in their shadows echoing his pain. She'd built EcoThreads on her own terms, but Marcus hadn't found his path yet. And Victoria's manipulation—using his depression as leverage—was unforgivable.
Byano arrived, his suit rumpled, his face a mask of controlled fury. "Everyone okay?" he asked, his eyes scanning Marcus first.
"Yeah," Marcus mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
Byano examined the brick and note, his jaw tightening. "Harlan's team is tracing the emails. This is connected—Kessler, the tabloid, maybe Victoria."
Sophia's voice was sharp. "Mom's behind this? She's low, but throwing bricks?"
"Not directly," Byano said. "But she's stirring the pot. Her lawyer's pushing for a deposition, and these threats are timed too well."
Elena crossed her arms. "Dad, we're with you. But Marcus—he can't handle this pressure. We need to keep him safe."
Byano nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at his son. "I'm doubling security. Marcus, you're not staying here alone. Come with me to the city apartment tomorrow."
Marcus shrugged, but Elena saw a flicker of relief in his eyes. She pulled Sophia aside, lowering her voice. "Soph, we need to be proactive. I'm checking Mom's financials—see if she's paying anyone off. You talk to Marcus's therapist, get her take on his state."
Sophia's rebellion flared. "And I'm digging into those texts. Whoever's sending them knows too much." She hesitated, then added, "El, Dad's hiding something. Those emails mentioned his past."
Elena nodded, her mind racing. Byano was their rock, but even he had shadows. The sisters spent the night strategizing, cleaning up the glass, and watching over Marcus. By dawn, they'd formed a pact: protect their brother, expose their mother, and uncover the truth behind the threats.
As they sipped coffee in the kitchen, Marcus asleep upstairs, Elena's phone buzzed—a message from her assistant: Oceanic Textiles pulled out of the deal. Cited 'instability' in Norwood family. Elena's blood ran cold. The attack wasn't just personal—it was targeting their futures.
Cliffhanger: Sophia finds a hidden message in Marcus's journal, hinting at a meeting he planned with someone unknown.
bloid's venomous lies had escalated the threats against his family. Marcus was safe here, under tightened security, but the weight of his son's despair and the coordinated attacks on his empire pressed harder. Victoria's divorce demands, Kessler's betrayal, and the anonymous emails were threads in a web tightening around him. And now, the women circling him—each with their own agendas—added another layer of danger.
Inside, the apartment was a fortress of modern elegance: white marble floors, abstract art, and floor-to-ceiling windows framing the city. Byano sipped a black coffee, his phone buzzing with messages. Harlan had confirmed the hidden file on Kessler's laptop—a draft press release accusing Byano of fraud, predating the tabloid hit. It was damning, but not enough to nail Kessler without proof of who he was working with. Byano's instincts screamed Victoria, but the anonymous sender's latest email—Look closer to home—hinted at a deeper betrayal.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Lila, his assistant, ushered in Claire Montague, the tech executive from Sophia's art show. Claire's auburn hair was swept back, her tailored dress accentuating a confidence that bordered on predatory. "Byano," she said, her smile warm but calculated. "I was in the neighborhood. Thought we could discuss that collaboration."
Byano gestured to a leather sofa, his guard up. "Claire, I'm swamped. What's on your mind?"
She sat, crossing her legs, her gaze lingering. "Your AI security platform is groundbreaking, but it needs scale. My company has the infrastructure. Partner with us, and we dominate the market."
Her pitch was sharp, but Byano caught the undertone—an invitation laced with ambition. Claire had a reputation for climbing corporate ladders, her charm as strategic as her deals. "I'll consider it," he said, keeping his tone neutral. "Send the proposal to Harlan."
Claire leaned forward, her voice dropping. "This isn't just business, Byano. I admire you—your vision, your resilience. We could be... formidable together."
The implication was clear. Byano's mind flashed to Isabella Reyes, the journalist whose probing questions at the gala had masked a similar intent. Women like Claire saw him as a conquest, a blend of power and vulnerability to exploit. His marriage was crumbling, but he wasn't naive. "I'm flattered," he said, standing. "But my focus is my family right now."
Claire's smile didn't falter, but her eyes cooled. "Family's important. Just don't let it blind you to opportunities."
As she left, Byano's phone buzzed again—a call from Evelyn Pierce, his divorce lawyer. "Victoria's team is pushing for a deposition next week," Evelyn said. "They're claiming you hid offshore accounts. We need to counter, fast."
Byano's jaw clenched. "She's fabricating. Get forensic accountants on it."
He hung up, only to face another visitor: Isabella Reyes, unannounced again. Lila looked apologetic, but Isabella breezed in, her journalist's notebook in hand. "Byano, I heard about the tabloid. I can help you control the narrative. An exclusive with me—set the record straight."
Her concern felt rehearsed, her eyes too eager. Byano leaned against his desk, arms crossed. "Why the sudden altruism, Isabella? You're after a scoop, not my redemption."
She laughed, undeterred. "Maybe both. You're a story, Byano. But I'm not your enemy. Let me in, and I'll keep the vultures at bay."
He saw through her—another web, spun with flattery and promise. "I'll pass," he said, escorting her out.
Alone again, Byano checked on Marcus, who was in the guest room, sketching in his journal. The boy looked up, his expression fragile but less hollow. "Dad, thanks for... this." He gestured at the apartment, the safety.
"Always," Byano said, his heart aching. Elena and Sophia were due soon, their pact to protect Marcus strengthening. But Sophia's text arrived first: Dad, found something in Marc's journal. He was meeting someone before he ran. No name, just a time and place.
Byano's blood ran cold. Marcus, caught in someone's game? He called Harlan. "Check Marcus's phone records. Someone's been contacting him."
As night fell, the city glittering below, Byano felt the webs tightening—Claire's advances, Isabella's probing, Victoria's schemes, and an unknown enemy pulling strings. His empire was a castle, but castles could be besieged.
Cliffhanger: Harlan calls back, voice grim: "Marcus met someone at a diner last week. Security footage shows a woman—looks like Victoria's lawyer's assistant."