Chapter 7 - The Shipping Terminal
I told Clara no three times.
She came anyway.
"You're impossible," I said as she climbed into the armored SUV.
"You noticed."
"This is not a kitchen argument."
"No. My brother is there."
Marcus looked forward and wisely said nothing.
The shipping terminal had been abandoned for eight years.
Rusting cranes.
Empty containers.
Wind off the channel.
Rusk called before we entered.
"Ethan."
"Where's Sam?"
"Alive."
Clara grabbed the phone.
"Let me hear him."
Rusk laughed.
"I like her."
"I don't care."
"That's the problem. You care now."
My jaw tightened.
"Let Sam go."
"Drop the evidence."
"No."
"Then perhaps Clara learns what Madeline learned."
The world narrowed.
"You mention my wife again and—"
"And what? You'll kill me?"
He laughed.
"That's who you are, Ethan. Don't let a maid make you forget."
Clara looked at me.
I ended the call.
"What did he mean?" she asked.
"He's trying to provoke me."
"Is it working?"
"Yes."
She nodded.
"Then don't give him what he wants."
Again.
Simple.
Infuriating.
Correct.
Marcus's team entered from the east side.
We found Sam tied inside a container.
Alive.
Then gunfire erupted.
Clara stayed behind concrete barriers as ordered for approximately twenty seconds.
Then Sam shouted.
She ran.
I caught her arm.
"Wait."
"He's right there."
"There's still fire."
"He's my brother."
"And you getting shot doesn't help him."
Her eyes burned.
I understood.
I had used the same logic on myself for years.
Love made people stupid.
Or brave.
Sometimes both.
Marcus cleared the west platform.
We reached Sam.
Clara cut the restraints.
He hugged her.
Then Rusk appeared above us on the catwalk.
Gun in hand.
"Beautiful."
Everyone froze.
Rusk smiled.
"Family reunion."
He pointed the gun at Clara.
I stepped in front of her.
"Take me."
"That was always the plan."
He came down slowly.
Marcus's men had angles, but Rusk kept Clara behind me.
"You ruined everything," he said.
"No. Patricia did."
"She got sentimental."
"She killed my wife."
"She made a mistake."
My hands tightened.
Rusk smiled.
"There's the old Ethan."
Clara whispered behind me, "Don't."
He heard.
"See? She thinks she can train you."
I looked at him.
"No."
"What?"
"She reminded me I can choose."
He laughed.
"Choose what?"
"Not to be you."
The distraction was enough.
Sam kicked a loose metal bar across the floor.
Rusk looked down.
Marcus fired.
One shot.
Rusk's gun fell.
He collapsed, wounded in the shoulder.
Alive.
I could have finished him.
Everyone knew it.
Rusk looked up at me.
"Do it."
I stepped closer.
Twenty years of violence lived inside me.
Madeline's death.
Patricia.
The girls under the bed.
Clara’s fear.
Sam tied to a chair.
"Do it," Rusk repeated.
I looked at Clara.
She said nothing.
She didn't need to.
I lowered my gun.
"You're going to prison."
Rusk laughed bitterly.
"Soft."
"No."
I looked at him.
"Free."
Federal agents arrived minutes later.
Rusk survived.
So did Sam.
On the drive home, Clara sat beside me.
For twenty minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then she took my hand.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"Choosing."
I looked at our hands.
"You make that sound easy."
"It isn't."
"No."
She rested her head on my shoulder.
"That's why it matters."
When we returned, Avery and Sophie ran into the foyer.
"Daddy!"
I hugged them.
Then they ran to Clara.
She knelt and held both.
I watched them.
Not with jealousy.
Not anymore.
With gratitude.
Clara was not taking my place.
She had helped me find it.
That night, after the twins slept, I found her on the balcony.
Houston lights stretched beyond the trees.
"You should rest," I said.
"So should you."
"I own the balcony."
"You use that argument too much."
I stood beside her.
She looked at me.
"What happens now?"
"Rusk talks."
"Patricia?"
"Likely arrested within twenty-four hours."
"The organization?"
"Ending."
"Really?"
"Really."
She smiled.
"What?"
"I'm proud of you."
The words hit harder than expected.
"I've been feared by half this city."
"Congratulations."
"Men have toasted my name."
"Sounds exhausting."
"And somehow three words from you matter more."
Her smile faded.
The air changed.
I stepped closer.
"Clara."
"Yes?"
"I don't know what this is."
She looked down.
"Neither do I."
"I know what it isn't."
"What?"
"Employment."
She laughed softly.
"Good."
I touched her face.
She did not move away.
Then I kissed her.
Slow.
Careful.
Nothing like the violence surrounding us.
When we separated, she whispered, "That was probably a bad idea."
"Probably."
"Again?"
"Definitely."
She kissed me first.
Inside the house, a small voice shouted from the hallway.
"Clara?"
We broke apart.
Sophie stood in the doorway holding Bunny.
"I had a bad dream."
Clara immediately moved.
I did too.
Sophie looked between us.
Then smiled suspiciously.
"Were you kissing?"
Clara nearly choked.
I said, "Go back to bed."
Sophie grinned.
"That's a yes."
For the first time in years, I laughed so loudly it echoed through the house.
Sam spent the night in the estate infirmary with bruised wrists and a sprained shoulder.
Clara stayed beside him until he fell asleep.
I waited outside.
Not because I was ordered to.
Because I finally understood waiting could be an act of respect.
When she came out, her face looked exhausted.
"He's okay."
"I know."
"No, I mean really okay."
She leaned against the wall.
"For a few hours in that container, he thought he was going to die."
I looked toward the closed door.
"I know that feeling."
Clara looked at me.
"You never talk about it."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because talking doesn't change it."
"Neither does silence."
I almost smiled.
"You have one philosophy."
"It's a good one."
We went to the kitchen.
She made tea.
I didn't argue.
After a while, she asked, "Were you scared today?"
"Yes."
That answer surprised both of us.
She looked down at her cup.
"Good."
"You keep calling fear good."
"Because yours means you're finally attached to something."
I stared at her.
"That is not comforting."
"It's true."
She looked at me.
"You were scared for Sam."
"Yes."
"For me."
"Yes."
"For the girls."
"Always."
She reached across the table.
"And maybe that's not weakness."
I took her hand.
"No."
For the first time in my life, I believed it.
The next morning, I signed the final authorization closing the last illegal gambling room under my name.
Marcus witnessed it.
Clara stood in the doorway.
Nobody applauded.
May you like
It wasn't that kind of moment.
But I felt lighter anyway.
