Chapter 4 - The Return from South Beach
Sunday, 4:15 PM.
The autumn afternoon was overcast, a cold October wind rustling the yellow maple leaves across our front lawn.
A luxury black Cadillac Escalade—chartered through my corporate account without my knowledge—pulled up the driveway, luggage piled high on the roof rack.
Laughter echoed across the front porch as the front door swung open.
Amanda walked in, dressed in a designer floral silk wrap dress, oversized sunglasses perched on her blonde highlights, carrying three shopping bags from Bal Harbour.
Walking behind her was her mother, Sheila, adorned in heavy gold costume jewelry; her sister, Brooke; and seventeen-year-old Dylan, strutting into the foyer wearing designer sunglasses, headphones around his neck, and a smug, entitled grin.
"Ethan!" Amanda shouted immediately, tossing her car keys onto the entry console table with dismissive arrogance. "Get down here and unload the luggage from the trunk! And where are my dry-cleaned blouses?!"
"He's not downstairs, Amanda," a deep, level voice answered from the dark living room.
Amanda stopped dead in her tracks, pulling off her sunglasses.
I stood up from the leather armchair by the fireplace, dressed in a sharp navy suit, holding a steaming mug of black coffee.
Standing tall and composed beside me was Ethan, wearing his new tailored blazer and crisp white shirt, his posture erect, his eyes clear and completely devoid of fear.
Amanda gasped slightly, her expression flickering from shock to irritation.
"David?!" Amanda stammered, crossing her arms defensively. "What are you doing home? You were supposed to be in Arizona until Tuesday!"
"The contract finished early," I replied calmly, taking a slow sip of coffee. "So I came home to check on my son."
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Dylan chuckled from the foyer, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. "Hey, Uncle Dave. Tell Ethan to carry my golf clubs up to my room. He's lazy as hell."
I turned my eyes toward Dylan. The look in my gaze was so cold, so lethal, that the seventeen-year-old’s smug grin instantly withered, and he instinctively stepped behind his mother.
