Chapter 11 - The Ashes of Blackwood
The gray morning light broke through the lingering smoke hanging over the ruins of Blackwood Manor. Fire engines and federal emergency vehicles crowded the winding gravel driveway, their rotating red and blue lights reflecting off the soaked grounds. The western wing of the mansion was completely gutted, a charred skeleton of brick and blackened iron.
Ethan sat on the tailgate of an emergency medical response vehicle, a rough gray blanket draped over his singed shoulders. A medic was finishing the bandage around his forearm, treating second-degree burns. His face was smudged with ash, but his eyes were steady and alert.
Margaret walked over, holding two paper cups of steaming black coffee. Lily was asleep inside the back of a luxury armored SUV parked nearby, wrapped safely in a warm cashmere blanket under the vigilant guard of two de Mercer operatives.
"The coroner just recovered Marcus’s body," Margaret said softly, handing a cup to her son. "The fire department confirmed the gas main ruptured. He saved your life, Ethan."
Ethan stared into the dark liquid of the coffee. "He caused the fire, Mother. And then he died putting it out. That doesn't make him a hero. It just makes him a tragedy."
"And Julian?" Margaret asked, her voice turning cold as ice.
"Julian is in federal custody at the metropolitan detention center," Ethan answered. "The Swiss authorities revoked his diplomatic immunity twenty minutes ago. His accounts are frozen, and the FBI has already recovered the seven million dollars in bonds from his private jet at the airfield."
"And the woman?"
Ethan looked up. "Vanessa is undergoing emergency surgery for the gunshot wound. She won't be seeing the light of day for thirty years."
At that moment, Frank, the head of security, approached Ethan with a grim expression, holding a waterproof evidence bag. "Mr. Sterling, you need to see this. The recovery team found this inside Julian Vance’s scorched briefcase in the courtyard."
Ethan took the evidence bag. Inside was an official autopsy report and a birth certificate, bearing the seal of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts from thirty-two years ago.
Ethan opened the file and began to read. As his eyes scanned the third paragraph, the cup of coffee slipped from his fingers, spilling across the gravel below.
Margaret frowned, leaning closer. "Ethan? What is it?"
Ethan looked up at his mother, his voice trembling with an emotion Margaret had never seen in her son. "Mother... Julian Vance wasn't Richard’s son."
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Margaret froze. "What are you talking about?"
"Julian was adopted," Ethan whispered, pointing to the official court records. "The biological child Richard had with Vance’s mother was a daughter. And she didn't die in that house fire twelve years ago."
