Chapter 2 - THE RUBBER DUCK ON A BILLIONAIRE’S DESK
Mara Bennett’s secret mission had three rules.
Sophie stayed quiet.
Sophie stayed inside the staff lounge.
And under absolutely no circumstances did Sophie enter Mr. Caldwell’s private study.
At 7:12 that morning, all three rules were already dead.
Mara was changing linens in the guest suite when Walter Pierce appeared in the doorway.
“Mara.”
His expression told her immediately.
“What happened?”
“You should come with me.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Sophie?”
“She’s fine.”
That somehow sounded worse.
Mara hurried through the penthouse.
When she reached Ethan Caldwell’s study, she nearly stopped breathing.
Sophie stood beside his enormous desk.
Ethan sat behind it.
And directly on top of a forty-million-dollar acquisition contract sat Sophie’s yellow rubber duck.
Nobody spoke.
Mara’s face burned.
“Sophie.”
Her daughter turned.
“Hi, Mama.”
“What are you doing?”
“He looked sad.”
Mara closed her eyes.
Please, God.
Not today.
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
His expression was impossible to read.
“Sophie was explaining something to me.”
Mara swallowed.
“I am so sorry, Mr. Caldwell. My childcare fell through. I know the rule. I should have called Walter. I should never have—”
“Mom.”
Sophie tugged her sleeve.
“You’re doing the fast talking.”
Mara stared at her.
Ethan’s mouth twitched.
Barely.
But Walter saw it.
So did Mara.
Sophie pointed to the rubber duck.
“I gave him Franklin.”
“Franklin?”
Ethan looked at the toy.
“That’s his name?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he looks like a Franklin.”
Ethan stared at the duck.
Then at Sophie.
“That explains nothing.”
“I know.”
And then it happened.
A sound nobody in the Caldwell penthouse had heard in ten years.
Ethan laughed.
Not politely.
Not a social smile with air behind it.
A real laugh.
Short.
Unexpected.
Almost rusty.
Walter’s eyes widened.
Mara forgot to breathe.
Ethan himself looked startled.
Sophie grinned.
“There. Better.”
The laugh disappeared.
Ethan looked at her for several seconds.
Then he looked at Mara.
“You brought your daughter because you had no one else?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I’m in my first week.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Mara lowered her eyes.
“I needed this job.”
Ethan understood that answer too well.
He looked at Sophie again.
The girl was now studying one of his architectural models.
“Don’t touch that,” Mara said immediately.
“I’m not.”
Sophie leaned closer.
“Why does rich-people furniture always look uncomfortable?”
Walter coughed into his fist.
Ethan’s mouth moved again.
Mara wanted the floor to open beneath her.
“I can take her home,” she said. “I’ll accept whatever consequence you think is appropriate.”
Sophie’s smile vanished.
“Mama?”
Ethan noticed.
“What consequence?”
Mara hesitated.
“Termination.”
Sophie turned toward Ethan.
“You can’t fire her.”
“Sophie.”
“No.”
Her little shoulders straightened.
“She didn’t do anything bad.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“She broke a rule.”
“Because Mrs. Givens went to the hospital.”
“That’s still a broken rule.”
Sophie thought about it.
“That’s a dumb rule.”
Mara nearly died.
Walter looked toward the ceiling.
Ethan stared at Sophie.
“Children aren’t allowed here because I work from home.”
“You work everywhere.”
Ethan paused.
“How do you know?”
“You have three phones.”
She pointed.
“And you were reading papers while drinking coffee.”
She pointed again.
“And Walter told Mama you eat dinner in here.”
Walter’s face fell.
“Miss Sophie—”
“So the problem isn’t kids.”
Sophie folded her arms.
“The problem is you never stop working.”
Silence.
Ethan looked at Mara.
“Does she always do this?”
“Unfortunately.”
Sophie looked offended.
“Fortunately.”
That nearly got him again.
Ethan stood.
He crossed to the window overlooking Manhattan.
Ten years earlier, Grace had once told him that he worked because work obeyed him.
People did not.
Life certainly did not.
He had hated that observation because it was accurate.
Behind him, Sophie whispered to her mother.
“Is he mad?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can take Franklin back.”
Something in Ethan tightened.
He turned.
“Franklin stays.”
Sophie blinked.
“Really?”
“For today.”
She smiled.
Mara looked stunned.
Ethan returned to his desk.
“Walter.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Have someone convert the east reading room into a temporary workspace.”
Mara stared.
“For Sophie?”
“For any staff member facing an emergency childcare situation.”
Walter’s eyebrows rose.
Ethan continued before he could react.
“Books. A desk. Some art supplies. Nothing ridiculous.”
Sophie raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“Beanbag chairs.”
“No.”
“Every kid needs a beanbag chair.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s the law.”
Ethan exhaled through his nose.
“One.”
“Two.”
“One.”
“Deal.”
Mara stared at him.
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m not firing you.”
Her shoulders dropped.
“Mr. Caldwell—”
“Ethan.”
The word came out before he could stop himself.
Mara froze.
Employees did not call him Ethan.
Neither did almost anyone else.
He cleared his throat.
“Mr. Caldwell is fine.”
Sophie giggled.
“You confused yourself.”
Ethan gave her a look.
She smiled innocently.
For the rest of the morning, Sophie stayed in the reading room.
Mostly.
At noon, Ethan walked past and saw her drawing at the table.
“What is that?”
She held up the paper.
A man stood beneath a giant black cloud.
A yellow duck sat on his shoulder.
Ethan stared.
“Is that me?”
“Yes.”
“Why is there weather inside my house?”
“That’s your mood.”
Ethan should have been offended.
Instead he sat across from her.
“What’s this?”
He pointed to another drawing.
Sophie’s expression changed.
A woman held a baby.
Beside them stood a man with curly brown hair.
“That’s my dad.”
Ethan’s voice softened.
“You remember him?”
“No.”
The answer was simple.
“He died before I was born.”
Ethan looked toward the baby in the picture.
“And your mother?”
“She says he loved me before he met me.”
That sentence struck him.
Grace had once said the same thing about Hannah.
Ethan looked away.
“What happened to your father?”
Sophie colored the edge of the paper.
“Car accident.”
His fingers stopped.
“When?”
“Long time ago.”
“How long?”
Sophie counted silently.
“Ten years.”
Something cold moved through Ethan.
“What was his name?”
“Daniel Bennett.”
Ethan stared at her.
The name meant nothing.
Yet.
But the timing did.
The winter.
Ten years earlier.
A car accident.
He told himself Manhattan had thousands of tragedies.
Millions of people.
Coincidences existed.
Then Mara entered carrying folded towels.
“Sophie, lunch.”
Ethan looked at her.
“Your husband died in a car accident?”
Mara stopped.
“Yes.”
“November?”
Her face changed.
“How did you know?”
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
“What date?”
Mara’s voice became quieter.
“November eighteenth.”
The room seemed to move.
Grace died November eighteenth.
Ethan stood too quickly.
The chair scraped backward.
Mara flinched.
“What’s wrong?”
“What highway?”
She stared at him.
“Ethan?”
“What highway, Mara?”
“Interstate 87. Near Harriman.”
Ethan went white.
The same road.
Same curve.
Same night.
Mara saw something terrible in his face.
“Why are you asking me?”
Ethan did not answer.
He walked out.
Straight to his study.
Straight to the locked cabinet nobody else opened.
He pulled out Grace’s original accident file.
Ten years old.
He had not touched it in six.
He opened the police summary.
Vehicle One.
Grace Caldwell.
Vehicle Two.
Commercial delivery van.
Driver:
DANIEL BENNETT.
Ethan stopped breathing.
The report slipped from his fingers.
For ten years, he had been told the other driver crossed the center line.
For ten years, a piece of him had hated a dead stranger whose name he never bothered remembering.
Now that stranger’s daughter was sitting twenty feet away.
And her mother was cleaning his home.
Ethan looked at the yellow rubber duck on his desk.
Then at Daniel Bennett’s name.
And for the first time in ten years, grief was no longer the only thing he felt.
It was fear.
Because somewhere in the back of the accident file was a notation he had never questioned before.
Mechanical inspection sealed by corporate counsel.
The law firm listed beneath it belonged to Caldwell Meridian Group.
May you like
His own company.
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