Echoes of the File
The night refused to end.
By the time Ethan returned from the south gate, the air in the mansion felt colder, heavier — like the walls themselves had learned to hold secrets. He still had the note in his hand, crumpled slightly from the way he'd been gripping it.
Clara looked up as he entered. "Well? Was it Amazon Prime or just more cryptic creepiness?"
He didn't answer. His silence said enough.
"Okay," she muttered, crossing her arms. "So… cryptic creepiness."
Ethan set the note on the table and leaned against the edge. "It wasn't Victor's handwriting."
That startled her. "Then whose?"
"I don't know." His eyes flicked toward the window. "But whoever left it wanted me to find it."
Clara moved closer, her voice soft. "You think it's Aiden."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "Or Marcus."
The name hung between them like a curse.
Before she could respond, the front gate alarm blared — a sharp, mechanical sound that sliced through the night.
Clara jumped. "Okay, that's either a murderer or the pizza I didn't order."
Ethan grabbed his phone and checked the feed. His expression changed, confusion bleeding into something rarer — disbelief.
"Mia," he said.
Clara froze. "What?"
"She's at the gate."
The room spun. Clara ran past him before he could stop her, ignoring his warning shout as she bolted down the stairs. The guards had already opened the gate when she reached the courtyard, her breath catching at the sight before her.
Mia stood there — pale, disheveled, her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes darted around like she'd been running for miles.
"Clara," she breathed, and before Clara could say a word, Mia threw her arms around her.
"Mia!" Clara gasped. "You look like you just wrestled a raccoon. What happened to you?"
Mia let out a shaky laugh — the kind that sounded like it might break into tears at any moment. "It's a long story. And not the funny kind."
Ethan appeared behind them, his tone sharp. "Inside. Now."
Mia tensed but nodded. They followed him to the study, where the firelight painted the walls in gold and shadow. Clara helped her sit while Ethan stood by the desk, his presence steady but unreadable.
After a long silence, Mia finally said, "You still have the file I gave Clara?"
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "You mean the one that almost got her killed?"
Clara winced. "Yeah, maybe let's start with the part where no one dies."
Mia's voice trembled. "That file wasn't just about company data. It was proof — proof that Victor's operation goes deeper than any of us thought. He's not just after Blackwood Global. He's after everything that connects to it."
Ethan frowned. "Be specific."
Mia looked down, fingers tightening on her sleeve. "The offshore accounts. The shell companies. The cover names. And Marcus—"
"Marcus?" Clara echoed.
"Yes." Mia's eyes lifted to Ethan. "He wasn't supposed to be part of this, but Victor used him — used the fact that he's your brother. He manipulated him into believing you destroyed his mother's life."
The silence cracked like glass.
Ethan's voice came out low. "Eleanor had nothing to do with that."
Mia nodded. "I know that. But Victor made sure Marcus didn't. He's been feeding him lies for months — setting you both up to destroy each other."
Clara swallowed hard. "So Marcus isn't the bad guy?"
Mia hesitated. "He's angry. Lost. But not evil. Not yet."
Ethan turned away, his shoulders tense. "And Aiden?"
Mia's lips pressed together. "He found me. He's been trying to get to Victor first. I think… I think he's trying to fix what he broke."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Wow. So everyone's having redemption arcs except the actual villain?"
Mia almost smiled — almost. "Victor's planning something big, Clara. The rose — that's his warning. He's moving tonight."
Ethan faced her fully now. "Where?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. But I found this." She reached into her coat and pulled out a USB drive, setting it on the table. "Everything I could copy before they found me."
Ethan's gaze flicked to it, then to her. "Who's 'they'?"
Her voice faltered. "Marcus's men. He's not himself, Ethan. He's… different."
Clara frowned. "Different how?"
"He looked at me like he didn't recognize me. Like something was controlling him."
The room went still. Clara's usual spark dimmed slightly as she looked between them. "So we've got an evil puppet master, a brainwashed half-brother, and a CEO who hasn't slept since the Ice Age. Cool. Totally manageable."
Ethan gave her a look, and she lifted her hands. "What? Someone's gotta summarize."
Mia laughed weakly — a sound that eased the tension just enough.
Ethan took the USB, his expression unreadable. "We'll analyze it. If this contains what you say it does, it changes everything."
Mia nodded, then suddenly swayed. Clara caught her just in time.
"Whoa, easy. You need rest. And maybe ten gallons of hot chocolate."
Mia smiled faintly. "Still the same Clara."
"And you're still terrible at subtle entrances," Clara replied softly.
Ethan stood by the fire, eyes lost in the flames. "Victor wanted us to find the rose. He wanted me to know he's close." He looked at Mia. "And now he's using Marcus to deliver the next message."
Mia met his gaze. "Then maybe it's time you stop playing defense."
Clara blinked. "Wait, are you saying—"
"Yes," Ethan said quietly. "We bring the fight to him."
The words hung in the air, final and dangerous.
Outside, the wind howled through the trees, scattering rose petals across the stone path — pale and ghostlike under the moonlight.
And from somewhere unseen, Victor watched through a camera feed, smiling faintly.
"So predictable, Ethan," he murmured, swirling his drink. "You always play hero when the board's already mine."
Back in the mansion, Clara wrapped a blanket around Mia, muttering, "If this turns into another kidnapping situation, I'm demanding a raise."
Mia chuckled. "You don't even work for him."
"Exactly," Clara said. "That's how bad it is."
Ethan turned slightly — and for the first time in hours, a corner of his mouth lifted.
It wasn't much, but for Clara, it was enough to know he was still fighting — for her, for them, for whatever hope remained in the chaos.
And somewhere in the corner of the room, the single white rose on the desk began to wilt — a quiet reminder that time was running out.