Ethan's stomach churned as the plane lifted off from O'Hare Airport. He'd never flown before, and the way the ground dropped away made his heart race. He gripped the armrests, his knuckles white, trying to focus on the view outside the window. Chicago shrank below, a sprawl of buildings and lights swallowed by clouds. He was leaving his world behind, heading to New York to meet a man he didn't know for reasons he didn't understand.
The plane ticket had arrived by email, first class, along with details for a hotel and a meeting with Robert Kline. Ethan had packed a light duffel bag with a change of clothes, his toothbrush, and the letter that started it all. Sarah hadn't said much when he told her he was going. She'd just hugged him tight, her eyes worried, and said, "Call me when you get there." He hadn't pushed her for answers, not after their argument. She'd talk when she was ready. Or she wouldn't. Either way, he was doing this.
The flight was quick, just over two hours. When the plane landed at JFK, Ethan followed the crowd through the airport, feeling out of place in his worn jacket and jeans. A driver was waiting for him, holding a sign with his name. Ethan hesitated, then approached.
"I'm Ethan Grey," he said.
The driver, a tall man in a black suit, nodded. "This way, Mr. Grey."
Ethan followed him to a sleek black car, the kind you see in movies. The leather seats smelled new, and there was a bottle of water waiting for him. He sank into the seat with his duffel bag at his feet, and watched as the city came into view. New York was loud, chaotic, all skyscrapers and honking taxis. It was nothing like Chicago's South Side, where life felt small and familiar. This place was overwhelming.
The driver dropped him at a hotel in Manhattan, a towering building with glass doors and a lobby that looked like a museum. Ethan felt every eye on him as he checked in, his sneakers squeaking on the marble floor. The clerk handed him a keycard for a room on the 20th floor. When he got there, he dropped his bag and stared. The room was bigger than his apartment, with a view of the city skyline that made his jaw drop. A bed, the size of a boat, a minibar stocked with stuff he'd never afford, and a bathroom with towels softer than anything he'd ever touched. It didn't feel real.
He called Sarah, keeping his promise. "I'm here," he said when she picked up. "It's... a lot."
"Be careful, Ethan," she said, her voice tight. "Call me tomorrow, okay?"
"I will," he said, and hung up. He wanted to ask about Victor Langston again, but he didn't. She'd shut him down, like always.
The meeting with Kline was set for the next morning, so Ethan had the night to himself. He thought about calling Jamal, but what would he say? *Hey, I'm in a fancy hotel because some rich guy wants to meet me?* It sounded crazy. Instead, he ordered a burger from room service and ate it while staring at the city lights. His mind kept drifting to Ava, her laugh at the fundraiser, the way she'd looked at him like he mattered. He wondered what she was doing right now. Probably helping someone, like always.
Sleep didn't come easy. The bed was too soft, the room too quiet. He kept thinking about the letter, Kline's voice, Sarah's reaction. By the time morning came, he was tired but wired, ready to get answers.
He dressed in his best clothes—a clean pair of jeans and a button-up shirt that was a little tight. The mirror told him he didn't belong here, but he squared his shoulders and headed out. Kline's office was in a skyscraper downtown, a short cab ride away. The building was all glass and steel, with security guards and people in suits who moved like they owned the world. Ethan felt small, but he wasn't backing down.
Kline's office was on the 40th floor. A receptionist led Ethan to a conference room with a long table and windows overlooking the city. Robert Kline was waiting, a middle-aged man with gray hair and a sharp suit. He stood when Ethan walked in, offering a handshake.
"Mr. Grey, thank you for coming," Kline said, his voice smooth. "Please, sit."
Ethan sat, his hands in his lap. "Just tell me what this is about. Who's Victor Langston, and why does he want to meet me?"
Kline sat across from him, folding his hands. "Mr. Langston is the CEO of Langston Enterprises, a global company with interests in technology, real estate, and energy. He's a very private man, but he's asked me to arrange this meeting because you're his son."
Ethan froze, the words hitting like a punch. His son? He shook his head, almost laughing. "No way. My dad's gone. My mom said he left before I was born. You got the wrong guy."
Kline's face didn't change. "I assure you, there's no mistake. Victor Langston is your father. He and your mother, Sarah Grey, were involved years ago. He left to protect her, but he's been keeping tabs on you."
Ethan's mind spun. Sarah had never talked about his father. Just that he was gone, that he didn't matter. But this? A billionaire CEO? It was insane. "If he's my dad, why's he showing up now? Why not twenty years ago?"
Kline leaned back. "Victor had reasons for staying away. His life... it's complicated and dangerous, even. He didn't want that touching you or your mother. But he's sick now, Ethan. He doesn't have much time. He wants to meet you, to make things right."
Ethan's hands clenched. "Make things right? He left us. We struggled my whole life, and he was what, living in a mansion? I don't buy it."
"I understand your anger," Kline said. "But Victor is offering you a chance to know him. And more. He wants you to be his heir."
Ethan stared, his throat tight. "Heir? Like, what, inherit his money?"
"More than money," Kline said. "His company, his legacy. Langston Enterprises is worth billions. Victor has no other children. He wants you to take over."
Ethan stood, pacing to the window. The city stretched out below, a world he didn't belong in. "This is crazy. I fix cars. I deliver pizzas. I'm not some CEO."
"You don't have to decide now," Kline said. "Meet him. Hear him out. He's asked to see you tomorrow at his estate. I'll arrange everything."
Ethan turned, his jaw set. "And if I say no?"
Kline's eyes softened. "You can walk away. But you'll always wonder, Ethan. What if?"
Ethan hated that Kline was right. He couldn't go back to Chicago without knowing. He needed to see this man, to hear why he'd left, why he'd let Sarah and Ethan struggle. "Fine," he said. "I'll meet him. But I'm not promising anything."
Kline smiled. "That's all he asks. I'll send a car tomorrow morning."
Ethan left the office, his head pounding. He stepped onto the street, the noise of the city swallowing him. His father. A billionaire. It didn't feel real. He thought of Sarah, her secrecy, her tired eyes. She'd known something, maybe everything. Why hadn't she told him?
He pulled out his phone and texted Ava, needing something familiar. Hey, you free to talk later? Got something weird going on.
Her reply came fast. Sure, call me tonight. You okay?
He typed, Not sure, then deleted it. Yeah, just need to catch up. Talk soon.
He pocketed the phone and headed back to the hotel. Tomorrow, he'd meet Victor Langston, his father. The word felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else's life. He didn't know what to expect, but one thing was clear: nothing would be the same after this.