Chapter 8 - The Ghost Speaks
Ethan walked slowly toward the head of the table, stopping just a few feet away from his trembling brother. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out Sarah’s small micro-cassette recorder, and dropped it onto the glass surface right in front of Julian.
“Recognize that?” Ethan asked softly.
Julian stared at the recorder, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. “I... I don't know what that is.”
“That’s the voice of our sister, Sarah,” Ethan said, his voice rising in volume until it filled the entire room. “The sister you banished twenty-five years ago. The sister you starved of medical funds when she tried to escape this life. And most importantly... the sister whose newborn son you tried to suffocate in a hospital incubator three days ago to secure your inheritance.”
An audible gasp rippled through the room. The capos began shouting over one another, the tension in the boardroom exploding into sheer outrage.
“Order!” Sal roared, slamming his fist onto the table. He looked at Ethan. “Prove it.”
Ethan pressed Play on the cassette recorder.
The room fell dead silent. The tinny, slightly staticky voice of a young woman filled the boardroom—Sarah Blackwood speaking clearly, detailing every financial wire transfer Julian had manipulated, every threat he had made against her life, and his explicit instructions to alter her medical files during childbirth.
When the recording ended, the silence in the room was absolute and suffocating.
Julian dropped to his knees, clutching the edge of the table, his composure entirely shattered. “It’s a fake! He’s trying to steal the syndicate! You can’t believe him!”
Ethan looked down at his brother with infinite, freezing contempt. He didn't pull a gun. He didn't scream. He simply turned to Sal Marchetti and the assembled capos.
“You all know who I am,” Ethan said. “You know my word is iron. I built this family on loyalty and blood. Julian built his ambition on the corpses of our own bloodline. What do we do with traitors?”
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Sal Marchetti pulled a heavy gold-plated pistol from his waistband and laid it gently on the table, sliding it toward Ethan.
“A Blackwood doesn't let a snake live in the house,” Sal said coldly.
