Page 18 of King of the Weld
"That tracks," Michael says. "The Blackwoods are old money, conservative investors. They've weathered economic downturns better than the Valentines, who've made some aggressive moves that haven't paid off." He pauses. "If I were to suggest that Morrison International is reconsidering its position in the Singapore project due to concerns about the Valentine family's... ethical standards..."
I catch his meaning immediately. "You'd threaten to pull out of the deal unless he leaves Sophia alone."
"Not threaten," Michael corrects. "Simply make it clear that our company values align with partners who respect individual autonomy and human rights. Including the right of a grown woman to choose her own path in life."
"Would you really do that?" I ask, surprised by his willingness to leverage a major business deal. "Isn't that risking a lot of money?"
Michael snorts. "The deal is more important to him than to me, Ethan. Morrison International has diversified interests across seventeen countries. We can absorb the loss of one project. Edward Valentine, from what my financial team tells me, cannot. Especially not with the rumors already circulating about Valentine Enterprises' liquidity issues."
I'm reminded once again that beneath my brother's charming exterior lies a shrewd businessman who built a global empire from the ground up. Michael plays in a different league than most, a league that includes men like Edward Valentine.
"No lawyers needed, then?" I ask, trying to process this unexpected development.
"Oh, lawyers are always useful," Michael says. "But in this case, I think a simple business conversation will be more effective. Edward understands money and power. Those are the languages he speaks fluently."
Relief washes over me. Not just at the potential solution, but at the realization that I'm not facing this alone. "Thank you, Michael. I owe you."
"You don't owe me anything," he counters firmly. "But Ethan, there's something you should know about Harrison Blackwood."
The shift in his tone puts me on alert. "What about him?"
"He's got a reputation in certain circles. Nothing that makes the papers, but... there have been women. Women who've been paid significant sums for their silence about his behavior."
A cold anger settles in my gut. "What kind of behavior?"
"The kind that leaves marks," Michael says grimly. "The kind that powerful men have been getting away with for centuries. If Sophia was trying to avoid marriage to him, she had good reason."
I think of the fear in Sophia's eyes when she spoke of Harrison, the way she referred to him as a monster.
"I know," I say quietly.
"I'll make the call to Edward today," Michael promises. "In the meantime, stay alert. Men like Valentine don't like to be cornered, and they often lash out before retreating."
"I'm aware of the risks," I say stiffly.
"Are you?" Michael challenges. "Because from where I'm sitting, this sounds like Afghanistan all over again. You throwing yourself in front of bullets meant for someone else."
The comparison hits too close to home. "This isn't a war zone, Michael."
"No," he agrees, "but wealth and power create their own kind of battlefield. And from what I know of Edward Valentine, he doesn't leave survivors."
I rub my bandaged knuckles, feeling the dull throb beneath the gauze. "Neither do I."
Michael sighs, the sound crackling through the connection. "Be honest with yourself about why you're doing this. Is it for her or is it because you need a mission again?"
The question lands like a punch to the gut, unwelcome but impossible to dodge. "Does it matter?" I counter. "She needs help either way."
"It matters if you're using her situation as some kind of redemption project," Michael says bluntly. "She's not a villageyou couldn't save, Ethan. She's a person with her own agency and choices."
"I know that," I snap, though the parallel has occurred to me in the dark corners of my mind I try not to visit. "Just take care of it, Michael."
"I will," he promises. "And I'm here if you need to talk about the rest of it."
"I don't," I say, softening it with, "but thanks."
After we hang up, I stand on the porch for several minutes, watching the tree line and considering Michael's words. Is he right? Am I substituting one mission for another, trying to fill the void left when I hung up my uniform? Using Sophia's crisis to feel necessary again?
The crunch of tires on gravel interrupts my thoughts. Sheriff Carter's patrol car appears around the bend, moving at a steady pace up my driveway. Time to focus on the immediate problem.
