The meeting

Ethan's POV 

Samuel Brooks didn't offer me a seat immediately. He stood behind his desk with both hands resting against the polished wood, studying me with the kind of attention that made me feel less like a visitor and more like a document he'd been waiting years to open. There was nothing particularly threatening about him. He was probably in his late sixties, perhaps older, with silver hair combed neatly away from his forehead and a pair of thin glasses resting low on his nose. His charcoal suit was understated, but everything about him suggested precision.

He looked at me for another few seconds before finally gesturing toward the chair opposite his desk.

"Please sit"

I walked to the chair and sat while he remained standing.

"You're Ethan Cole."

"Yes."

"Twenty-nine years old."

I said nothing.

"Married to Sophia Harrington for three years."

My eyes narrowed slightly.

"That's not difficult information to find."

"No."

He walked around the desk and lowered himself into his chair.

"It isn't."

Something about his answer bothered me. Most people who wanted to impress me would have explained how much they knew. Samuel didn't. He simply acknowledged it and continued looking at me.

"My grandfather died last night," I said.

Samuel's fingers stopped moving.

"Yes."

"You called me about him."

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

He looked at me for a long moment.

"That depends on what you were told."

The answer irritated me.

"I wasn't told anything."

A faint crease appeared between his brows.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Your parents never spoke about him?"

"No."

"Not even your mother?"

"My mother died when I was eight."

"And your father?"

"Before that."

Samuel leaned back slowly.

I watched his expression change. His expression changes not out of pity but recognition. That unsettled me more.

"Who raised you?" he asked.

"Thomas and Margaret Cole."

"Your grandparents?"

"No."

"Relatives?"

"No."

"Then who were they?"

I stared at him.

"You already know."

"I want to hear it from you."

"They were the people who raised me."

He nodded.

"Did they ever tell you where you came from?"

"They told me enough."

"Enough for what?"

"To live."

Something shifted in his expression. For the first time, Samuel looked almost sad. I leaned forward. Mr. Brooks, I came here because you said you had something to tell me. If this is some kind of mistake, I'd rather know now and start heading back home.

"It isn't a mistake."

"Then tell me why I'm here."

He reached for a file lying on the corner of his desk. It was old, not merely old-looking but very old. The edges had darkened with age, and the brown leather cover had been worn smooth in places where hands had held it repeatedly. Samuel placed it between us. He didn't open it.

"This file contains information about your family."

"My family?"

"Your biological family."

The room seemed to grow quieter. I looked at the file, then at him.

"My parents are dead."

"I know."

"Then what's left to discuss?"

"Your parents were not the beginning of your story, Ethan."

I stared at him. He opened the file. Inside were several documents, most of them yellowed with age. I couldn't read the writing from where I sat. Samuel touched the first page but didn't slide it toward me.

"There are things you were never told."

"Such as?"

"Why you were separated from your family."

My chest tightened.

"I wasn't separated from anyone."

"That's what you believe."

"Because that's what happened."

"Is it?"

His question hung between us. I hated how calmly he asked it. I hated even more that I didn't have an answer. For most of my life, I'd accepted the story I'd been given because there had been no reason not to. My parents died. Thomas and Margaret took me in. They raised me. They loved me in their own imperfect way. When they died, I continued alone. There had never been another story, until today.

Samuel removed a photograph from the file. He looked at it for a moment before turning it around. I froze. It was an old photograph, three people stood in front of a large stone building. A man, a woman and a little boy. The photograph had faded, but the child's face was clear enough. My face. It looked exactly like my mature face. I reached for it but Samuel didn't let go immediately.

"Have you seen this before?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"I'd remember."

He released it. I took the photograph and stared at the child. He looked about six years old, same dark eyes, same narrow jaw, same small scar above the left eyebrow. I touched my eyebrow unconsciously. I had gotten that scar as a child. Thomas had always told me I'd fallen from a tree.

"Who are they?"

Samuel looked at the man in the photograph.

"People you need to know about."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I can give you today."

I looked back at him.

"Why?"

"Because you're not ready."

A bitter laugh escaped me.

"You've known me for five minutes."

"I've known you much longer than that."

The words made my smile disappear.

"How long?"

Samuel didn't answer.

"How long have you known about me?"

He looked toward the window.

"Long enough to know that asking too many questions too quickly can be dangerous."

I lowered the photograph.

"Are you threatening me?"

"No."

His eyes returned to mine.

"I'm warning you."

That was worse. I quietly stood up.

"If you're expecting me to sit here while you speak in riddles, you've got the wrong man."

Samuel didn't try to stop me. Instead, he said quietly, "Your grandfather asked me to wait until you were old enough to decide for yourself."

I stopped.

"My grandfather?"

"Yes."

"What was his name?"

Samuel's expression became unreadable.

"Not today."

I turned around slowly.

"Then why bring me here?"

"Because I needed to see you."

"Why?"

"To know whether the boy I was told about still existed."

I stared at him.

"And?"

He studied me.

"He does."

For some reason, that answer unsettled me more than everything else. Samuel closed the file.

"There will come a time when you'll have to decide whether you want the truth."

"And if I do?"

"Then come back."

"When?"

"You'll know."

I almost laughed.

"You expect me to walk out of here with nothing?"

Samuel glanced at the photograph in my hand.

"You aren't leaving with nothing."

I looked down. I was still holding the photograph. I hadn't realized I'd been holding it so tightly.

"Keep it."

"Why?"

"Because one day you'll understand why it was taken."

I slipped the photograph into the inside pocket of my jacket.

"One last question."

Samuel nodded.

"Why me?"

He didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. " Because some people spend their entire lives believing they know who they are." His eyes held mine.

"Until someone finally gives them a reason to question it."

I left the office without another word. The elevator doors closed in front of me, hiding Samuel Brooks from view. I stared at my reflection in the polished metal, the same poor miserable Ethan Cole but the photograph inside my jacket felt heavier with every passing second.

For the first time, I wondered whether my entire childhood had been built around a story someone else had written for me. And I didn't like the thought. Not one bit.

---

By the time I returned to the Harrington mansion, the house was already preparing for another busy evening. Sophia wasn't home yet. Richard was in the study with two of his business partners, Charlotte was sitting in the living room scrolling through her phone. She looked up when I entered.

"Back already?"

"Apparently."

Her eyes moved over my suit.

"How did the interview go?"

"I don't think there was an interview."

She laughed.

"Of course there wasn't."

I walked past her.

"Ethan."

I stopped.

She looked at me strangely.

"Where did you actually go?"

I smiled.

"Out."

She rolled her eyes.

"You're impossible."

I didn't care what she thought. I went upstairs, closed the bedroom door behind me, and pulled the photograph from my jacket. I placed it on the desk. The little boy stared back at me, I stared back at him. Then I noticed something I missed before. The building behind the three figures carried a symbol above its entrance. A strange emblem, a circle surrounding a single black eagle. I had never seen it before. Yet somehow it felt familiar.

I couldn't stop staring at the photograph before a knock sounded at the door. I quickly slipped it beneath a book.

"Come in."

Sophia opened the door.

She looked exhausted.

"You're home."

"Yeah."

She entered and dropped her handbag on the chair.

"How was your interview?"

I looked at her.

For one brief second, I considered telling her everything, then I remembered Samuel's warning. There are things you were never told. So I

smiled.

"It didn't happen."

She frowned.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later."

She studied me.

"You've been acting strange."

"I've had a strange day."

That seemed to satisfy her for now. She walked toward the bathroom. I waited until the door closed before looking back at the book where I hid the photograph, couldn't stop having a million thoughts in my mind.