Chapter 3 - The Audit of the Living RoomThe living room of Apartment 2B was small, but filled with a warm, fierce light.
A worn yellow sofa sat against the wall, covered in library books about dinosaurs and space. A small wooden dining table held two tiny plastic plates with half-eaten peanut butter sandwiches. On the wall hung dozens of colorful drawings—planets, rockets, and two little boys holding hands under a giant drawn sun.
I sat on the edge of a small wooden chair that felt absurdly small beneath my frame.
Theo and Eli stood between their mother's knees near the kitchen counter. Eli clutched his battered notebook against his chest, while Theo watched me with quiet, intense scrutiny, his little jaw set in a line so identical to mine it was terrifying.
"Boys," Naomi said gently, her hands resting on their small shoulders. "This is... this is Preston. He's an old friend of Mommy's."
"He wears a shiny watch," Eli whispered, leaning his head against Naomi's hip. "Like the man in the space book."
I swallowed down a lump of burning glass in my throat. I unbuckled my thirty-thousand-dollar Patek Philippe watch, set it flat on the small coffee table, and pushed it away as if it were a piece of hot coal.
"I'm not an old friend, Eli," I said, my voice trembling, keeping my hands visible and low. "I'm... I'm your dad."
Theo frowned, his left eyebrow shooting up again. "Mommy said our dad was far away making buildings."
"I was," I choked out, looking directly into my son's eyes. "I was far away, and I was very, very stupid. But I came back. And I'm never, ever going away again."
Naomi looked away toward the window, her jaw clenching as she fought back her own tears.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my inner coat pocket.
I pulled it out, intending to turn it off, but the screen displayed a priority code from Martin Hayes: CRITICAL: CALLOWAY HERITAGE EMERGENCY BOARD MEETING CALLED BY VICTORIA CALLOWAY.
I looked up at Naomi. "My mother just called an emergency board meeting for two o'clock. She's trying to vote me out as Chairman."
Naomi offered a quiet, bitter smile. "She tried to do the same thing to my father's estate twenty-four hours before he died in the hospital, Preston. That's how Victoria operates. The moment she senses a threat, she liquidates."
I stood up slowly, my six-foot-two frame straightening, the grief in my chest transforming instantly into a diamond-hard, terrifying clarity.
I walked over to the kitchen counter, pulled my wallet from my coat, and took out my primary black American Express card, setting it flat beside the toaster.
"Naomi," I spoke, my voice smooth, velvet, and absolute. "Martin Hayes is sending a private security team to stand outside this building in ten minutes. Nobody touches you or my sons ever again."
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Naomi looked at the black card, then up into my eyes. "Preston, I don't want your money."
"It's not my money, Naomi," I answered softly, reaching out to gently touch Eli’s dark hair for the very first time—his head was so soft, so warm, so impossibly real. "It's theirs. And today, I am going to tear down the house my mother built with it."
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