Chapter 4 The Impossible Truth

Chapter 4

Ethan pressed his back harder into the damp corner of the cell, his chest was heaving. Every sharp breath sent an uneven spike of pain through his bruised ribs. He stared at the immaculate, elderly man standing in the center of the filth. He didn't understand anything he was saying. 

“Victor Sterling.”

The name echoed in Ethan’s ringing ears, but it didn't make any sense. Suddenly, a dry, raspy laugh tore its way out of Ethan’s throat. It was a pathetic sound, devoid of humor, and it ended in a wet cough. He wiped the dried blood from his split lip with the back of his trembling, dirt-stained hand. 

"Right. Let me guess. Damien sent you, didn't he? This is another one of his games. Humiliate the garbage boy, film his reaction, post it online for a few million views.”

Ethan’s voice shook, with unshed tears and pure exhaustion. He tried to push himself up straighter against the wall, but his bruised ribs screamed and he slumped back, breathing hard. "Is this his new game? Having the cops lock me up wasn't enough for him? Now he's hiring actors to come in here and mess with my head? Please, go back and tell him that I am tired, he has already won. He should leave me alone.”

Victor Sterling didn’t laugh, or say anything. Instead, he looked around the cell, then gripped the silver handle of his cane and slowly, deliberately, lowered himself 

onto the rusted metal bench attached to the cell wall. His bespoke wool suit pressed against the dirty floor, but the old man didn't seem to care. Then folded both hands over the handle and met Ethan’s eyes without a trace of mockery. It made Ethan’s chest tighten.

"I am sorry, my boy," Victor said, his quiet, raspy voice sounding remorseful. "I don't know who Damien is. But trust me nobody sent me. I came because I owe you an apology. I should have found you twenty years ago. For that, I am deeply sorry.”

"Stop it," Ethan snapped. He wrapped his arms around his aching ribs, his jaw throbbing as he clenched his teeth. "Just stop! I don't have anything left for Damien to take. My mom..." His voice broke, as he paused to control his emotions. The apology didn’t make sense. Rich men didn’t apologize to people like him. They stepped over him in the street. They threw money into spilled lobster and watched him kneel.

“You’re crazy,” Ethan whispered. “You’ve got the wrong guy. My name is Cole. Ethan Cole. I’m nobody…My mom is in a coma. I lost my job. I have nothing! Tell him he won. Just leave me alone!"

“No.” Victor’s voice was firm but gentle, like a grandfather correcting a child who’d been told a lie for too long. “You are Ethan Sterling. You have been missing for twenty-eight years. And I have spent every one of those years looking for you.”

Ethan shook his head, a quick jerky motion that sent a fresh spike of pain through his neck. “Prove it.”

Victor’s piercing grey eyes locked onto Ethan's. He didn't argue anymore or raise his voice.

"The birthmark behind your left shoulder," Victor stated evenly. "It is shaped roughly like a crescent moon,your birth mother used to say it looked like a tiny moon."

Ethan froze. The air caught in his throat. His hand instinctively twitched toward his left shoulder beneath the torn blue jumpsuit. He’d never taken his shirt off in front of anyone except his mom. Not at the construction site, not even in front of his ex-girlfriend, not ever. Nobody in this city knew about that mark.

"How... How do you know that? Who told you?"

Victor cleared his throat and continued. His voice never rose above a low murmur. “The night you were found," Victor stared at him, took a deep breath, and continued, "You were wearing an expensive, hand-knitted Gucci grey sweater. There was a silver ‘S’ embroidered in the corner. Also, before the accident, you were wearing a silver bracelet. Engraved with a single star. Your adoptive parents kept them in a shoebox."

"Shut up," Ethan whispered, his heart hammering wildly against his bruised chest. The room suddenly felt entirely too small. "You read a police report. Damien paid someone to dig into my life…"

"Your birthday is listed on your public records as November 14th," Victor interrupted gently. "But that is the day your adoptive father found you. You were actually born on October 30th. At exactly 11:42 PM. It was raining that night."

Ethan stared at the old man, completely paralyzed. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. No one knew about the grey blanket. His adoptive dad had kept it hidden in a cardboard box under his bed, and Ethan had never told a living soul about it. Not even Kim. It was impossible.

"Who are you?" Ethan breathed out, his voice barely a whisper. Victor smiled and shook his head. 

"Twenty-eight years ago, my grandson disappeared from a wreckage that took my son and his wife’s life," Victor said, his voice shuddering with absolute, undeniable authority. "The police told me he was gone. The investigators told me to give up. But we never stopped searching for him."

Ethan shook his head frantically, backing up until his shoulders hit the cold iron bars. "No. No, you're lying. I'm nobody! I haul bricks. I clean floors. My dad was a garbage collector who worked himself into an early grave, and my mom is dying in a public hospital bed because I couldn't afford a few hundred dollars!"

He pointed a shaking, calloused finger at Victor. "I am not Sterling. I am Ethan Cole."

Victor reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a crisp, white envelope with a broken red wax seal. He placed it gently on the rusted metal bench and shifted it towards Ethan. 

“What is that?” Ethan’s voice was barely a whisper.

“DNA,” Victor said. “We obtained your DNA after confirming you were our strongest lead. This report only confirmed what I had already begun to believe.”

Ethan stared at the envelope as if it were a loaded gun.

"I already know the result, Ethan," Victor said, his gaze fixed on the confused young man in front of him. "The question is... are you brave enough to open it?"