Chapter 8 The Black Card
Chapter 7
The Rolls-Royce convoy glided through Manhattan, in silence.
Ethan couldn’t stop looking out the window. The buildings he'd passed a thousand times, the deli where he bought coffee, the laundromat where he washed his work clothes, the bus stop where he'd waited in the rain, they all looked different now. Like he was seeing them through someone else's eyes.
Every few seconds, he glanced at Victor.
The old man sat perfectly still. His hands folded over his cane. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was meditating, or sleeping, or simply existing in a state of calm that Ethan couldn't begin to understand.
Ethan looked at his own reflection in the window. He was looking dirty and his clothes were torn.
He looked away.
Victor opened his eyes. "You're wondering why I'm not more emotional," he said quietly.
Ethan blinked. "I…"
"Twenty-eight years," Victor continued. "Twenty-eight years of searching, hoping, and grieving." His voice was soft, and almost distant. "And now you're sitting next to me, and I feel... peace."
Ethan didn't know what to say.
Victor smiled. "You'll understand someday. When you've waited that long for something, the moment it arrives isn't chaos. It's stillness."
Victor reached into a leather folio beside him and handed Ethan two items, a brand-new, flagship smartphone, and a matte black card.
Ethan stared at both items without taking them. He had never owned an expensive phone.
He had never owned a phone that didn't have a broken screen, let alone a flagship model. And the card, it was entirely black except for his own name embossed in silver, was something he had never seen in real life. An unlimited Centurion card.
He hesitated, shaking his head.
"Take them," Victor said gently.
Ethan didn't take it, he was still staring skeptically.
"Ethan. Take them."
Slowly, hesitantly, Ethan reached out. He touched the phone first. It was cold, smooth, and expensive in a way he couldn't quite articulate.
Victor offered a warm, reassuring smile. "The phone isn’t for luxury, Ethan. It’s already programmed with a handful of important contacts. It is so you can reach me at any hour, day or night."
Victor held his gaze. "If you need me, you call. No appointments and no permission."
Ethan's throat tightened and he looked down at the black metal. "And the card?"
"You’ll need clothes," Victor said simply.
Ethan immediately tried to hand the card back. "I don't need expensive things. A few shirts from a department store will be enough. I don't want to waste your…"
Victor gently pushed Ethan's hand back. "You aren't changing who you are, Ethan. You are simply dressing for the life you were born into." Victor glanced at Ethan's torn, prison-issued clothing and the dirt on his face. "Besides, you can’t meet your family dressed for prison."
Victor smiled and tapped the driver's partition. The glass slid down a few inches.
"Stop here."
The convoy slowed and pulled to the curb. Ethan looked out the window. It wasn't the Sterling Tower, it was
one of Manhattan's most exclusive luxury boutiques. Ethan recognized the name. He'd seen it in magazines. The kind of place celebrities and the rich do their shopping.
He'd never imagined stepping foot inside.
Victor didn't make a move to get out. Instead, he looked at Ethan. "Go inside."
Ethan blinked. "Alone?"
Victor nodded. He wanted Ethan to begin making his own decisions, "This is your first decision," Victor interrupted gently. "Go inside. Choose what you want. Begin making choices for yourself."
Ethan's heart hammered. "I can't do this alone."
Victor's smile was warm. "Yes, you can."
He reached over and squeezed Ethan's shoulder.
Before Ethan opened the door, Victor gave him one final instruction.
"If anyone gives you trouble..." Victor smiled, a quiet, dangerous kind of warmth. "Call me."
Ethan nodded uncertainly. Carrying nothing but the phone and the black card, he stepped out onto the pavement.
He walked toward the boutique.
The windows were tall and expensive. Mannequins dressed in suits that probably cost more than his mother's hospital bills. The lighting inside was warm and golden, shining onto the sidewalk like an invitation.
Ethan gently pushed open the door.
The bell chimed.
And the world changed.
The interior of the boutique was unlike anything Ethan had ever seen. Everything worth more than his yearly construction salary. Instantly, Ethan felt the crushing weight of his appearance.
He was wearing dirty, oversized clothing. His face was bruised and swollen. His work boots left faint dust prints on the white marble.
The sales staff noticed him immediately.
Whispers broke out near the registers. One associate rolled her eyes, clearly assuming he had wandered into the wrong building to ask for directions or use the restroom.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Ethan swallowed his pride and approached the nearest associate. "Excuse me. I'd like to see a simple suit, please."
Her eyes flickered to his jumpsuit, his boots, and to the bruises on his face.
"Of course," she said. "Right this way."
She led him to a corner of the store. The clearance rack. The items that had been returned, damaged, and marked down.
Ethan frowned a little.
"I was hoping for something..." He paused. "Something nicer."
The young lady looked Ethan up and down with visible disdain. "Sir, our suits start at five thousand dollars. It is obvious you can't afford it. Please, the exit is right behind you."
The atmosphere felt suffocatingly uncomfortable. Ethan gripped the black card in his pocket, unsure of how to respond to her.
“You don't have to worry about that, Miss. I can pay.”
The associate's smile tightened. "I'm afraid our tailored suits are made to order. They require a fitting appointment. Perhaps you'd like to schedule…"
"I can wait."
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
Ethan straightened his shoulders. "I can wait. For a fitting. I'm not in a hurry."
The associate stared at him. Her perfect composure snapped just slightly.
Then someone else spoke.
"Ethan?"
The voice was familiar. Ethan's stomach dropped as he turned. Walking out of the VIP fitting area was Damien Cross. Beside him, clinging to his arm and wearing a brand-new designer dress, was Kim.
"Well, well. Look who they let out of lockup."
Kim gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in a mocking horror. "Honestly, Ethan... what are you doing here? Did you get lost?"
