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“What the hell’s going on, Mr. Coleman?” I demand. “Why is he being arrested for something he didn’t do?”

“Calm down,” he says, but his voice isn’t exactly soothing. “There’s a lot to unpack here. But the best thing you can do right now is stay home. I’ll come by as soon as I’m finished here, and we’ll talk.”

“Home? Are you serious? I’m at the police station to see him. I need to know what’s happening!”

“Eli,” he says, his tone sharp. “You’re not gonna be able to see him. Go home. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

I bite back another outburst and hang up. My fists clench around the phone, my nails digging into my palms.

“Fine. I’ll go home,” I groan as I stand up to leave. I am already bracing myself for another onslaught of questions from the paparazzi.

What the fuck is going on?

I wish my mom was here.

The driveway’s longer than I remember, even though I’ve driven it a thousand times. The tires crunch on the gravel, the only sound besides my engine. The house ahead is all sharp angles and glass, modern as hell. My dad’s pride and joy.

I park near the front steps, leaving my bag in the car. The mansion is massive, almost sterile, like a showpiece more than a home. Inside, the floors are polished marble, reflecting the soft glow from the chandeliers. The air smells faintly of lavender and wood polish, probably Maria’s doing.

“Eli?” Her voice carries from the kitchen, soft and lilting.

I head toward her. Maria’s wiping her hands on a dish towel when I step in. She’s been with us since I was a kid, practically family.

“Hey,” I mutter, leaning against the counter.

“ Dios mío, I heard about your father,” she says, her face crumpling. “Are you okay?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a mess.”

She steps closer, like she’s about to hug me but stops herself. “You should eat something. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“I’m not hungry,” I say, running a hand through my hair.

“You need to eat,” she insists, already pulling out bread and deli meat.

I don’t argue. Maria’s the kind of woman who gets her way, and honestly, the normalcy is welcomed.

“Thank you,” I say when she slides the plate in front of me.

She nods, watching me closely. “Your father’s strong. He’ll get through this.”

I don’t reply. Instead, I pick at the sandwich, my appetite nonexistent.

“I’m gonna shower,” I say after a few bites. “Let me know if anyone calls.”

Upstairs, my room feels big, empty. The walls are lined with trophies and pictures from my hockey career. In this life, hockey is all I have.

The bathroom is sleek and cold, all black tile and chrome fixtures. I crank the water hot, letting the steam fill the room before stepping in. The heat burns against my skin, but I don’t care. It’s grounding, at least.

By the time I’m out, toweling off, the knot in my stomach hasn’t loosened. I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, my hair still damp, and head downstairs.

Maria’s gone, but the front door opens, and Mr. Coleman steps in, his briefcase clutched tightly. He looks harried, his tie slightly askew.

“Eli,” he says, nodding.

“About time,” I say, crossing my arms. “What’s going on?”

He sets the briefcase on the dining table, clicking it open. “It’s not good.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I snap. “Details, Coleman. Now.”

He sighs, pulling out a stack of papers. “Your father’s accounts are frozen. All of them. The board’s initiated an internal investigation, and the SEC is involved. Until the trial ends, everything remains locked down.”

“Locked down?” I sigh. “For how long?” I ask, my voice rising.

“Years, potentially,” he admits, his expression grim.

“What the fuck?” I pace the room, my hands clenched. “What about me? Do I lose everything too?”

He holds up a hand. “No. Your trust fund is safe. As of your twenty-first birthday, you’ve had access to it. It’s untouched—around twenty-five million.”

I stop pacing. “Twenty-five million?”

He nods. “And there are other investments your father set up in your name. Stocks, properties, offshore accounts. He was careful, Eli. He wanted to make sure you were secure, no matter what.”

“For a moment,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “It sounds like he was preparing for this.”

Coleman’s face tightens. “I can’t speculate on that. But your father is a meticulous man. He always plans for contingencies.”

I slump into a chair, rubbing my temples. “This is insane. My dad’s not a criminal. He’s the fucking CEO of Grayson Holdings. Why would he embezzle from his own company?”

“People do desperate things for many reasons,” Coleman says carefully.

“Not my dad,” I snap. “He doesn’t need to. We’re already rich.”

Coleman doesn’t argue. He just folds his hands on the table. “I’ll try to arrange a meeting for you to see him tomorrow. For now, stay out of the media’s way. Don’t make any statements. And if you need anything, call me.”

“Sure,” I mutter.

He stands, gathering his papers. “Eli, I know this is difficult, but we’ll get through it.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

After he leaves, the silence feels oppressive. I head upstairs, pulling open my bedside drawer. Inside is a small locket, the gold tarnished with age. I flip it open, revealing a photo of my mom holding me as a newborn. She looks tired but happy.

Dad wasn’t there when I was born. He’d been at some big meeting overseas. Mom always said it didn’t matter, that he’d made up for it later. But now… I don’t know.

I grip the locket tightly, that familiar ache surfacing. “What the hell’s happening, Mom?” I whisper.

Of course, she doesn’t answer. No one does.

The holding room is cold. Stale. It smells faintly like bleach and something metallic, like old coins. I’m sitting on this cheap, plastic chair that creaks every time I move. The kind of chair that makes your ass go numb.

When the door opens, I’m on my feet before I can think. My dad walks in, escorted by two guards. His shoulders are slumped, and his face is pale, lined in a way I’ve never seen before.

“Dad,” I say, but my voice comes out rough.

He looks up at me, his eyes sharp despite everything. “Elliot.”

I don’t move right away. He’s always been this larger-than-life guy, you know? The man who owned every room he walked into. Now he looks smaller. Beaten down. Defeated. It’s fucking terrifying to witness.

“Jesus,” I mutter, stepping closer. “You look like shit.”

He snorts, which is something, at least. “This isn’t a five-star hotel.”

“Sit,” one of the guards grunts.

Dad sinks into the chair across from me, and I sit too. The table between us is scratched up, like someone’s been stabbing it with keys or a knife.

“You okay?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, but I don’t know what else to say.

“Could be worse,” he says, leaning back like he’s trying to look relaxed. It doesn’t work.

“Bullshit,” I snap. “This is insane. They’re saying you stole billions. Billions, Dad. What the hell’s going on?”

He exhales slowly, his hands resting on the table. “I made mistakes, Eli. Big ones. And now, I’m paying for them.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“Watch your tone,” he says.

I lean forward, my elbows on the table. “What happens now? How do we fix this?”

He shakes his head. “We don’t. You do.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you’re leaving New York.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “This scandal is only going to get worse. The media’s going to tear me apart, and they won’t stop with me. They’ll come for you too. Your name, your reputation, your career — it’s all on the line.”

“You can’t be fucking serious, dad,” I snap. “I want to stay. I have hockey. I want to be here for the trial. I can visit you.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he just stares at me.

Then he leans forward, matching my posture.

“Listen to me, Eli. I had Mr. Coleman pull strings just to see you again. I needed to tell you this to your face. You need to leave New York. Your life is not ending because of my mistakes. You have a future. Hockey, the NHL, school. You’re finishing your degree, getting that law diploma.

None of this bullshit touches you, understand?

You make do with what you got. Leave the city and start over. ”

“Dad—”

“No,” he interrupts, slamming his hand on the table. “No arguing. You’re leaving this fucking city. There are plenty of good schools, good teams, anywhere but here. You cannot stay.”

“And what about Maria?” I ask, my voice sharp. “What happens to her? She’s been with us forever. She’s family.”

“She’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ve set money aside for her. Enough for her to retire if that’s what she wants. If not, you can give her a place to stay. Buy her a house if you want.”

I shake my head, pushing back from the table. “This is bullshit, Dad. You’re asking me to just leave? Run away?”

“I’m asking you to protect yourself,” he says, his voice cracking just slightly. It stops me cold.

He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the table. “I fucked up, Eli. I fucked up so bad. But I can’t let my mistakes destroy your life. You’ve got a bright future, kid. Don’t let my bullshit stop you.”

I don’t say anything. My chest feels tight, like I can’t breathe right, but I just nod.

“All I ask,” he says softly, “is that you visit your mom’s grave. Take her lilies, like we always do on her birthday.”

“I will,” I manage to say.

He nods, like he’s satisfied with that. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.

“Here,” he says, sliding it across the table.

“What’s this?”

“Instructions,” he says. “How to access your accounts, investments. Everything in your name. You’re smart, Eli. Smarter than me, that’s for damn sure. You’ll be okay.”

I take the paper, my hands shaking. “And you?”

“I’ll survive,” he says, standing as the guards step forward. “That’s what Graysons do, right?”

“Dad—”

But they’re already pulling him toward the door. He glances back at me, his face set like stone. And then he’s gone.

I sit there for a moment, staring at the empty doorway. The room feels colder now, quieter. And for the first time in a long time, I feel completely alone.