CHAPTER 7
The penthouse was dead silent when Arthur rolled his wheelchair into the private residential wing, though he hated the sight of the leather seat now more than ever. He found the boy sitting cross-legged on the plush white rug of the master living room, wearing a clean oversized cashmere sweater provided by the staff.
A plate of half-eaten cookies and a glass of milk sat untouched on the glass coffee table before him, the boy staring intently at the framed American flag hanging by the balcony. Arthur rolled up beside him, switching off the electric motor to glide silently across the imported wool carpet.
"You didn't touch your food," Arthur noted gently, resting his hands on his thighs where the faint, residual warmth of the healing energy still lingered. The boy turned his head slowly, his big, innocent eyes reflecting the city lights twinkling through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
"I was waiting for you," the boy answered simply, his voice carrying that same eerie, timeless depth that sent shivers down Arthur's spine. "You're angry with Marcus, aren't you? You think he wants to take everything you've built."
Arthur stiffened, genuinely startled by the child's uncanny ability to read his thoughts with absolute, terrifying clarity. "Marcus is a shark, kid; he smells blood in the water the moment my weakness is exposed to the public."
"He doesn't smell blood; he smells fear," the boy corrected softly, standing up on steady legs and walking right up to the edge of the wheelchair. "You spent twelve years hiding behind steel doors and corporate lawyers because you blamed yourself for the accident that took your wife."
Arthur felt the air leave his lungs in a sudden, violent rush, his eyes widening in horror and disbelief at the mention of a tragedy he had buried deep away. "Who told you that? Who gave you my file? That information was expunged from every public record in the state of New York!"
"No file can hide a broken heart, Mr. Sterling," the boy replied, reaching out to gently touch Arthur's chest right over his frantic heartbeat. A sudden wave of profound, overwhelming peace washed over the billionaire, melting away years of accumulated bitterness, guilt, and agonizing grief in a single second.
Arthur grabbed the boy's small hand, his throat tightening as tears pricked the corners of his eyes for the first time in over a decade. "I lost her, son... I let her slip through my fingers on a night just like this, and I've been paying for it every day since."
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"You didn't let her slip; you both were pulled apart by forces larger than yourselves," the boy whispered consolingly, squeezing Arthur's calloused fingers with surprising strength. "But she's watching you right now, and she didn't want you spending the rest of your life trapped in a metal chair."
The wind howled outside the high-rise terrace, rattling the reinforced glass panes as if trying to break into the sanctuary of the penthouse suite. Arthur pulled the child into a fierce, desperate embrace, burying his face in the soft cashmere sweater as he finally allowed the dam to break.
