“Good morning, sir! Robert Carter, NorthStar Systems. Welcome to the neighborhood. If you need anything—if you’re looking at property around here—my son Tyler’s in real estate…”
I let him talk.
Then the butterfly doors opened.
I stepped out.
Shoes first. Suit second. Sunglasses off. Slow. Deliberate.
He stared at me.
Confusion. Recognition. Refusal. Shock.
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I came to get my things.”
My mother dropped her glass. Tyler’s phone slipped from his hand into the grass. Holloway’s eyebrows rose the slightest fraction.
“Ethan?” my father said. “What… what is this? Did you steal this? Are you driving for someone?”
He was looking around for the real owner. The actual important person. The one this scene would make sense for.
I walked past him and stopped in front of Martin Holloway.
“Good morning.”
He straightened.
“Good morning, Mr. Chairman,” he said clearly. “I brought the termination papers, as requested.”
Everything stopped.
My father blinked.
“What did he just call you?”
I turned back toward them.
“I’m the majority shareholder of NorthStar,” I said. “The chairman. The one signing off on the decisions that kept you employed these past three years despite your numbers.”
Silence.