Chapter 6: You’re Moving In
1704 Words
By noon, Ethan had officially become Sophia Anderson’s private driver.
By twelve-thirty, someone tried to kill her.
He was pulling the Rolls-Royce out of Anderson Capital’s underground garage when the brake pedal dropped almost to the floor.
Ethan’s stomach clenched.
He pressed again.
Nothing.
The ramp ahead sloped sharply toward the street.
Sophia looked up from her tablet.
“What’s wrong?”
“Seat belt.”
“I’m wearing one.”
“Tighter.”
Something in his voice made her obey without another question.
The Rolls gathered speed.
Twenty miles per hour.
Thirty.
A delivery truck crossed the exit ahead.
Ethan pumped the brakes.
Still nothing.
“Ethan.”
“Hold on.”
He shifted down, letting the transmission drag against the car’s momentum. The engine screamed.
Not enough.
He yanked the parking brake gradually.
The rear tires protested.
The car fishtailed.
Sophia grabbed the door handle.
The delivery truck was getting closer.
Ethan twisted the wheel.
The Rolls shot past the truck with inches to spare, jumped the curb, and slammed sideways into a concrete planter.
The airbag exploded in Ethan’s face.
For several seconds, there was no sound except the ticking engine.
Then Sophia said, very quietly, “Ethan.”
He pushed the deflating airbag aside.
“You okay?”
“I think so.”
“Head?”
“No.”
“Neck?”
“Fine.”
“Hands?”
“Ethan.”
He turned.
Her face had gone pale, but she appeared uninjured.
Only then did his pulse truly start racing.
He reached across her without thinking and checked the seat belt, her shoulders, then the side of her head.
Sophia caught his wrist.
“I’m fine.”
He stopped.
They were suddenly very close.
Her hand was wrapped around his.
His other arm was braced beside her seat.
Ethan became painfully aware of her perfume, her breathing, the loose strand of dark hair across her cheek.
Sophia noticed too.
Her fingers slowly loosened.
“You can let go now,” she murmured.
“You’re holding me.”
She looked down.
She was.
Sophia released him immediately.
Ethan sat back.
“That never happened.”
“The crash?”
“The other thing.”
Despite the adrenaline, he laughed.
Then he looked through the windshield.
His amusement died.
“Stay in the car.”
“What?”
He got out.
The Rolls had stopped twenty feet beyond the garage exit. Several people were already staring. Someone had a phone out.
Ethan ignored them and crouched beside the front wheel.
He wasn't a mechanic, but ten years of driving had taught him enough.
A dark trail of fluid marked the pavement beneath the car.
Sophia appeared behind him.
“I told you to stay inside.”
“And I ignored you.”
“I’m beginning to see a pattern.”
Ethan reached beneath the chassis as far as he safely could.
Then he saw it.
The brake line hadn't simply failed.
It had been cut.
Cleanly.
His blood went cold.
Sophia followed his stare.
“That wasn't an accident.”
“No.”
“The car was downstairs all morning.”
“In a restricted garage.”
Her face hardened.
Just like the photograph outside her apartment.
Restricted places.
Private systems.
Someone close enough to enter spaces strangers couldn't.
Ethan stood.
“We call the police.”
Sophia didn't answer.
He looked at her.
“Sophia.”
“I heard you.”
“That wasn't agreement.”
“If whoever did this has access inside Anderson Capital, I don't know who I can trust yet.”
“You can trust the police.”
“I can trust that a police report becomes public.”
“Someone cut your brakes.”
“And if the press learns that the CEO of Anderson Capital may be the target of an internal criminal conspiracy, our stock price collapses before lunch tomorrow.”
Ethan stared at her.
“You nearly died and you're worried about the stock price?”
“Thousands of employees have pensions tied to that stock price.”
“Your funeral will be worse for investor confidence.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Do not joke about that.”
“I’m not joking.”
That silenced her.
Ethan lowered his voice.
“You’re not getting into another company car until I inspect it personally.”
Sophia folded her arms.
“You've worked for me for three hours.”
“Longest three hours of my career.”
“I’m still your employer.”
“Then fire me.”
Her stare could have frozen water.
“Tempting.”
Ethan pulled out the burner phone.
“First, we document everything. Then we get you somewhere secure.”
“My penthouse.”
“No.”
“My security team—”
“Someone got into your restricted garage.”
She stopped.
Ethan understood the expression.
Sophia had spent years controlling companies worth billions.
Being told she wasn't safe inside her own systems was something else entirely.
“Where do you suggest I go?” she asked.
“Somewhere nobody expects.”
“My hotel properties are searchable.”
“Then don't use your properties.”
“My parents’ home would be obvious.”
“Yes.”
She considered him.
Then said, “Your place.”
Ethan thought he'd misheard.
“My what?”
“Your apartment.”
He laughed.
Sophia didn't.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have no idea where I live.”
“North Mercer Street. Building fourteen. Third floor.”
Ethan stared.
“You read my personnel file.”
“Yes.”
“That is disturbing.”
“Is the address current?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Good.”
“There is nothing good about my apartment.”
“It isn't connected to Marcus, Anderson Capital, my family, or any corporate security system.”
“It also has one bedroom.”
Sophia paused.
For the first time all day, he managed to surprise her.
“One?”
“One.”
“Guest room?”
“No.”
“Sofa?”
“Technically.”
“Meaning?”
“It was free.”
Sophia looked at the damaged Rolls.
Then back at Ethan.
“I've slept in airports.”
“Not like my sofa.”
“I'll survive.”
Ethan rubbed his forehead.
There had to be another option.
Then his personal phone rang.
Marcus.
Ethan answered.
“Yes?”
“I heard about the car.”
That was fast.
Too fast.
Ethan glanced at Sophia.
“How?”
“Someone called me. Is Sophia all right?”
“She’s fine.”
“What happened?”
“Brake failure.”
Marcus went silent.
Then, “Where are you taking her?”
Ethan's attention sharpened.
“Why?”
“Because she's my wife.”
It was a reasonable answer.
Still, something felt wrong.
Marcus continued, “Bring her home. I'll send security.”
Sophia shook her head immediately.
Ethan understood.
“She's going somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I'll let her decide.”
“Ethan.”
Marcus's tone changed.
“I need to know where my wife is.”
Ethan looked at Sophia.
For ten years, he'd answered that voice without thinking.
This time he said, “No.”
Silence.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“You work for me.”
“Not anymore.”
Marcus inhaled sharply.
“Don't forget who gave you your first job.”
“I haven't.”
“Then don't make me regret it.”
The line went dead.
Ethan lowered the phone.
Sophia watched him.
“That cost you something.”
He put the phone away.
“Not as much as another brake line.”
She studied him for a moment.
Then her own phone buzzed.
Her expression tightened as she read the message.
“What?”
She handed it to him.
Unknown sender.
A single photograph filled the screen.
Ethan and Sophia beside the damaged Rolls, taken less than two minutes ago.
Beneath it:
THE DRIVER WASN'T SUPPOSED TO SAVE YOU.
Ethan looked around sharply.
Dozens of windows overlooked the street.
Pedestrians.
Cars.
Phones.
Anyone could have taken it.
Another message appeared.
NEXT TIME WE REMOVE HIM FIRST.
Sophia snatched the phone back.
“No.”
Ethan looked at her.
“No what?”
“You're done.”
“With?”
“This. Me. The investigation. The job.”
He almost smiled.
“You're firing me again?”
“I was never joking.”
“Neither am I.”
“They just threatened you because of me.”
“They threatened you first.”
“That doesn't make this better.”
Ethan stepped closer.
“Then stop deciding for me.”
Sophia froze.
Most people probably didn't speak to her that way.
He continued anyway.
“You hired me because you wanted someone you could trust. So trust me enough to decide whether I stay.”
Her expression softened, but only slightly.
“And if staying gets you killed?”
“Then I'll be extremely annoyed.”
“Ethan.”
“I stay.”
For a few seconds, the traffic noise seemed distant.
Sophia looked at him as though she were trying to find the joke.
There wasn't one.
Finally she exhaled.
“All right.”
“All right?”
“I’m not arguing on a sidewalk while someone photographs us.”
“Good.”
She started walking.
“Where are you going?”
“To your apartment.”
Ethan remained where he was.
Sophia looked over her shoulder.
“Are you coming?”
“You're serious.”
“Completely.”
He caught up with her.
“This is going to be a disaster.”
“Probably.”
“You don't even know how bad my sofa is.”
“I've survived hostile takeovers.”
“You haven't survived North Mercer Street.”
Sophia gave him the faintest smile.
“Then protect me, Mr. Carter.”
Ethan looked at the billionaire CEO walking beside him.
Twenty-four hours ago, he had been her husband's driver.
Now someone wanted her dead.
Someone wanted him out of the way.
And before the day ended, Sophia Anderson was moving into his one-bedroom apartment.
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