5. Guilt and Duty
Chapter five
Guilt and Duty
Ethan
Ididn't sleep.
I lay in my hotel room—one of the island's few accommodations, a bed-and-breakfast that probably charged a fraction of what I was used to paying in Seattle—and stared at the ceiling while my mind raced.
At 2 AM, I gave up pretending and opened my laptop.
Honey she'd always been an early bird.
I picked up the phone before I could talk myself out of it.
She answered on the second ring. "Ethan? Everything okay, honey?"
Her voice—steady, warm, happy—nearly undid me. This was what success sounded like: a mother who wasn't crying, wasn't exhausted, wasn't scared about how to pay next month's bills.
"Yeah, Mom. I just... I'm on Lopez Island."
Silence. Then, carefully, "Oh. That's... wow. For business? How does it feel?"
"Like I never left. Like I'm still that angry kid who doesn't know who he wants to be." I sat on the edge of the bed, running my free hand through my hair. "I'm working on a deal here. An investment firm wants to buy up properties, push out local businesses. I'm supposed to help make it happen."
Another pause. "That doesn't sound like you."
"Dad would've done it without blinking."
"You're not your father." Her voice was firm now, the tone that had gotten us through the hardest years. "You've spent your whole adult life proving you're not him. Don't let one bad deal change that."
I closed my eyes. "The bakery they want? It's Manuel Romano's. His granddaughter runs it now. Remember her?”
“You didn’t talk much about her. I must have seen her at the bakery, though. Very shy, wasn’t she?”
“Not anymore. She’s…very outspoken. She’s mad about what I’m doing, and I get it. I'm working for the people trying to take her family business from her. We've been creating the legal problems that make her vulnerable. It's not just business, Mom. It's predation."
She was quiet for a long moment. "Then quit."
"It's not that simple—"
"It is exactly that simple." Her voice was gentle but unyielding. "Walk away. You've built your career, Ethan. You've proven yourself. You don't need this deal. But you do need to be able to look at yourself in the mirror."
"They'll blacklist me. My career—"
"Your career is important. But it's not more important than your integrity.
" She paused. "When your father left, I worked three jobs because I had to.
Because keeping you fed and housed was my job as your mother.
But you know what? I would have rather lived in a cardboard box than have you become the kind of man who values money over people. "
My eyes burned. "I just wanted to make things easier for you. To give you the retirement you deserved after everything you sacrificed."
"Baby, you already did that. You've given me more than enough.
Paul and I are comfortable. We're happy.
What I don't need is for you to sacrifice your soul to send me money that I can live without.
" Her voice softened. "You've spent twenty years trying to make up for being an angry teenager.
But honey, there's nothing to make up for. You were a kid whose father abandoned him. You made mistakes. You fixed them. You became a good man despite everything.”
“Did I? I think Maya would disagree.”
“You’re calling me at 2:30 in the morning feeling guilty about it. Your father never felt guilty about anything. He never questioned whether what he was doing was right. He never tried to be better." She paused. "You're questioning. That means you still have a conscience. Use it."
After we hung up, I sat in the dark hotel room, her words echoing in my mind.
Use your conscience.
When had I stopped doing that? When had success become more important than integrity?
I thought about the last five years since founding my firm. The deals I'd closed, the acquisitions I'd facilitated, the profits I'd generated for clients. All legal. All technically ethical.
But how many of those deals had been like this one? How many had involved creating vulnerabilities and then exploiting them? How many families had lost businesses or property because Ethan Caldwell was very good at finding legal ways to take what his clients wanted?
I'd spent twenty years building a reputation as someone who closed deals, who got results, who never let emotion cloud my judgment.
And in the process, I'd become exactly what Maya Romano thought I was: a corporate shark.
My phone buzzed. An email from my boss, Marcus Campbell, despite the late hour: "Ethan - just reviewed the Lopez Island file.
Good potential there. That bakery property is prime real estate.
Push for acquisition ASAP. The owner's vulnerable right now with the permit issues. Strike while the iron's hot."
I stared at the message, my jaw clenching.
Strike while the iron's hot. Translation: exploit Maya's vulnerability while she's at her weakest.
Another email arrived, this one directly from Marcus: "Also, Sterling called. Says you had a 'difficult community meeting.' Hope you're not getting sentimental about this place. It's just business. Close the file and come home."
Just business.
My father's favorite phrase. Every betrayal, every broken promise, every time he chose his own interests over his family's needs—it was all just business.
My phone rang. Marcus, calling directly this time.
"It's 2:47 in the morning," I answered.
"And you're awake, which means you're overthinking this." Marcus's voice was brisk, efficient—the voice that had convinced me to co-found the firm five years ago. "Look, I get it. Going back to your hometown, facing your past, it's emotional. But don't let that interfere with the job."
"The job involves destroying a business that's been here for over fifty years."
"The job involves facilitating a fair market transaction. If the business can't survive without our client's investment, then it was already failing." Marcus sighed. "Ethan, you're a brilliant attorney. But sometimes you think too much. This is a straightforward acquisition. Make it happen."
"We created the problems that are making the acquisition necessary," I said quietly. "We've been manufacturing vulnerabilities through legal pressure and strategic complications. That's not facilitating a transaction. That's predatory behavior."
"It's leverage. It's what every firm does in this space.
" His voice hardened. "Look, if you're not up for this, just say so.
But the investment group is paying premium rates for your expertise.
If you walk away, you're not just losing this deal—you're losing the client relationship. And probably your partnership stake."
There it was. The ultimatum wrapped in concern.
"I need to think about this.”
"Think fast. They want Honey & Hearth's building secured by the end of the month. Make it happen, Caldwell, or we'll find someone who will." Marcus hung up.
I set down my phone carefully, as if it might explode.
End of the month. Three weeks to force Maya Romano to sell her family's legacy or lose everything anyway through manufactured legal pressure.
Three weeks to become exactly the kind of man my father had been.
Or three weeks to figure out how to be the kind of man Manuel Romano had believed I could become. The one Mom seemed to think I was.
I opened my laptop again, but this time I wasn't looking at acquisition strategies. I was looking at the legal documentation for the property dispute. The falsified surveys. The coordinated complaints. The timeline of pressure designed to break Maya's resistance.
I thought about Maya's face in that community meeting—fierce and in control, calling me out in front of everyone, seeing exactly who I'd become and finding me wanting.
I thought about my mother working three jobs, refusing to let her son become someone who hurt people for profit.
I thought about Manuel Romano saying, "Your father's choices are not your fault. But your choices are."
This was my choice. Right now. In this moment.
Continue down the path I'd been on—successful, profitable, hollow.
Or find a different way. Build instead of destroy. Protect instead of exploit.
Manuel Romano gave you a second chance, Richard's voice echoed in my memory. Now his granddaughter is fighting to preserve what he built. Who are you going to be?
I pulled up the property dispute documentation and started reading. Really reading, not just skimming for strategic opportunities. Looking for the truth of what had been done, who had been hurt, what could be fixed.
If I was going to walk away from this deal—and I was increasingly certain I had to—then I needed to understand exactly what damage had been done. And whether there was a way to fix it.
Because maybe, just maybe, the best way to honor Manuel Romano's second chance wasn’t to close this deal.
It was to help Maya Romano keep her bakery.
Even if it cost me everything.