Chapter 47 The Aftermath
THE AFTERMATH
KAIDEN
The private hospital floor is quiet. The kind of silence money buys when you want to keep the press away and your secrets close.
I stare at the ceiling and try not to think about what happened.
It doesn't work.
A knock at the door pulls me back. Emma slips inside, two cups of coffee in her hands, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looks exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted.
“Hey.” She sets one cup on my bedside table and leans down to kiss my forehead. “How's the ankle?”
“Still attached.” I shift against the pillows, wince. The cast is fresh, heavy. A constant reminder of how badly I pushed myself. Six weeks minimum, the doctor said. Then months of physiotherapy. I'll be lucky if I walk without a limp by summer.
“How's Logan?”
She scrunches her nose, hands wrapped around her coffee cup like a shield. “He's... struggling.”
“He won't talk to me.”
“I know.”
The words sit between us. Heavy. Logan has been avoiding me since we got here. When I try to visit, he's asleep. When I call, he doesn't answer. Emma goes in, closes the door, stays for hours.
I should be grateful. I am grateful. But there's a small, ugly part of me that resents it too.
“He's having nightmares,” Emma says quietly. “He wakes up thinking he's still tied to that beam. He won't admit it to you, but he's shaken. Really shaken.”
“He's been through worse.”
“Has he?” Emma raises an eyebrow. “Has he ever watched his best friend sign away everything to save his life? Has he ever been beaten within an inch of his life while someone he loves was forced to watch?”
I look away, jaw tight.
“He feels guilty, Kai. He thinks this is his fault. That if he'd been faster, smarter, stronger, none of this would have happened.”
“That's bullshit.”
“I know, but guilt doesn't care about logic.” She reaches for my hand, fingers threading through mine. “He'll come around. He just needs time. And someone who isn't you to talk to first.”
“Why not me?”
“Because you're the one he feels guilty about.” Emma squeezes my hand. “He can't fall apart in front of you. Not yet.”
I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. “Thank you for being there for him.”
“He's family. Your family is my family.” She pauses. “Speaking of which... have you talked to Victor?”
The name lands like a stone in still water. I open my eyes, stare at the ceiling again.
“He's two doors down. We've exchanged a few words.”
“That's not talking.”
“It's more than we've done in years.”
Emma is quiet for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle. “He took a bullet for me, Kai. For you. That has to mean something.”
“It means he's not the complete monster I thought he was.” I run my free hand over my face. “It doesn't erase thirty years of being a shit father.”
“No. It doesn't.” She shifts closer, thumb tracing circles on my knuckles. “But maybe it's a place to start.”
I don't answer. I don't know how.
“Have you thought about talking to someone?” Emma asks. “A professional, I mean. A therapist.”
The word makes me tense. “I'm not—“
“Kai.” Her voice is firm but kind. “Only you know what you’ve been through. I can’t even begin to imagine it. And now you're lying in a hospital bed trying to process all of it alone.” She pauses. “That's too much for anyone to carry.”
“It helped you? After your parents?”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “I was drowning, Kai. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function. Therapy didn't fix everything, but it gave me tools. Ways to cope. Ways to keep going.”
I swallow hard. “Your parents died. Mine is just...”
“Dead in a way.” Emma's voice is soft. “The version of her you thought you knew. The mother you hoped she might become. That's gone now. That's a kind of death too.”
I blink, eyes burning.
“I’m an asshole,” I manage. “Comparing my situation to yours.”
“Don't.” Emma leans in, presses her forehead to mine. “Grief isn't a competition. Pain isn't a competition. You're allowed to hurt, Kai. You're allowed to need help.”
I breathe her in, letting her steadiness anchor me.
“I'll think about it,” I whisper. “The therapy.”
“That's all I'm asking.”
We stay like that for a long moment, foreheads touching, breathing together. Then Emma pulls back, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Now go talk to your father.”
“Emma—“
“I'm serious.” She stands, gathering her coffee. “He's not going anywhere. Neither are you. You might as well start figuring out what comes next.”
She's right. I hate that she's right.
“You’re too good for me.” I pull her back and wrap my arms around her, inhale her scent. Chasing away the darkness.
“Damn right,” she giggles, burrowing into my chest.
Victor's room is larger than mine. Of course it is.
He's propped up in bed, shoulder heavily bandaged, a laptop balanced on his thighs. Even shot and bedridden, the man is working. Some things never change.
He looks up when I enter, grey eyes sharpening. “Alexander.”
“Victor.”
We stare at each other. The silence stretches, uncomfortable and familiar.
“You look terrible,” he says finally.
“You got shot.”
“Fair point.” He closes the laptop, sets it aside. “Sit down. You shouldn't be standing on that ankle.”
I lower myself into the chair by his bed, cast awkward and heavy. The room smells like antiseptic and expensive flowers. Someone sent an arrangement. Probably Julia.
“How's the shoulder?” I ask.
“Hurts like hell. The doctors say I'll recover, but I won't be swinging a golf club for a while.” He pauses. “Small price to pay.”
For saving Emma's life. For saving mine. The words hang unspoken between us.
“Helena,” I start, then stop. I don't know how to finish.
Victor's jaw tightens. “She's being held. Psychiatric evaluation, then criminal charges. Attempted murder, kidnapping, fraud. The list is long.” He exhales slowly. “Keeping the press away from this has been a nightmare. I'm cleaning house. Anyone who was loyal to her is gone.”
Ruthless. Efficient. Classic Victor.
“The shares,” I say. “The ones I signed over.”
“Invalid. Signed under duress. My lawyers have already handled it.”
I nod slowly. “And yours? The ones she made you sign?”
“Same.” His eyes meet mine. “Everything is back where it belongs.”
Where it belongs. His empire, intact. His control, restored.
“I don't want them,” I say quietly.
Victor blinks. “What?”
“The shares. My fifteen percent. I don't want them.” I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I meant what I said in that warehouse. I'm not interested in Hammond Industries. I have ELK. I have my own life. I don't need your legacy.”
His expression is unreadable. One hand clenches around the laptop.
“You're serious.”
“Completely.”
He sighs. When he speaks again, his voice is different. Softer. “I've been thinking about what you said. About choosing your own family.”
I wait.
“I was never good at being a father.” He says it plainly, without excuse. “I didn't know how. My own father was worse, if you can believe it. I thought giving you what I never had was enough. Opportunities, connections, a name. I didn't understand what you actually needed.”
“What I needed was a dad.” The words come out rougher than I intend. “Not a CEO.”
Victor nods slowly. “I know. I know that now.” He pauses, hand moving to his wounded shoulder. “When Helena called and said you were hurt... I didn't think. I just moved. I would have driven into a wall to get to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you're my son.” He says it simply, like it's obvious. Like it explains everything. “I've done a lot of things wrong, Alexander. More than I can count. I never stopped caring about you. I just didn't know how to show it when you started challenging me.”
The words hit something deep. Something I've been protecting for years.
“That doesn't fix everything,” I say quietly.
“No. It doesn't.” Victor meets my eyes. “I'd like the chance to try. If you'll let me.”
I think about Emma's words. A place to start.
“I'm not ready to forgive you,” I say honestly. “I don't know if I ever will be. But I'm willing to... try. To get to know each other. The real versions, not the ones we've been performing.”
Victor's throat works as he swallows. He nods once, sharply.
“That's more than I deserve.”
“Probably.”
Something that might be a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You're stubborn. You get that from me.”
“I get a lot of things from you.” I push myself to my feet, cast thumping against the floor. “Not all of them good.”
“No,” Victor agrees. “But maybe we can work on that.”
There's something else. Something I've been carrying since before the warehouse.
“If you're serious about making amends,” I say slowly, “I need something from you.”
Victor's eyes sharpen, the businessman surfacing beneath the wounded father. “Name it.”
“Emma's mother. Lila Sinclair.”
Victor’s brow furrows. “I don't know her.”
“She found something she wasn't supposed to find. Flagged irregularities connected to a pal of yours, Voss.” I keep my voice steady, even though my chest is tight.
“A few months later, there was a leak in her family's home. Carbon monoxide. Mother, father, a son. Dead. Emma survived because she was away at college.”
Victor's face goes pale.
“The case was closed before the bodies were cold,” I continue. “Made to look like an accident. Maddox has been digging, and the trail leads back to Voss. Maybe to people in your orbit.”
“Alexander.” Victor's voice is rough. “I didn't—I would never—“
“I need to know the truth.” I cut him off. “Did you know? Were you involved?”
Victor shakes his head, and for the first time since I've known him, he looks his age. Old. Tired. Haunted.
“I ruin people, Alexander. I admit that freely.
I've destroyed careers, bankrupted competitors, crushed anyone who got in my way.” He meets my eyes.
“I am not a killer. If someone was silencing whistleblowers, it wasn't on my orders. I would have paid the woman off. Buried her findings in legal tape. Found some way to make the problem disappear without...” He trails off, jaw tight. “Those are not my methods.”
“Then whose methods are they?”
Victor is silent for a long moment. When he speaks again, his voice is heavy.
“Voss has had his fingers in a lot of operations over the years. Silent partnerships. Consulting agreements. I never looked too closely at his methods.” He exhales. “Maybe I should have.”
“Maybe you should have.” I let the words hang. “I need the files, Victor. Everything on Voss. Everything that might tell us what really happened to Emma's family.”
Victor nods slowly. “You'll have it. All of it.” He pauses. “Does Emma know? About your investigation?”
“She knows we're looking into it. She doesn't know how deep it goes yet.” I run a hand through my hair. “I'm waiting until we have something concrete. She's been through enough.”
“She seems strong.”
“She is. Stronger than anyone I've ever met.” I look at him. “Which is why I'm not going to let whoever did this to her family get away with it. No matter where the trail leads.”
Victor holds my gaze. Something passes between us. Understanding, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
“I'll get you those files,” he says quietly. “And Alexander? Be careful with Voss. He's not like me. He doesn't just want to win. He wants to destroy.”
“Good.” I turn toward the door. “So do I.”
Emma is waiting in the hallway when I emerge. She takes one look at my face and opens her arms.
I fall into her, letting her hold me up.
“How did it go?” she asks quietly.
“We're trying,” I manage. “That's all I can promise right now.”
“That's enough.” She pulls back, hands framing my face. “That's more than enough.”
I kiss her, letting her warmth chase away the cold that's been sitting in my chest since that warehouse.
“I love you,” I whisper against her lips.
“I love you too.” She smiles, bright and real. “Now let's go check on Logan. I think he might actually talk to you today.”
“Yeah?”
“I may have threatened to hide his phone charger if he didn't.”
I laugh, the sound surprising me. “You're terrifying.”
“You love it.”
I do. God help me, I do.
We walk down the hall together, Emma's hand in mine, toward whatever comes next.