Ethan Bishop looked at his phone. It was a text from Caroline Lockwood, Seraphina's mother. The message read:
"Sir Ethan Bishop, I beg of you to denounce the rumor circulating between you and my daughter, Seraphina. I am sure it's all a big misunderstanding. Please Sir Bishop, I am certain we can come to some sort of arrangement."
Ethan Bishop felt disgusted and infuriated reading the text. "The audacity of that woman," he vented.
Here he was, two floors away from death, and she dared to send him such an irrelevant message. Why was everyone so hell-bent on making him look like a fool by asking him to denounce the rumors he had already indirectly confirmed as truth?
Caroline's plea, he could understand. But what was so special about Seraphina Lockwood that even Jacob Harrington himself came to pressure him with a blank check—a literal blank check, hell, he could have written five hundred billion dollars. Jacob Harrington's account was certainly capable of giving out such an outrageous amount. Looking back now, Ethan began contemplating if he had indeed made the right choice. Sudden he realized his thoughts had derailed;
Why the hell was he thinking of all that, especially at a time like this, when none of it would have mattered if his assailant made it past the second floor?
"Sir, what do we do?" his right-hand man asked urgently, snapping Ethan out of his thoughts.
"Damn it!" Ethan cursed, realizing he had been distracted for more than a minute.
He looked at the CCTV feed screen in front of him, showing his masked assailant standing in front of the elevator. Ethan had already ordered it shut down—it was the only way to the next floor.
He zoomed in on the face of the masked assailant on the feed, hoping to find a resemblance or clue as to who it was under the mask. But the closer he looked, the farther he got from figuring out who it was.
Ethan sighed and leaned back in his chair, his phone still in hand. His eyes caught the screen of his phone, which was still on Caroline Lockwood's text. He was instantly irritated and disgusted, but then a thought struck him—what if the rumors and his masked assailant were connected? Not to mention Jacob Harrington's involvement in all of this.
Jacob Harrington's words echoed in his mind: "I am not the one you should be scared about."
"Was the masked assailant who Jacob Harrington was warning about? If so, how did he know the masked assailant would attack him? There was no way he could have known.
Unless, the masked assailant was sent by him? Even if that were true, the question was why? Why would Jacob Harrington go through this much trouble for a mere nobody like Seraphina Lockwood?"
None of it made any sense, and his theory seemed far-fetched. But the timing of everything was too suspicious.
Ethan Bishop wished he could ponder more and figure who it was behind all this, but This wasn't the time for that. Right now, he needed to find a way to deal with the masked assailant. Suddenly, an idea struck him.
"Open the elevator," he ordered.
"Sorry, sir, did I hear you correctly?" his right-hand man, shocked, questioned for confirmation.
"Did I stutter?" Ethan yelled.
"No, sir."
"Open the damn elevator, let him in, and send fifty men to the second floor. There's no way one man defeats that many men," he said, "especially not when they are armed with guns."
"Are you certain of this, sir? I thought you wanted him alive," his right-hand man inquired.
"Not anymore. I want that bastard dead! He is just a tool. Who I really want to know is whoever was desperate enough to send a hitman of this level after me. And when I do find them, they are going to be sorry they ever crossed Ethan Bishop," he boasted.
As his right-hand man relayed the orders, Ethan's mind wandered back to the text from Caroline Lockwood. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than he realized. Why had Jacob Harrington, a man of considerable power and influence, shown such interest in Seraphina's predicament? Why would he go this far? The pieces didn't fit, and it gnawed at him.
Ethan glanced at the CCTV feed again. The masked assailant hadn't moved, standing still as if waiting for something. Ethan's heart pounded in his chest. He knew that opening the elevator was a risk, but it was a calculated one. He needed to draw the assailant out, to confront him on his terms, surrounded by his men.
"Open it now," Ethan commanded, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.
The right-hand man hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yes, sir," he replied, pressing a series of buttons to unlock the elevator.
Ethan watched the feed intently as the elevator doors slid open. The masked figure stepped inside, showing no signs of hesitation. Ethan's eyes narrowed. This was it. The confrontation was imminent, and he needed to be ready.
"Get the men in position. I want that second floor locked down tight," Ethan ordered. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was his domain, his fortress. No one would get the better of him here.
"I understand your plan sir, but how do you plan on getting any information if you kill him before you get the chance to interrogate him?" his right-hand man asked.
Ethan Bishop curled a coy, cynical smile to the left side of his cheek. "Oh, trust me, dead men do tell tales."