The double doors of the executive suite at Hampton Holdings were made of solid mahogany, heavy enough to crush a man. Earl pushed them open with one hand.
Sterling Hampton, his older brother and the Chairman of the Board, was standing by the window, staring out at the city he thought he owned.
"You're late," Sterling said without turning around.
"I had an errand," Earl said, walking to the wet bar and pouring himself a water.
Sterling turned. He was older, greyer, but he had the same predatory blue eyes. He threw a folder onto the massive glass desk. It slid across the surface and stopped at the edge.
"An errand involving a street fight and a five-million-dollar transfer to a blind trust?" Sterling's voice was ice. "Are you trying to tank the stock, Earl? The Board is already twitchy about the supply chain hacks."
"The supply chain is under control," Earl said calmly. He took a sip of water. "And the trust is personal."
"Personal?" Sterling laughed. It was a harsh, barking sound. "Nothing is personal when you hold 40% of the voting shares. Who is she? This... Faith Neal?"
"She's the mother of my son," Earl said.
Sterling froze. The room went dead silent. The hum of the air conditioner seemed to roar.
"A son," Sterling whispered. "An heir?"
"Yes."
"And you hid him."
"To protect him from you," Earl said. "And from the vultures on the Board."
Sterling sank into his leather chair. He rubbed his temples. "Does anyone else know?"
"Just us. And her."
"We need a DNA test. We need NDAs. We need-"
"We need a marriage license," Earl interrupted. He set his glass down. Clink. "I'm marrying her. Today at 2 PM."
Sterling looked up, incredulous. "Marriage? Earl, you don't marry the help. You pay them off. Custody battle, sure. But marriage? That exposes half your assets."
"She's not the help," Earl said, his voice dropping dangerously low. "She was never the help. She was the only Crisis Manager who kept this company from imploding during the '19 hostile takeover. She knows where the bodies are buried because she helped dig the graves, Sterling."
Sterling narrowed his eyes. "I don't buy the sentimentality, Earl. You don't have a romantic bone in your body. And you certainly wouldn't risk half the company for a bastard child you've hidden for two years. What's the real reason?"
Earl went quiet. He knew Sterling. He knew logic wouldn't work. He had to use fear.
"The insomnia," Earl said softly.
Sterling's face changed. The arrogance vanished, replaced by a flicker of genuine dread. He knew what that word meant in the Hampton family. Their father had died screaming at invisible demons after six months without sleep. It was the family curse-the genetic deterioration of the thalamus that struck the Hampton men in their forties.
"It's getting worse," Earl lied, though it felt close enough to the truth. "The hallucinations started last week. I was losing time. Losing control."
"Jesus," Sterling breathed.
"She stops it," Earl said, keeping his face blank. "She's a biological anchor. My cortisol levels drop 40% when she's in the room. Lawrence confirmed it. Without her, I go the way of Father. Is that what you want for the CEO chair, Sterling? A madman?"
Sterling stared at him for a long moment, weighing the options. A stable CEO, even one married to a nobody, was better than a psychotic break that would tank the stock to zero.
"Fine," Sterling sighed, rubbing his face. "But get a prenup. A bulletproof one."
"Already drafted. And the NDAs are being signed as we speak." Earl pulled a document from his inside pocket and tossed it onto the desk.
"And Earl?" Sterling warned. "If this is a weakness... if she becomes a liability..."
"She won't," Earl said. He turned to leave. "She's the cure."
He walked out of the office, his heart hammering against his ribs. He had lied to his brother. It wasn't just about sleep. It wasn't just about the heir.
He checked his phone. A text from Faith.
I'm at City Hall.
Earl smiled. A grim, determined smile.
On my way.
He headed for the elevator. He had a kingdom to secure, and a queen to capture.
