Chapter 231: Where did Emma go?
Morris Adams sat alone in the half lit study, the air heavy with stale smoke and the sharp bite of whiskey. The fire in the grate had burned low, leaving only a bed of dying embers that pulsed a dull, stubborn red.
His shirt hung loose over his frame, creased and faintly sour from nights slept in the chair. A thin layer of stubble had grown into a rough beard, shadowing the hard lines of a face once known for cold composure.
He stared into the glass in his hand. The liquor barely moved, reflecting the jitter of his tired fingers. Once, a single look from him could send rivals retreating and subordinates scrambling to obey.
Now, even the silence in the room seemed to look back at him with quiet reproach.
The reflection on the darkened window showed a man he hardly recognized. Eyes dulled by sleepless nights. Shoulders sagged under the weight of choices he could no longer pretend were just business.
Emma.
His daughter, once the sharpest blade in the family’s crown, had slipped from his grasp. Worse, she had chosen to stand apart, beyond his protection or his control. The name Adams, built over decades with careful alliances and ruthless calculations, had started to crack under scandal and rumor. She didn’t choose him. But Jean.
His lips tightened around a breath he couldn’t quite release. Regret burned sharper than the whiskey in his throat.
Then the phone rang. Its shrill insistence cut straight through the fog, startling him enough that he almost dropped the glass.
The screen glowed with an unfamiliar number. For a moment, he hesitated, thumb hovering above the answer button, afraid of more bad news.
Finally, he pressed it to his ear. "Adams," he said, his voice low, rough, the syllable more growled than spoken.
"Mr. Adams?" The nurse on the line spoke gently, as though uncertain how to address the man whose name still carried weight outside these walls. "I’m calling from the hospital. Your daughter, Emma... she’s regained consciousness."