Chapter 370: The Spider and the Dove

Ethan stepped out of the house into the cool evening air, walking a few blocks until he reached a nondescript black sedan idling in the shadows. He slipped into the passenger seat. Jason was behind the wheel, his face illuminated by the pale glow of a tablet.

"Report," said Ethan.

"The prosecutor has everything lined up, Boss. They’ve successfully ’lost’ the key witness statement and highlighted the lack of forensic evidence. He can sign the release papers at any moment," said Jason.

"No. Not yet. I want him out in exactly three days. Not a second sooner. I need the timing to be perfect for the next phase of the plan," said Ethan.

"Understood. Everything will be ready. I’ll coordinate the transfer for seventy-two hours from now," said Jason.

Ethan nodded, stepped out of the car, and vanished back into the night. When he returned to the house, the warm smell of tea greeted him. Helen was sitting at the small dining table, her hands clasped tightly as if in prayer.

"I have good news," said Ethan.

Helen stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled. "What? Did you hear from the office?" said Helen.

"My contacts just called. It’s better than we thought. Apparently, the original arrest was riddled with discrepancies. The evidence was purely circumstantial, and they’ve fast-tracked the appeal. We won, Helen. The judge has already looked at the new filings. He should be a free man in just a few days," said Ethan.

Helen let out a choked sob of pure, unfiltered joy. She launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a desperate embrace.

"Thank you! Thank you, Etienne!" said Helen.

Ethan caught her, his arms circling her waist to steady her. As she pressed against him, he could feel the soft, heavy pressure of her breasts against his chest. His hands slid down instinctively, his palms brushing the firm curve of her buttocks as he held her. It was a calculated move—a graze that felt accidental enough to be ignored, yet lingering enough to leave a mark on her subconscious.

He made a subtle, rhythmic movement, pulling her slightly closer into his space. He felt her breath hitch, a momentary flash of heat crossing her skin, but she didn’t pull away. She was too lost in the relief, her mind spinning with a thousand thoughts.

"It’s nothing, Helen. Don’t worry. The situation is completely in our favor now," said Ethan, his voice a low, soothing vibration near her ear.

Suddenly, Helen pulled back, her face pale. The joy in her eyes was replaced by a sharp, stabbing shadow of grief.

"My husband... if only he could hear this. He’s sitting in that cold cell thinking he’s failed us, but now our son is coming home. Etienne, please... tell me you have news of him too. Can your friends help him? Is there a way?" said Helen.

Her eyes were wide, pleading, anchored to the hope that if Ethan could perform one miracle, he could surely perform two. Ethan let out a slow, measured breath. He didn’t answer immediately, which made the silence in the room feel like a suffocating weight.

"Helen, sit down for a moment," said Ethan.

"What is it? You’re making me nervous. Just tell me he’s okay," said Helen.

"Please, just sit," said Ethan.

She sank into the chair, her body trembling. Ethan leaned against the table, looking down at his hands before meeting her gaze with a look of profound, staged pity.

"I’ve had my people looking into your husband’s file alongside your son’s. Helen, I need you to be incredibly strong right now. The situation with your husband is... it’s not like the boy’s. It is grave," said Ethan.

"What do you mean ’grave’? He was just protecting us! He didn’t do anything wrong!" said Helen.

"The Federal Bureau has labeled him with a Tier-1 Terrorist classification. They’ve fabricated a trail of evidence linking him to an extremist cell that was supposedly planning an attack on a regional energy hub. They aren’t treating him as a common prisoner; they are treating him as an enemy of the state," said Ethan.

Helen’s face went ghost-white. She gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned purple. "Terrorism? That’s a lie! That’s a disgusting lie!"

"I know it is. But in the eyes of the high court, the file is sealed. Because it falls under ’National Security,’ there is no public trial, no discovery of evidence, and no bail. They’ve buried him in a hole that the law cannot reach. My contacts... even the prosecutor I’m working with... they won’t even touch his name. They told me that anyone who tries to intervene for him will be flagged as a co-conspirator," said Ethan.

Ethan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper that filled the room with a sense of inescapable doom.

"They have him in a high-security wing. The charges are so delicate that if we push too hard, it might actually jeopardize your son’s release. They are using your husband as the scapegoat to justify the entire raid on your home. To the world, he is the monster, and they are the heroes who stopped him," said Ethan.

Helen let out a broken, hollow sound—not quite a cry, but the sound of a spirit collapsing. She looked at Ethan, her eyes vacant.

"So... he’s never coming out? You’re telling me he’s going to die in there?" said Helen.

"The legal path is a dead end, Helen. It’s a wall of iron. I will keep looking for a crack, but I won’t lie to you: as of right now, he is in the darkest corner of the system, and they have no intention of ever letting him see the sun again," said Ethan.

He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling her sob silently. He was the one who had built the wall, the one who had ensured the files were untouchable, and now, he was the only shoulder she had to cry on as the world he described crushed her hopes.