The alarm clock buzzed at 4:30 AM. Ethan Ward’s hand shot out from beneath the thick comforter and silenced it before the second ring. He lay there for a moment, blinking into the darkness, his mind already scanning the day’s schedule: morning workout, investor call at 7, warehouse walkthrough at 9, and a pitch meeting at noon with a venture capital firm he didn’t even like—but needed.

He rolled out of bed and slipped on his running shoes. No music, no distractions. Just the sound of his footsteps pounding the concrete streets of Brooklyn, the only time the city ever slept. Each stride was a mantra: Keep going. No one else will do it for you.

The small apartment he still lived in, despite earning seven figures last year, was a reminder of where he came from. He wasn’t sentimental—but he was grounded. Raised by a single mother who worked three jobs to keep food on the table, Ethan learned young that time wasn’t money—it was everything.

By 6:00 AM, he was showered, suited up, and seated at his laptop. Emails from Tokyo, London, and Sao Paulo piled up like bricks in a wall he had to scale daily. But this was his climb—and no one climbed higher than Ethan Ward.

“Mr. Ward, the East Coast distribution update is in,” came a voice from his phone. It was Jenna, his assistant—sharp, efficient, and loyal.

“Put it on screen.”

Spreadsheets glowed. Numbers rose and dipped. One region underperformed. Ethan made a note. He’d fly down himself next week. Delegation was fine, but presence—presence closed deals and inspired trust.

At 8:15, his ten-year-old son, Daniel, walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Ethan looked up and smiled, the stress lines on his forehead softening for a rare second.

“You hungry, champ?”

Daniel nodded. “Can you eat with me today?”

Ethan hesitated. The pitch deck awaited. Investors needed answers. But his son—his reason for everything—stood there in pajamas, hope flickering in his sleepy gaze.

Ethan's pov: Should I spend time with my son? I guess I should. It's the only time I enjoyed the most.

“Yeah,” Ethan said, rising. “I’ve got ten minutes.”

Ten minutes of waffles and cartoons. Ten minutes of real life.

Daniel: yey papa will do dinner with us. I'm so happy.

Because in a world of relentless hustle, those ten minutes were the truest investment Ethan Ward could make. Ethan is a very hardworking self-businessman who spend his half year becoming a reputed ceo, but yet very down to earth. He own a cooperative company and live in a bungalow alone with his son. His wife left him when his son was 3 year old with an unknown male. Ethan raised Daniel alone with lots of difficulties, but he loves him lot. His son was the only reason for him to stay live and work hard.

The elevator ride to the 42nd floor of the Solaris Building was silent, save for the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the faint tap of Ethan’s leather shoe against the polished floor. He glanced at his reflection in the chrome panel—sharp suit, sharper eyes. He didn’t dress to impress anymore; he dressed like armor. Because in business, appearance was half the battle.

The pitch meeting was at 12:00 sharp, but Ethan was early. Always was. It wasn’t about control—it was about respect. You don’t ask someone for millions of dollars and show up two minutes late.

Jenna greeted him at the boardroom with a tablet in hand and a crease between her brows.

“They moved it up to 11:30,” she said under her breath. “Tom Ritter’s assistant called in the change fifteen minutes ago.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Let them know I’m ready.”

Inside, three men in tailored suits sat at the long glass table. They looked the part—expensive watches, haircuts that cost more than his first car. But Ethan had seen their kind before: the VC wolves, circling for a piece of his blood, masked behind smiles and thinly veiled condescension.

“Mr. Ward,” Tom Ritter said as Ethan entered. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Likewise,” Ethan replied. He placed his tablet down, opened the deck, and got straight to it. No pleasantries. No fluff.

He laid out the vision: a scalable logistics platform built with adaptive AI, already profitable, with 300% year-over-year growth. No debt. No scandals. No gimmicks.

Ritter leaned back. “Impressive numbers. But tell me—how long do you think this momentum can last?”

“As long as the infrastructure is sound,” Ethan said. “Which it is.”

“And the leadership?” Ritter’s tone was mild, but Ethan heard the subtext: Are you the guy to take this all the way?

“I built it. I know its bones.”

Tom exchanged a glance with the man beside him, a younger partner whose grin never reached his eyes. “There’s one concern we have—your refusal to offshore operations. Investors like to see cost-cutting, and frankly, your domestic model is… expensive.”

Ethan didn’t flinch. “It’s also reliable. Our warehouses run at 98% efficiency. Our turnover is under 12%. You can’t buy loyalty with layoffs.”

There was a pause—long and heavy. Then Tom smiled thinly. “Well, that’s admirable. But admirable doesn’t always scale.”

“Neither does short-sighted greed,” Ethan said, before he could stop himself.

Jenna winced.

The meeting ended politely. Too politely.

As Ethan and Jenna stepped into the elevator, she said, “You knew they weren’t going to bite.”

“Didn’t need them to,” he muttered. “I just needed to know if I was still playing by the right rules.”

She nodded, then hesitated. “You may want to take a look at this.”

She handed him her tablet. A breaking news headline lit the screen:

Former Partner at WardTech Files Lawsuit Alleging Fraudulent Practices

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

The name beneath the headline: Martin Cray.

A name from a chapter he thought was closed. A name tied to mistakes made years ago—back when WardTech was just an idea on a napkin and Ethan was too hungry to read every clause in every deal.

He stared at the screen, silent.

Because in business, numbers didn’t lie.

But people did.

And now, Ethan Ward’s past was knocking—and it wasn’t asking for a meeting.

By the time Ethan returned to the office, the war room was already alive.

Jenna stood at the center like a general, issuing quiet orders to a small team of PR reps and legal advisors. The room smelled faintly of stress and burnt coffee. On the wall, a live feed of the news played on mute—Ethan’s name now crawling across the ticker beneath talking heads dissecting the lawsuit.

He didn’t pause. “What do we know?”

Jenna turned, tablet in hand. “The filing dropped early this morning in Delaware. Cray’s team claims he was defrauded during the 2017 buyout—alleging you undervalued the company and withheld IP valuation reports.”

Ethan’s voice was even, but his jaw locked. “We had a contract. He signed off on everything.”

“Yes. But it’s the optics. They’re positioning him as the wronged co-founder. Media loves that story—David versus Goliath.”

A younger staffer, nervous, chimed in. “There’s also a whistleblower hint mentioned in the documents. Cray might have someone inside.”

Ethan’s mind sharpened. Inside. That meant betrayal—or manipulation. And that narrowed the field.

He turned to Jenna. “I want every version of the 2017 financials re-audited. Full trace. Pull emails, messages—anything with Cray’s name. No redactions. And bring in Alan Quinn.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “The crisis lawyer?”

“Yeah. If Cray wants a war, he’s going to get one.”

She nodded and left the room, already texting.

Ethan sank into a chair, finally alone. His eyes drifted to the skyline. The WardTech tower was just visible from here, clean and proud. Everything he’d built. And now Cray wanted to drag it through the mud.

But Ethan hadn’t cheated anyone. Not even Martin Cray—especially not him. Cray had been the ideas guy, but Ethan was the one who had worked eighty-hour weeks to build their prototype, the one who cold-called warehouses and delivery routes, the one who slept in his car during year one just to make payroll.

Yet… there had been a moment.

A meeting in a coffee shop.

Cray had wanted more—too much—and Ethan had pushed back hard. There had been shouting. Threats. Then silence.

Had Cray really waited eight years to make his move?

The door opened again.

It was Ava, Ethan’s ex-wife. She never visited the office. Not unless it was about Daniel.

“What’s wrong?” he asked instantly, standing.

She held up a phone. “I just got a call from a reporter. They tried asking Daniel questions outside school.”

Ethan’s expression darkened. “What?”

“They wanted to know if ‘his dad taught him how to lie,’ Ethan.”

His fists clenched. “I’ll handle it. No one goes near him again. I swear.”

Ava looked at him for a long moment. Her voice softened. “You always said the past wouldn’t catch up to you.”

“I didn’t think it would come back wearing a tailored suit and a smile.”

She hesitated, then added, “You’re a good man, Ethan. Don’t let this change that.”

He nodded, watching her leave.

But as he sat down again, he knew something fundamental had already shifted.

This wasn’t just about business anymore.

It was personal.

And it was far from over.