[Reid Mansion—Benjamin’s study]
Benjamin stood alone in his study, the house silent around him.
Jack’s ssage sat unread on his phone.
He hadn’t opened it yet.
Sothing in his chest felt wrong. It wasn’t anger or suspicion.
It was dreadful.
The kind that crept in when sothing irreversible had already begun.
He walked to the window, staring out into the darkness, fingers curling slowly into a fist.
"Running doesn’t erase guilt," he murmured to himself.
And for the first ti that night, Benjamin Reid felt the uneasy certainty that whatever Jack was running from wasn’t just consequences, it was himself.
He stood by the window for soti before he grabbed his phone from the table.
Contemplating for a while, he opened Jack’s ssage.
Jack: Dad, I am leaving the country for a while. I need space to clear my head. I don’t want to be around until Heinberg is fully up and running. Once the project stabilizes, I will return and take responsibility for it. Don’t worry. I just need ti.
Benjamin read it again.
And again.
He didn’t respond.
He set the phone down slowly, fingers lingering against the edge of the desk as sothing cold settled in his chest again.
Jack had never asked for space before.
He had demanded, deflected, argued, provoked but never retreated.
Jack was impulsive, loud in his mistakes, desperate to be seen even when he pretended not to care.
Running quietly was not his nature.
Benjamin exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, as if discipline alone could force the unease away.
"Taking responsibility," he muttered. "After disappearing."
The words didn’t sit right.
He moved back to the desk and sat down, opening the drawer where he kept old files—personal ones, not corporate.
He didn’t know why his hand went there, only that instinct had begun to override logic.
He took out Jack’s childhood reports. Boarding school letters, old photographs—he started going through them one by one.
In every mory, Jack was reaching for sothing—approval, affection, reassurance—while pretending he didn’t need any of it.
Benjamin leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
He thought of the accident, the timing, the way Jack had avoided his eyes and tThe way he had left the hospital without protest.
It was all too neat and too quiet.
The boy who had been pretending to be sincere for the past few weeks, trying to convince everyone that he had changed for good, suddenly decided to leave without a word. He didn’t even ask for money—Jack’s company and the ergency fund Benjamin had set up for him remained untouched.
Benjamin’s jaw tightened.
"This isn’t restlessness," he said softly. "This is fear."
He picked up his phone again, thumb hovering over Jack’s contact.
For a mont—just one—he considered calling, demanding answers, forcing Jack back and dragging the truth into the light.
But sothing stopped him.
If Jack had done sothing—sothing serious—cornering him now would only drive him further into hiding.
And if Jack hadn’t then Benjamin would destroy whatever fragile resolve his son had managed to build.
He set the phone down again.
Outside, the wind rattled against the windows, restless and sharp.
Benjamin stood, straightening his cuffs with chanical precision.
"Wherever you are going," he said quietly to the empty room, "I hope you understand one thing."
His gaze hardened, steel settling back into place.
"I will find the truth. With you or without you."
The study lights dimd as he walked out, already calculating, already connecting threads.
Jack Reid had disappeared and Benjamin Reid never ignored disappearances.
....
[Olivia’s Room—Next Day]
Olivia stood by the window long after the house had gone quiet with her morning coffee.
Jack was gone.
No one told her, she didn’t need Benjamin to tell her. She had known the mont the silence stretched too long, the mont her phone stayed untouched and the mont the loose end she had tied off so neatly failed to tug back.
Jack never disappeared without noise, without drama and without reaching for her.
Unlike the other tis when he told her everything, there was nothing—no ssage, no call, no plea.
Her fingers tightened slowly around the edge of the glass.
"Coward," she muttered not with hatred but with sothing sharper.
Fear.
He had a broken pattern and Jack Reid breaking pattern was never accidental. She knew everyone would notice and that alone was dangerous.
She replayed the dockyard in her mind—the blood, the sound, the way his face had collapsed when reality finally pierced through entitlent and panic. She had seen it then, even if she hadn’t acknowledged it.
Jack wasn’t built for what ca next.
He could sche, he could resent, he could sabotage but murder—even indirect—had cracked sothing in him.
And cracks leaked, if not imdiately but with ti.
She exhaled slowly, forcing her breath steady.
If Jack ran far enough, he could beco dangerous in a different way because unpredictable people talked, unstable people confessed and broken people sought absolution.
Her jaw clenched.
She knew Benjamin would hunt quietly. He wouldn’t relax when his youngest son suddenly disappeared and that was even more dangerous.
With Jack now being a variable outside her reach, for the first ti in years, Olivia was not holding the reins.
She turned away from the window and picked up her phone, scrolling through contacts she didn’t use anymore.
She contemplated for a while before setting her phone down.
It wasn’t the right ti to use her dormant main cards yet, at least not until she knew where Jack had gone and whether he intended to stay silent.
Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened glass—composed, elegant, controlled but beneath it, sothing had shifted.
This wasn’t cleanup anymore, this was damage control without the asset she had built her entire strategy around.
And Olivia hated nothing more than losing control over a piece she had invested in.
Jack was gone and now she had to decide whether to let him disappear or make sure he never ca back.
.....
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