Chapter 5 - The Flashlight on the Front Lawn
By 9:00 AM, the front lawn of our quiet suburban home in Portland looked like the landing zone for a media invasion.
Three satellite news vans from CNN, CNBC, and local Portland affiliates had parked across our driveway and neighbors’ grass, their massive telescoping transmission dishes raised against the gray Oregon sky. Reporters with microphones and cameramen carrying heavy broadcast rigs crowded around our front porch, shouting questions toward the locked front door.
“Mr. Voss! Can you confirm your stake in the global semiconductor grid?”
“Are you planning to relocate Voss Capital headquarters to Zurich or New York?”
“Sir! Just one question about the philanthropic trust!”
Inside the living room, Rachel sat huddled on the sofa with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, staring blankly at the television news screen where my face was being analyzed by a panel of bewildered financial analysts who had never heard my name twenty-four hours earlier.
Upstairs in his bedroom, Noah was playing quietly with his Lego bricks, though I had placed a pair of heavy noise-canceling headphones over his ears to block out the shouting from the street.
My phone on the kitchen island rang continuously.
Calls from the White House chief of staff.
Calls from European prime ministers.
Calls from Wall Street billionaires offering mergers, partnerships, and acquisitions that could re-shape entire continents.
I ignored every single one of them.
I picked up my phone, opened the encrypted Voss Capital secure terminal app, and tapped a single command:
DELEGATE EXECUTIVE AUTHORITY TO ARTHUR VANCE. INITIATE COMPLETE MEDIA BLACKOUT ON PRIVATE RESIDENCE. DEPLOY SECURE PRIVATE TRANSPORT FOR FAMILY RELOCATION.
Ten minutes later, two matte-black armored Mercedes-Maybach SUVs rolled quietly past the screaming news vans, pulling right up to our side porch where the media couldn't see us.
Arthur Vance stepped out of the lead vehicle, wearing his immaculate navy suit, holding a black leather briefcase. He walked up the side steps and knocked twice on the kitchen door.
I opened it.
“Ethan,” Arthur said, stepping inside and locking the door behind him. He took in the chaos of the living room, Rachel huddled on the couch, and me standing by the kitchen counter. “The media circus is expanding exponentially. By noon, international wire services are going to be swarming this neighborhood. We have a private Gulfstream waiting at Portland International. The flight crew is locked down. Where do you want to go?”
I looked back at Rachel. She didn't look up. She kept her eyes fixed on the television screen, her shoulders trembling beneath her blanket.
“We’re not running away, Arthur,” I said quietly.
“Ethan, you can't stay here,” Arthur urged, his voice urgent. “Your personal security risk assessment is currently off the charts. Every hostile foreign intelligence agency and predatory hedge fund on the planet is currently trying to map your daily routine.”
“I know,” I said. I walked over to the couch and looked down at Rachel.
“Rachel,” I said softly.
She lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow.
May you like
“I’m taking Noah upstairs to pack his things,” I told her. “When we come down, you can choose. You can come with us, or you can stay here. But this house, this life—it’s over. The moment the world learned who I am, the anonymity we had here died forever.”
She didn't answer. She just closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh of absolute defeat.
