C2 2 — Uncle Ethan

“Uncle Ethan, this fort needs another blanket!”

Ethan Reyes looked up from his tablet, his concentration shifting to the seven-year-old standing in the midst of his lavish penthouse. Noah stood with his hands on his hips, looking so serious that someone who did not know him could have thought this was an issue of national importance. Behind him, the living room had been invaded by a multitude of cushions and blankets, and what had once been an attractive place now resembled a chaotic construction site.

“Noah, we already have six blankets.”

“But this is an emergency.”

Ethan stared at him for a moment before releasing a long, exaggerated sigh. “Of course it is.”

Within minutes, the co-owner of Stone Global was on his knees, helping his best friend's son construct a pillow fort across the living room. His expensive trousers gathered at his knees as he adjusted a particularly stubborn cushion, following Noah's increasingly detailed instructions with the patience of a man overseeing a billion-dollar project. The boy had very specific requirements for his creation, and apparently, six blankets were nowhere near sufficient for the task at hand. Ethan had negotiated multimillion-dollar deals with some of the most demanding executives in the country, yet none of them had ever been as particular about the placement of cushions as Noah was proving to be.

Noah demanded a secret entrance so they could sneak in and out without being seen, a security system to keep the intruders out and a dedicated chamber just for munchies. He described each aspect with the assurance of an architect showing off his masterpiece, pausing now and then to correct Ethan when he had put a cushion in the wrong place. Ethan went through all of it, even when the security system he was told to use was two cushions balanced such that they would signal if anyone approached. Noah said every detail was important, and Ethan was pretty much stuck following the instructions of the fort’s self-appointed chief architect.

Ethan was smart, cool and notoriously hard to please in the corporate world. His colleagues knew him as a man who didn’t mince words, who demanded perfection from those around him and who could quiet an entire conference room with one look. He was used to working with prominent executives, used to making decisions that may affect the future of Stone Global. He was used to people anticipating his wants, not needing to adapt theirs, yet around Noah he was a different person totally. He smiled readily, listened with patience, never complained when the youngster wanted to play the same game over and over again, even if it meant setting aside work that may have filled the remainder of his afternoon.

“Can we have pancakes?” Noah asked, settling onto the living room floor to inspect the fort's unfinished entrance.

“It's four in the afternoon.”

“So?”

Ethan looked at him, momentarily at a loss for an argument that might actually work against a seven-year-old who clearly considered meal schedules to be nothing more than suggestions. He shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he set his tablet aside. “You negotiate just like your father.”

Noah grinned, taking that as a complement evidently. Ethan rose and went into the kitchen, the youngster following close behind him, his inspection of the fort forgotten as he supervised the making of his afternoon pancakes. He climbed a kitchen stool and observed Ethan, with great intensity, as he collected the materials, occasionally providing ideas, which Ethan didn't want and hadn't asked for. His excitement was apparent that it was not an option to wait until the pancakes cooked. Noah wanted to watch the whole process, from mixing the batter to the final arrangement on his plate.

Ethan went to work at the stove and soon the kitchen was filled with the familiar aroma of butter and warm dough. Noah sat back on his stool, swinging his feet and watching each pancake plop on the plate. He followed every action with the tense concentration of a man directing an operation of the utmost importance, bending forward now and again for a better view. One pancake was deformed with an uneven edge and an uncomfortable protrusion on one side. Noah quickly called it a dinosaur. He leaned over to look at his handiwork, obviously satisfied with the result and Ethan looked down at the strangely formed pancake before gazing at the boy.

Ethan studied it with the seriousness of an art critic evaluating a priceless masterpiece. “It's the finest dinosaur pancake in Manila.”

Noah beamed at the compliments and Ethan couldn't help but giggle as he set the plate in front of him. For a while the penthouse was alive with the basic sounds of an average afternoon, the clatter of cutlery, Noah’s enthusiastic comments and the occasional burst of laughter. The obligations sitting on Ethan's iPad were untouched, notifications and unfinished work suddenly forgotten. He'd spent much of his adult life surrounded by deadlines, discussions and people who wanted something from him, but none of that seemed to matter much as Noah cheerfully sat at the kitchen counter eating his dinosaur-shaped pancake.

Later, Liam called to check on his son. Ethan answered while Noah remained occupied with his pancakes, now explaining how the dinosaur would fit into the fort's elaborate security system. The familiar voice of his best friend came through the phone, and Ethan leaned against the kitchen counter as they spoke, keeping an eye on Noah as the boy continued his enthusiastic explanation.

“Thanks for watching him,” Liam said. “Ava and I appreciate it.”

“You know I'd do anything for you and your family.”

Ethan's answer came without hesitation. Liam was more than just a close friend, and his family had always held a special position in Ethan’s life. Caring for Noah had never felt like a chore, and he had never thought of the time spent with the boy as a burden. Noah's presence was, if anything, a welcome diversion from the continuous demands of business. The youngster brought a sort of unadulterated warmth to the house, filling the silent spaces with enquiries and laughter and the occasional emergency that seemed to require extra blankets. It was a good reminder to Ethan that there were things worth taking time for outside meetings and contracts and corporate negotiations.

The afternoon dragged slowly into a gentler pace of life after the call was over. The movie played in the background, its moving pictures sending faint reflections throughout the living room, the pillow fort still strewn across the floor. Cushions were thrown everywhere within the improvised building and several blankets were draped over the furniture, a testament to the amount of work Noah had put into his construction project. Together with Ethan, the boy had at last succumbed to sleep, following a long afternoon of pancakes, intricate planning and constant supervision. His little body was curled comfortably against the cushions, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest showed how completely the day’s events had tired him. Ethan looked down at him. Noah was sleeping so soundly he almost didn't appear aware of the movie playing nearby.

Few outside his inner circle ever seen the softness in Ethan's eyes, but it was there as he reached for a blanket and laid it over Noah. He rearranged the blanket over the boy without waking him, making sure his shoulders and legs were covered, then went back to his seat. His movements were slow, soft, a silent contradiction to the decisiveness that marked him in the boardroom. He sat for a moment, watching the video play, without moving so Noah might continue to sleep undisturbed. The apartment was quiet now, the earlier noise little more than the low hum of the television and the slight ruffle of the cover when Noah stirred in his slumber.

Then his encrypted phone buzzed.

The silence was abruptly broken by a buzzing sound, and Ethan’s attention was immediately drawn to the device. He took it, being careful not to disturb Noah, and looked at the message on the screen. The words were few but their meaning was enough to take the warmth from his face. He studied the notification without moving, his eyes narrowing as the information sank in.

SEBASTIAN GOMEZ'S DAUGHTER BACK HOME IN MANILA.

Ethan's face transformed quite quickly. The comfortable smile that had stayed on his lips was not there anymore. It was replaced with the cool, guarded look that anybody who knew him in the business world recognised. He read the message again to confirm the information, then his fingers tightened slightly over the phone before he allowed himself to react. The man who had spent the afternoon attentively obeying the instructions of a child was gone from his face. The cool executive who dealt in information that required his immediate attention had taken his place.

“Serene Gomez,” he murmured.

He had known her father was dead. Sebastian Gomez had been a name associated with a world that operated far beyond the reach of ordinary business, a world where power was rarely displayed openly and even the smallest shift in allegiance could carry serious consequences. His name alone belonged to a sphere of influence where information was carefully guarded and every development could alter the balance between those who held power. Now his daughter had returned to Manila, and her arrival could threaten that delicate balance in the underworld. Ethan remained still for a moment, his gaze fixed on the message as he considered the significance of the information before him.

He glanced toward Noah's bedroom, where the boy would eventually be carried once he woke, then looked back at the sleeping child beside him. The contrast between the peaceful scene before him and the message on his phone could hardly have been sharper. Noah was safe, the penthouse was quiet, and the only thing that had demanded Ethan's attention for most of the afternoon was a child's insistence on building the perfect pillow fort. The blankets and cushions still covered the living room floor, while the movie played on as though nothing had changed.

For a few more minutes, Ethan allowed himself to remain simply an uncle. He stayed beside Noah, the blanket resting securely over the boy, while the movie continued playing in the background. The warmth of the afternoon had not entirely faded, and his attention lingered on the child sleeping peacefully beside him. Yet the message on his phone remained impossible to ignore. The man who had spent hours making pancakes and following a seven-year-old's instructions was already retreating behind the composed exterior that had made him a formidable presence in the world of business.

Then he answered the encrypted call.

“Prepare the headquarters,” he ordered coldly. “It's time I learned why she's here.”