The remaining hours of the shift were agonizing. Every footstep in the corridor, every buzz of the elevator, felt like the approach of security coming to escort them out in handcuffs. Alex mechanically wiped down the same spot on the conference table, his mind racing through nightmare scenarios: lawsuits, criminal charges, the debt ballooning, his family destitute. Marco paced like a caged tiger, muttering curses in Portuguese, his protective instincts warring with the knowledge that any further action could doom them.
Just before dawn, the night manager, a perpetually nervous man named Dave, appeared in the doorway. He held a tablet, his expression unreadable. "Moretti. Silva. Mr. Thorne wants to see you. In his office. Now."
The walk to the executive elevator bank felt like a march to the gallows. The plush silence of the upper floors was suffocating. Dave ushered them into Ethan Thorne's office – a vast space of glass, steel, and cold elegance. Ethan stood by the window, silhouetted against the first streaks of dawn. He didn't turn as they entered.
"Sit," he commanded, his voice devoid of inflection.
They sat in the low, uncomfortable chairs facing his desk. Alex kept his eyes fixed on the pristine glass surface, bracing for the avalanche.
Ethan finally turned. He wasn't looking at them, but at his tablet. "Reynolds," he stated, the name a distasteful syllable. "Sent a rather… hysterical email. Accusing you of sabotaging the water main to create a crisis you could heroically resolve. To curry favor. To alleviate your debt burden." He looked up, his blue-grey eyes sweeping over them, colder than the dawn outside. "An imaginative theory."
Alex opened his mouth, a desperate denial on his lips, but Ethan raised a hand, silencing him.
"Security footage," Ethan continued, placing the tablet deliberately on the desk, screen facing them, "is remarkably comprehensive. It shows Reynolds neglecting his rounds for hours prior to the rupture. It shows him abandoning his post immediately upon discovery. It shows you," his gaze flicked to Alex, then Marco, "responding promptly. It shows your coordinated effort to reach the shutoff valve." He paused. "It shows the physical exertion required to turn a valve demonstrably seized from disuse. It does *not* show any 'fiddling' with pipes prior to the incident. Only routine gauge checks, as per protocol."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. "It also shows Reynolds' uninvited and intoxicated return to the premises last night. It shows his aggressive confrontation of Moretti. It shows Silva's… intervention." His eyes lingered on Marco. "While physically restraining an intruder threatening an employee could be argued as justified, slamming him against company property was… inadvisable."
Marco stiffened but remained silent, his jaw clenched.
"The email," Ethan concluded, straightening up, "was a fabrication. A malicious attempt at retaliation by a terminated, incompetent employee." He picked up the tablet. "Reynolds has been banned from all Thorne properties. Any further communication from him will be handled by legal as harassment. The matter is closed."
Alex stared, stunned. He wasn't being accused? He wasn't being fired? The crushing weight lifted so suddenly he felt lightheaded. "Th-thank you, Mr. Thorne," he stammered, the words feeling alien.
Ethan's expression didn't soften. "Don't mistake due process for benevolence, Moretti. Thorne Enterprises deals in facts, not drunken slander. Allowing a false accusation to stand would be inefficient. It would set a dangerous precedent." His gaze sharpened. "However, Silva's loss of control, while understandable in context, demonstrates a volatility incompatible with certain environments."
Marco went rigid. "Sir—"
"You will be reassigned," Ethan stated, cutting him off. "Effective immediately. To the Thorne Harbor Lights construction site. Night shift labor. Same pay grade. The work is… physically demanding. Isolating. And far removed from this tower." The implication was clear: *Far removed from Alex.*
Alex felt a fresh wave of panic. Harbor Lights was across the city. Marco wouldn't be here. He'd be alone. Ethan was isolating him, just as he'd always wanted. But why clear his name, then separate them?
Marco looked like he wanted to argue, to fight. He met Alex's eyes, seeing the fear there. Swallowing his protest, he gave a stiff, curt nod. "Understood, sir."
"Good," Ethan said, dismissing them with a flick of his hand. "Report to your new assignments tonight. Dismissed."
They filed out in silence. Once the elevator doors closed behind them, Marco exploded. "That manipulative ice bastard! He clears your name just so he can get rid of *me*! He wants you alone, Al! This was his plan all along!"
Alex leaned against the elevator wall, the relief of being cleared warring with the dread of facing the tower alone and the unsettling question: Why had Ethan Thorne, champion of efficiency and cold facts, bothered to be fair? Why shield him at all? The glacier hadn't melted, but a single, unexpected ray of light had pierced the ice, leaving Alex more bewildered than ever.
**(End of Chapter 18)**