CHAPTER EIGHT
Feuds rarely begin with violence.
They begin with memory.
Madison Moore sat alone in his private study long after the house had gone to sleep.
The walls were lined with aviation blueprints framed like art—early designs of Madison Airpeace aircraft, handwritten notes still visible beneath glass.
Legacy.
That was the word people liked to use.
But legacy was not built—it was defended.
He stared at a file open on his desk.
WILSON AEROSPACE – PENDING ROUTE DISPUTES
Five routes.
Three continents.
Billions in projected revenue.
Routes Madison had lost two years ago under circumstances that had never sat right with him.
Now, with Noel lying upstairs wrapped in bandages, the bitterness sharpened into clarity.
This wasn't new.
This was unfinished.
Madison picked up the phone.
"Reactivate everything," he said quietly. "Every dormant complaint.
Every shelved investigation."
A pause.
"Yes," he added. "Starting with the European bid interference."
He ended the call.
Across the house, Mrs. Riley Madison lay awake.
She hadn't gone to Noel's room again. She knew Tiffany and Queensley were with him.
She knew he needed rest, not hovering.
But her mind wouldn't rest.
She stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the manicured estate—lights glowing softly, security moving like shadows.
"I should have warned him," she murmured to no one.
She remembered Caroline Wilson.
Board luncheons.
Charity galas.
Polite smiles that never reached the eyes.
They had never liked each other.
Not because of jealousy.
Because they stood for opposite things.
The Wilson's Response.
Jonathan Wilson didn't waste time.
By morning, Wilson Aerospace released a press statement expressing concern over reckless youth behavior while subtly emphasizing Noel's voluntary participation in an illegal race.
The language was clean.
Clinical.
Strategic.
Caroline Wilson read it twice at the breakfast table.
"They're positioning him as equally responsible," she said.
Jonathan nodded.
"As they should."
Alexander sat quietly, scrolling through his phone.
"People think I cheated," he muttered.
Jonathan looked at him sharply.
"People think whatever they're told to think."
Alexander hesitated.
"What if the race clips—"
"There is no video," Jonathan snapped.
"There is just interpretation."
Caroline placed her hand over her son's wrist.
"You did nothing wrong," she said firmly. "You competed."
Alexander nodded—but unease sat in his chest like a stone.
On the other hand.
Business Turned Personal.
The first strike landed quietly.
Madison Airpeace withdrew from a joint fuel agreement Wilson Aerospace depended on in Eastern Europe.
No explanation.
Just termination.
By noon, Wilson's legal team was scrambling.
Jonathan smiled thinly when he heard.
"So," he said.
"He wants to play."
He made three calls.
By evening, a Madison Airpeace cargo shipment was delayed indefinitely due to unexpected compliance issues.
No accusation.
Just inconvenience.
By nightfall, both families understood the truth:
The boys were only the spark.
This was about dominance.
Echoes in Greyview.
Evalon High felt different.
Students whispered instead of shouted.
Teachers watched more closely.
Security tightened.
It was no longer a matter of just a race—it was a fault line.
Queensley felt it everywhere.
In how people looked at her."with pity
Asking her about Noel since they can't go meet him.
Not because they were restricted but they feared how Noel would react.
In how Alex avoided her gaze.
In how Noel's absence left a hollow space that felt too loud.
She sat beside Tiffany one afternoon.
"They're using him," Queensley said quietly.
Tiffany didn't look up from her phone.
"They always were." He doesn't even deserve this he is not even their son she spatted