He swung the axe again with desperate strength, shattering the center panel of the oak door.

Black smoke rolled out of the room through the new opening, swirling into the hallway.

Alexander reached his gloved hand through the broken panel, groping for the security lock on the inside.

His fingers found the heavy brass latch and twisted it with a harsh metallic click.

He threw his shoulder against the splintered wood.

The door frame gave way, and he stumbled into the burning, orange-lit study.

His expensive wool coat was covered in grey soot, and his forehead was bleeding from a deep cut near his hairline.

He did not look like a billionaire in that moment; he looked like a father fighting for his family.

“Dad!” Ethan cried out, reaching his arms through the wet blanket.

Alexander dropped to his knees on the burning carpet, wrapping his arms tightly around his son.

“I’ve got you,” Alexander gasped, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got you, Ethan.”

He looked up at me, his grey eyes piercing through the thick haze.