Chapter 5 - The Blood of the Empire
Damon did not stand up. He remained seated on the freezing concrete, the yellowed papers resting across his knees like a shroud.
He looked at the woman who had raised him.
Evelyn Blackwood was sixty-six years old, a pillar of Atlanta high society, a trustee of the High Museum of Art, and a patron of every prestigious charity ball in the state. She carried herself with an imperious grace that had terrified Damon’s childhood friends.
Now, looking down the short barrel of the revolver, Damon saw her clearly for the first time.
“You knew,” Damon said. His voice was remarkably steady, stripped of all shock, replaced by a hollow, ringing clarity. “You’ve known the entire time.”
Evelyn didn’t lower the gun. She closed the heavy carriage house door behind her with a backward kick of her heel, the latch clicking shut with an ominous finality.
“Your father was a visionary, Damon,” she said, stepping closer, her heels clicking against the stone. “Visionaries build worlds. But building worlds requires materials that ordinary people don't have the stomach to use. Julian Vance was a technician. A small-minded calculator who would have let our entire future collapse over a clerical error.”
“Four people died, Mother!” Damon roared, his voice bouncing off the granite walls. “Four people were crushed under tons of concrete because Dad used garbage steel to save two million dollars!”
“And how many people lived?” Evelyn countered instantly, her eyes flashing like polished flint. “How many thousands of jobs did your father create? How many hospitals bear our name? How many scholarship funds did we endow? You think empires are built with clean hands and Sunday school manners? Every great fortune in this country was carved out of somebody else’s ruin!”
“Julian Vance spent twenty-two years in a cage!” Damon cried, pushing himself to his feet. He held up the metallurgy report, waving it in her face. “His wife died alone in a hallway! His daughter is our maid! She cleans your silver while her father chokes to death on his own lungs ten miles from here!”
For the briefest fraction of a second, something flickered behind Evelyn’s pale blue eyes—not guilt, but a sharp, calculating assessment of risk.
“The girl,” Evelyn whispered, her gaze narrowing. “Tessa. The quiet one.”
“You hired her?”
“I didn't hire her,” Evelyn scoffed, tossing her head back. “Mrs. Parker handles the domestic staff. But I saw the name on the payroll tax forms eighteen months ago. Morgan. Her mother’s maiden name. I looked into it. I knew who she was.”
Damon stared at his mother in utter disbelief. “You knew who she was, and you let her work here?”
“I kept her close,” Evelyn said coldly. “In business, Damon, you keep your liabilities within arm’s reach where you can monitor them. I wanted to see if she knew anything. If she had any copies of Julian’s old work. But she was just a frightened, broken girl trying to survive. She didn't have the courage to strike back. Until she caught your eye.”
Evelyn raised the pistol another two inches, leveling the bore directly at Damon’s heart.
“What were you doing following her tonight?”
“I watched her take food from the dining room,” Damon whispered. “I thought she was stealing out of desperation. I followed her because I wanted to help her.” He let out a harsh, self-mocking laugh. “I thought I was a good man, Mother. I thought I was generous because I left three hundred dollars on the counter. And all the while, my entire life was paid for with her father’s blood.”
“Give me the files, Damon.”
“No.”
“You think this is a game?” Evelyn’s voice tightened, a vicious, metallic edge cutting through her aristocratic drawl. “If those documents leave this room, Blackwood Development will be dismantled by the federal government within six months. The civil lawsuits from the families of the St. Jude victims will wipe out every trust fund, every bank account, every piece of real estate we own. You will be stripped of your CEO title. You will be indicted for obstruction if they can prove you held onto this. You will be disgraced. You will be poor.”
She stepped within three feet of him, the cold muzzle of the revolver practically touching the fabric of his coat.
“Your father gave his life to build this company for you. I will not let you throw it into the gutter for a maid and an old convict who will be dead before the year is out.”
Damon looked down at the gun. Then he looked his mother directly in the eyes.
“Do you know what Tessa said to me tonight?” he asked softly. “When I left money on the kitchen counter to test her, she brought it right back to me. She said, *I would have known.* She had nothing. Her father was dying. And she still had more honor in her little finger than you and Dad had in your entire lives.”
“Give me the folder, Damon,” she repeated, her finger tightening on the trigger.
“Shoot me, then,” Damon whispered, stepping directly into the barrel until the cold steel pressed against his breastbone. “Pull the trigger, Mother. Add your son to the foundation. See if that holds the building up.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched. Her hand began to tremble. For all her ruthlessness, for all her cold, calculating ambition, she was looking into the eyes of the boy she had raised, the only legacy she had left.
Her knuckles whitened. Then, with a strangled cry of frustration, she lowered the gun.
“You fool,” she hissed, tears of pure rage glistening in her eyes. “You sentimental, self-righteous fool. You have no idea what the world is like out there without power.”
Damon didn’t answer. He bent down, picked up the three ledger books, the microcassettes, and the thick accordion file, tucking them firmly under his arm.
“Where are you going?” Evelyn demanded, following him as he turned toward the carriage house door.
“To see our lawyers,” Damon said without looking back.
“They are *my* lawyers!” Evelyn screamed into the rain behind him. “The board answers to me! I still hold forty percent of the voting shares! If you take one step toward the press, I will have you removed as CEO by sunrise! I will freeze your personal accounts! I will have that girl arrested for grand larceny before dawn!”
Damon stepped out into the downpour. He didn't run. He walked with a steady, terrifying calm toward his car.
May you like
“Do whatever you have to do, Mother,” Damon called back through the dark. “Because by dawn, the Blackwood name belongs to the dead.”
***
