Chapter 8 - The King’s Decree
Two weeks later.
The morning sun shone bright and warm over the thirty-acre Blackwood estate. The rain clouds were gone, replaced by a clear blue sky and the sweet scent of blooming white roses along the stone terraces.
The damaged wine cellar had been repaired, the secret passages secured with biometric scanners, and the entire estate’s security system completely overhauled.
In the grand parlor, the entire Blackwood family had gathered.
Tyler sat on the sofa beside his mother, Elena, who was looking healthy, color back in her cheeks, her hand resting warmly over her son’s. Reynolds and Director Whitaker were locked away in a maximum-security federal facility, facing life sentences without parole. The Vance syndicate had been dismantled down to its very roots.
Grant Blackwood stood beside the marble fireplace, wearing his signature dark suit.
I stood near the tall French doors, wearing a sleek black suit, my hands folded behind my back, ready to deliver my final operational report before leaving the estate. My contract was officially complete.
“Guard,” Grant’s deep voice echoed across the room.
I stepped forward. “Mr. Blackwood.”
Grant pulled a leather bound folder from his desk and tossed it gently onto the coffee table.
“That is a contract,” Grant declared. “Director Paul Whitaker’s agency has been shut down by federal marshals. I bought the entire firm, its assets, and its regional contracts this morning.”
I blinked, surprised. “You bought the agency?”
“And I am naming you Chief Executive Officer and Head of Global Protection,” Grant said, a genuine, warm smile appearing on his stern face. “You will run the finest security firm on the East Coast. No one will ever question your abilities again.”
The room erupted into applause. Tyler grinned, clapping enthusiastically, while Elena nodded to me with tears of gratitude in her eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, feeling a deep wave of pride wash over me. “I accept.”
“There is only one condition,” Grant added, his eyes twinkling with subtle humor.
May you like
“What condition?” I asked.
Grant looked over at his son. “You remain Ethan’s personal bodyguard. Permanently.”
