Chapter 2 - The Reading of the Dead
The tension in the stone corridor was palpable. Malcolm Voss did not flinch, but his eyes narrowed slightly behind his designer glasses, adjusting to the sudden shift in Dominic’s posture. For five years, Dominic had been the perfect corporate prince—disciplined, cold, and entirely focused on profit margins.
“Dominic, don’t let personal sentiment ruin the carefully orchestrated transition of power,” Malcolm warned softly, stepping closer so the guards remained outside. “The press is sitting in the back pews. Wall Street is watching this service live. If the public sees your disgraced ex-wife at your father’s funeral with two unannounced children, Blackwood stock will plummet ten percent before the market opens on Monday.”
“I don’t care about the stock, Malcolm,” Dominic growled.
“Your father cared,” Malcolm countered coldly. “And as executor of Richard’s personal estate, I have strict instructions regarding who is permitted within the family circle today.”
Eliza stepped out from behind Dominic, her head held high. “Show him the letter, Malcolm. Tell him why Richard called me to the hospital in Northwestern Memorial three weeks ago while Dominic was kept busy in Frankfurt.”
Malcolm’s eyes flickered with a sudden, momentary panic before he recovered his mask of icy professional calm. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, Eliza. You are exploiting a funeral to attempt a financial shakedown. It’s pathetic, but expected.”
“Is it?” Dominic said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his encrypted satellite phone. He dialed his assistant, Claire Morgan, who was waiting in the cathedral sanctuary. “Claire. Cancel the receiving line. Tell the press that the family portion of the service is being moved to the private vault at St. Matthew’s immediately. Have security clear the north transept.”
“Dominic, you can’t do that!” Malcolm hissed.
“I own fifty-one percent of the holding company that pays your retainer, Malcolm,” Dominic said, stepping within inches of the lawyer’s face. “Until my father’s will is formally read, I am the Chief Executive Officer of Blackwood Industries. You work for me. Step aside.”
Five minutes later, the grand cathedral had been converted into a high-stakes corporate battleground.
While the choir continued to sing solemn hymns in the main nave, the core members of the Blackwood executive committee gathered inside the cathedral’s private library—a room paneled in dark walnut, lined with century-old legal texts, and lit by a roaring stone fireplace.
The two twin boys, Alex and Leo, sat on a leather sofa near the corner. Alex was quietly folding his paper airplane, while Leo kept his amber eyes fixed on Dominic, watching his every move with an uncanny, silent intelligence that felt like looking into a mirror.
At the center table stood Dominic, Eliza, Malcolm Voss, and two senior board members—Arthur Vance and Senator Edward Harrington.
Malcolm unlocked a leather briefcase and placed a thick, ribbon-bound document onto the table.
“This is Richard Blackwood’s Last Will and Testament, drafted three months ago,” Malcolm announced, opening the cover. “Under the terms of Section 4, Richard’s personal shares in Blackwood Industries—representing thirty percent of total voting power—are to be placed in an executive trust managed by a committee of three: myself, Senator Harrington, and Arthur Vance. Dominic retains his twenty-one percent individual share, but full voting control shifts to the board trust.”
Dominic’s eyes darkened. “My father would never surrender voting control of Blackwood Industries to an outside committee.”
“He did so because he believed you were unstable without his guidance,” Malcolm replied, leaning over the table. “And given your current outburst today, his judgment was clearly correct.”
“That will is invalid,” Eliza’s voice cut through the room like a silver blade.
She walked up to the table and laid a second document down beside Malcolm’s ribbon-bound file. It was a yellowed, handwritten codicil bearing the red wax seal of the State of Illinois and dated twenty-eight years ago—the year Dominic was born.
“What is this garbage?” Malcolm scoffed, reaching to sweep it away.
Dominic slammed his hand onto Malcolm’s wrist, pinning it to the mahogany table with bone-crushing force. “Let her speak.”
Eliza looked at the two board members. “Twenty-eight years ago, Richard Blackwood did not found Blackwood Engineering alone. The land, the initial capital, and the primary industrial patents were held by his wife, Eleanor Vance-Blackwood—Dominic’s mother. Before her mysterious car accident in 1998, Eleanor created a land-trust codicil that stipulates that if Dominic produces natural-born male heirs with the Vance-Blackwood genetic marker, fifty-one percent of all parent assets automatically revert to those heirs upon Richard’s death.”
Senator Harrington leaned forward, his face turning pale. “Eleanor’s original land trust? We thought those records were destroyed in the warehouse fire in 2002!”
“Richard tried to destroy them,” Eliza said, turning her head to stare directly at Malcolm. “With the help of his lead corporate counsel.”
She turned to the corner sofa and called gently, “Alex, honey, give me the airplane.”
The little boy stood up, walked over to the table on his small polished shoes, and handed his mother the folded paper airplane he had been holding all morning.
Eliza carefully unfolded the paper.
It was not drawing paper. It was a certified bank vault receipt from First National Bank of Chicago, listing box #408—a box held in the name of Eleanor Vance-Blackwood, containing original deeds, corporate shares, and a sealed audio tape recorded on the night of Eleanor’s death.
Malcolm’s face drained of all color. He pulled his arm free from Dominic’s grip, stepping back as if he had seen a ghost.
“That... that vault was sealed by court order!” Malcolm stammered.
May you like
“It was sealed until the heirs turned four years old,” Eliza replied softly. “Alex and Leo turned four last week.”
Dominic looked at his small sons, then back at Malcolm Voss. The pieces of his father’s dark legacy were falling into place with terrifying speed. His father hadn’t just been controlling; he had been hiding a crime. And the ex-wife Dominic had spent five years trying to forget had just walked into his life to save his empire.
