Chapter 3 - The Bloodline
The heavy silence inside the cathedral library was broken by the quiet sound of snow hitting the high stained-glass windows.
Dominic slowly turned from the table and walked toward the sofa where his two sons sat.
He knelt before them. Up close, the resemblance was staggering. It wasn't just the amber eyes—it was the small line between Alex’s brows when he was thinking, the calm way Leo held his hands in his lap, and the subtle, unspoken bond between the twins that required no words.
“Alex,” Dominic said, his voice softer than anyone in the room had ever heard it. “Leo.”
Leo looked up at him, studying the identical amber eyes looking back at him. “Are you the man in the picture on Mommy’s desk?”
Dominic felt a sudden, sharp ache in his throat. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure in front of the board members, but the ice around his heart was cracking rapidly. “What picture?”
“The one where you’re smiling,” Alex chimed in, stepping closer to his brother. “Mommy told us you were building bridges and skyscrapers around the world. She said you were very busy saving the company.”
Dominic looked up at Eliza. She was standing by the fireplace, her arms crossed, looking at the floor to hide the emotion in her eyes. For five years, despite the isolation, despite the threats from Richard, despite the pain of being abandoned, she had never taught his sons to hate him.
“I was busy,” Dominic whispered, looking back at his sons. “But I’m done being away.”
“Dominic!” Senator Harrington interrupted, stepping forward with an anxious look on his face. “We need to address this immediately. If this codicil is legitimate, and these boys inherit Eleanor’s land-trust shares, the board loses all authority over the upcoming merger with the Euro-Asian Infrastructure Group! This could trigger an emergency audit of the company’s books for the last twenty years!”
“An audit is exactly what needs to happen,” Dominic said, standing up to his full height. He turned to Malcolm Voss, his expression hardening into pure, ruthless focus. “Malcolm, you are officially suspended from your duties as Chief Legal Counsel of Blackwood Industries. Surrender your corporate devices and keycards to my security team now.”
Malcolm’s eyes flashed with anger. “You can’t suspend me, Dominic! The board hasn't voted!”
“I don’t need a board vote,” Dominic stated coldly. “Under the terms of Eleanor’s land trust, as the primary guardian of the minor heirs, I hold voting control of fifty-one percent of the master stock as of six o'clock this morning when Richard died. You have ten seconds to hand over your phones, or I will have Detective Miller from the Chicago Financial Crimes Unit—who is currently sitting three pews back in the sanctuary—arrest you on the cathedral steps for corporate fraud.”
Malcolm stared at Dominic, realizing that the cold, methodical CEO he had spent years trying to manipulate had just turned his formidable intelligence against him.
Slamming his encrypted phone onto the mahogany table, Malcolm grabbed his leather briefcase and marched out of the library, the heavy oak door slamming shut behind him.
Senator Harrington wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. “Dominic... please. Let’s handle this discreetly. The funeral mass is about to begin. Thousands of people are waiting outside in the snow.”
“The funeral will proceed as scheduled,” Dominic said quietly. “My father built an empire on secrets and control. He will be buried today. But the secrets end now.”
He turned to Eliza.
“Come with me,” Dominic said. “You and the boys will sit in the front pew with me. Where you belong.”
Eliza looked at him, her dark eyes filled with a complex mix of lingering hurt and cautious hope. “Dominic... people will ask questions. The media—”
“Let them ask,” Dominic interrupted, reaching out and taking her hand for the first time in five years. Her skin was cold from the winter air, but her grip was firm. “I spent five years letting other people decide who belonged in my life. That ends today.”
Ten minutes later, as the grand organ echoed through St. Matthew’s Cathedral, playing the solemn opening chords of the funeral march, the massive doors of the transept opened.
Dominic Blackwood walked down the long, red-carpeted aisle toward his father’s mahogany casket.
Beside him walked Eliza Sullivan.
May you like
And holding their hands, walking between them with quiet dignity beneath the grand chandeliers, were twin boys with amber eyes.
The whisper that rippled through the hundreds of dignitaries, foreign ambassadors, and news reporters in the gallery was like the sound of a rising wind. But Dominic didn't look at them. He kept his eyes fixed on the altar ahead, feeling the small, warm hands of his sons held tightly in his own.
