Chapter 2 - The Morning After
At 7:00 AM, the rain had stopped, leaving the Texas morning raw, cold, and heavy with mist.
Inside the grand dining room of the Blackwood Manor, Richard Blackwood sat at the head of a mahogany table long enough to seat twenty people. He was sixty-eight years old, with silver hair brushed immaculate, wearing a tailored wool suit despite the early hour. He was cutting into a rare steak, his silver fork clinking sharply against fine porcelain.
Across from him sat Margaret, his wife, dressed in black silk, sipping black coffee.
"Did the county sheriff confirm they left the property limits?" Margaret asked, her tone smooth, devoid of any warmth.
"They spent the night at that dive motel on Route 12," Richard said without looking up from his plate. "Good riddance. Eleanor was a mistake from the moment Ethan brought her home from college. A mechanic’s daughter from West Texas running around a hundred-year-old estate."
"She thought because she bore him six children she was entitled to a cut of the distillery," Margaret sneered, setting her cup down. "Six children... like a peasant family. And that boy Samuel... looking at you with those arrogant eyes."
"The boy learned his lesson yesterday," Richard said coldly, touch his heavy gold signet ring. "I’ll have our corporate attorney, Marcus Vance, file the eviction injunction with the probate court by noon. We’ll freeze Ethan’s personal accounts, liquidate his life insurance policy into the corporate reserve, and place the estate entirely under my sole trusteeship."
The heavy oak doors of the dining room suddenly burst open.
Marcus Vance—a tall, slick corporate lawyer with a leather briefcase clutching his chest—rushed into the room, his tie slightly askew, sweat glistening on his forehead despite the morning chill.
"Richard," Marcus gasped, not even bothering to apologize for interrupting breakfast. "We have a massive problem."
Richard laid his knife down with slow, dangerous restraint. "Control yourself, Marcus. You look like a farmhand."
"The probate court just flagged Ethan’s estate file," Marcus said, his voice trembling as he pulled a stack of stamped court documents from his briefcase. "I went to file the trusteeship transfer at eight this morning. The county clerk refused it."
Margaret laughed, a dry, dismissive sound. "Refused it? On what grounds? Richard owns seventy percent of Blackwood Enterprise!"
"He owned seventy percent of the operating company, Margaret!" Marcus yelled, losing his professional composure. "Not the land! Not the distillery facilities! Not the water rights!"
Richard stood up slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow over the table. "Speak clearly, Marcus, or I will replace you before lunch."
"Ethan didn't leave his share to you in his will," Marcus stammered, holding out a certified court injunction bearing the red seal of the State of Texas. "Six months ago, Ethan executed a historical land revertion clause under the original 1978 incorporation charter. He proved in court that the original purchase deed was fraudulent."
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Richard’s face drained of all color. His knuckles turned white against the edge of the mahogany table. "What did you say?"
"The court recognized the true title holder of the entire two-thousand-acre property," Marcus whispered, terror in his eyes. "The owner isn't you, Richard. The land, the manor, the distillery, and every drop of aging whiskey in the barrel houses belong to Eleanor Ramirez Blackwood. And she just filed a formal Notice of Immediate Eviction against you."
