Chapter 7 - The Desperate Matriarch
The victory at the Metropolitan Museum was absolute, but the war was not over.
While Julian and Victoria Hayes spent the night in federal holding answering questions from the Southern District of New York, Eleanor Blackwood had vanished from the public eye. She had checked out of her Upper East Side co-op at midnight, her private security detail shielding her from the media circus surrounding the family name.
By midday the following morning, the Blackwood Group stock had staged a historic, unprecedented rebound, soaring twenty-two percent as Wall Street celebrated Ethan’s total, unquestioned control over the board. He had officially ousted his mother from every trust committee, stripped her of her voting rights, and established an independent oversight panel.
Yet, despite the corporate triumph, the Fifth Avenue penthouse felt unnervingly tense.
I was sitting on the terrace overlooking the autumn canopy of Central Park, watching Leo chase a soft yellow rubber ball across the flagstones. The fresh air was crisp, carrying the scent of turning leaves and roasted chestnuts from the street vendors fifty floors below.
Ethan walked out onto the terrace, carrying two porcelain mugs of hot chocolate. He had shed his business suit entirely, wearing an oatmeal-colored cashmere sweater and worn corduroy trousers. He looked relaxed, unburdened, yet his eyes never strayed far from Leo.
"Julian’s bail was set at twenty million," Ethan said, handing me a mug as he pulled a wrought-iron chair beside mine. "He paid it, but he surrendered his passport. Victoria’s lawyers are already negotiating a plea deal. She’s agreed to testify in open court regarding my mother’s involvement in forging the letters."
I blew on the steaming chocolate, my eyes following Leo as he collapsed into a heap of giggles after tumbling onto the soft terrace rug. "And Eleanor?"
Ethan’s face tightened with ancient pain. "Arthur Vance received an official communication from her private legal team an hour ago. She’s claiming that as the living matriarch of the family, she retains statutory grandparent visitation rights under New York state law. She’s filed a petition demanding unsupervised weekend custody of Leo."
My heart dropped into my stomach like a stone. "Unsupervised? After what she did? She called him a bastard! She tried to erase his existence!"
"She knows the petition won't survive a full judicial review," Ethan said, reaching over to take my hand, his grip warm and steadying. "It's a delay tactic. She’s trying to drag this into a protracted family court battle to force me into granting her an annuity from the family trust. She thinks I’ll pay her twenty million dollars just to keep her away from our son."
"Will you?"
Ethan turned his head, his green eyes boring into mine with ferocious, unwavering clarity. "I wouldn't give that woman a rusted nickel. If I have to spend every hour of every day in court defending my family from her, I will. But Sarah... I don't want to fight this as two separate people."
The air on the terrace went still.
Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn velvet box. It wasn't the ostentatious, flashy jewelry box that Victoria had flaunted. It was old, deep navy velvet with the gold filigree worn smooth by time.
"This belonged to my grandmother," Ethan whispered, opening the lid.
Inside rested an antique platinum ring set with a single, cushion-cut emerald, surrounded by a halo of tiny, brilliant diamonds. It was understated, breathtakingly beautiful, and full of history.
"Ethan..." My breath caught in my throat.
"I bought this ring when we were in Chicago," he said, his voice trembling slightly with an emotion he couldn't conceal. "Two weeks before my father had his stroke. I was keeping it in my desk drawer at the hotel, waiting for the night of our anniversary to take you out to that little Italian place on the river and ask you to be my wife."
Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over my eyelashes and running down my cheeks.
"I'm not asking you to marry me because of Leo," Ethan said, his voice thick with raw devotion. "I'm not asking you to marry me to win a PR campaign or to silence my mother in court. I am asking you because I have never loved another human being the way I love you. Because the two years without you were an empty wasteland. Because I want to spend the next fifty years waking up beside you, making you terrible coffee, and watching our son grow up in a home filled with love instead of cold ambition."
"Ethan..." I choked out, a sob catching in my throat.
Before I could speak, the heavy glass terrace doors burst open.
May you like
Marcus stood there, his face ashen, his radio crackling wildly in his hand. "Mr. Blackwood! We have a security breach at the private elevator lobby! Eleanor’s security detail just bypassed the sub-basement scanner using an old bypass code!"
***
