25. Christopher
25
Christopher
T oday is the executive team meeting. My inner sanctum. The sharpest minds I could buy or cultivate, assembled around the polished steel table in the main Blackwell Innovations conference room.
They’re used to surgical precision. Ruthless efficiency. Deals dissected, targets acquired, assets optimized or liquidated.
But today, the agenda item is Project Nightingale.
“Integration, not destruction.” I state it flatly, watching their reactions. Polished, professional faces betray little, but I see the subtle shifts. A few raised eyebrows. A few silent glances exchanged.
They know this isn’t my usual M.O.
I lay out the vision. Not just acquiring Hammond & Co. or its assets, but partnering. Investing capital. Implementing technological upgrades. Retaining the core brand. Keeping key personnel, including Richard Hammond in a figurehead role and, crucially, Lucy Hammond driving operational turnaround. It’s about leveraging their legacy, their established name, their specific market niche, and merging it with our tech, our capital, our global reach.
Building something stronger, together.
Fucking hell, I sound like a goddamn motivational speaker.
Sarah Chan, my Head of Strategy, speaks first, her voice carefully neutral. “Mr. Blackwell, this represents a significant deviation from our established acquisition protocols. Preserving legacy infrastructure and personnel typically hinders optimization and reduces short term ROI. What’s the strategic justification for this… more gentle approach?”
Gentle. There’s that word again. My father used it like an accusation. Sarah uses it like a genuine question, albeit one loaded with skepticism.
“The justification,” I reply, meeting her gaze directly, “is long term sustainable value. Hammond & Co., despite its mismanagement, occupies a unique space. Brand loyalty, historical significance, and deep-rooted client relationships, particularly in the legacy property sector. Assets my father’s ‘scorched earth’ approach would obliterate. We gut it, we might make a quick profit flipping the real estate, but we lose the intangible value, the potential for synergistic growth. We partner, we invest, we modernize with them… we create something larger and more resilient, with diversified revenue streams.” I pause. “Aggressive acquisition has its place. But perpetual destruction isn’t a sustainable growth model. Evolution is.”
Silence. They’re processing. This isn’t just about Hammond. This is a shift in philosophy. A direct challenge to the Mark Blackwell playbook they’ve seen me execute flawlessly for years.
Dominic Rossi, attending as an external advisor on real estate synergy, and maybe because he finds my current predicament amusing, leans back in his chair, a slow grin spreading across his face.
Fucking Rossi.
He’s a good friend, but sometimes he gets on my nerves.
“Evolution,” Dominic repeats thoughtfully, though his eyes are sparkling with barely concealed amusement. “Sounds almost… organic, Chris. Building something instead of just buying and flipping? Who are you, and what have you done with the Executioner?”
I shoot him a glare that could freeze lava. “Market dynamics change, Dominic. Smart strategy adapts.”
“Indeed it does,” Sarah Chan interjects smoothly, ever the professional, redirecting before Dominic can needle me further. “The risk profile is higher with this partnership model. Integration challenges, work culture clashes, retaining potentially redundant personnel…”
“All manageable,” I cut her off. “Mitigated by installing Lucy Hammond as operational lead, reporting directly to us. She understands the legacy and the need for modernization. She has the trust of the employees and the necessary drive. She’s the key to making this integration work.”
More silence. They’re considering Lucy and my unusual confidence in her. My insistence on her central role. I suppose the subtext isn’t lost on them.
Fuck.
The discussion continues. Financial modeling, risk mitigation, integration timelines. They poke holes. They raise valid concerns. I address them, one by one, sticking to the strategic rationale.
By the end of the meeting, I have their cautious buy in. Project Nightingale will move forward my way. And Lucy’s way.
As the team files out, Dominic lingers.
“So,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder, that shit-eating grin back in full force. “Evolution, huh? Driven by… market dynamics? Or by a certain blonde with more backbone than her father?”
“Fuck off, Rossi,” I grumble, gathering my notes.
“Hey, I’m just observing!” he protests, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “But it’s a good look on you, Chris. Seriously. Building something? Partnering instead of destroying? Maybe there’s hope for your cynical soul yet.” He winks. “Just don’t tell Mark I said that. Or that Lucy Hammond seems to be the catalyst.” He heads for the door. “Drinks later? You look like you need one.”
“Maybe,” I mutter noncommittally.
I do need one.
Or ten.
Navigating this internal shift, defending it to my team, knowing the inevitable war it represents with my father… it’s exhausting.
And the fact that Lucy Hammond is inexplicably tangled up in the middle of it all makes it exponentially more complicated.
Later that day, I find myself walking into the Hammond & Co. boardroom. Not as an invader this time. But as a potential investor, invited to observe their board meeting as they formally discuss the Project Nightingale proposal. My revised version, incorporating Lucy’s insistence on her father retaining the CEO title, contingent on her liaison role.
It feels… strange. Joining this table, surrounded by Hammond loyalists and the ghost of Richard Hammond’s past glories. It feels like infiltrating enemy territory under a flag of truce. Which isn’t all that far from the truth, to be honest.
Lucy is at the head of the table, opposite her father. She looks composed, professional, though I notice the slight tension around her eyes. Our gazes meet briefly as I enter. A flicker of acknowledgment. The memory of tangled limbs and shared vulnerability. Then, back to business. Walls firmly in place.
At least on the surface.
I take my seat and glance at Morgan Weiss. Seated halfway down the table, he radiates smug confidence. The snake. He nods politely in my direction when I catch his gaze, but his eyes hold a calculating glint.
He knows I know he’s leaking information to my father. Or he knows I suspect, anyway. And he doesn’t seem particularly worried.
Arrogant bastard.
Likely thinks my father’s influence protects him. Or that his leverage over Richard is insurmountable.
Richard Hammond calls the meeting to order, his voice carrying its usual formal weight, though perhaps a bit thinner today.
“Before we proceed with the main agenda item,” Richard begins, looking around the table, his gaze pausing briefly on me, “I feel it necessary to address the incident at the Hammond Tower site. As most of you know, we experienced a partial scaffolding collapse resulting in injuries to seven crew members.” A somber mood settles over the room. “ Thankfully, latest reports indicate all injured personnel are stable, and we expect full recoveries. Our thoughts are certainly with them and their families.”
He takes a breath. “The site has been secured, and multiple investigations are underway, both internally and by city agencies, to determine the cause. Operations at the site are suspended indefinitely pending those findings.” He straightens slightly, then looks directly at me. “I also want to formally acknowledge the significant assistance rendered yesterday by Mr. Christopher Blackwell and his team. Your immediate deployment of resources, particularly the structural assessment capabilities and logistical support, was instrumental in managing the crisis efficiently and ensuring the site was secured without further incident. On behalf of Hammond & Co. and our employees, I’d like to thank you, Mr. Blackwell.”
Several board members murmur agreement, nodding in my direction. It’s a public acknowledgment, unexpected from Richard Hammond, especially given our history. It shifts the dynamic slightly, adding a layer of grudging respect, perhaps, to the existing suspicion.
“My team was glad to assist during a critical situation,” I reply neutrally, deflecting the gratitude. “Ensuring the stability of a potential partner’s key assets is prudent risk management.” Framing it purely in business terms. Keep the walls up.
Richard nods curtly, accepting my framing. “Indeed. Now,” he clears his throat, “regarding the primary item up for discussion: the revised partnership proposal from Blackwell Innovations, designated Project Nightingale. Lucy, if you would present the overview…”
Lucy presents the core tenets of Project Nightingale, focusing on the potential for revitalization, the preservation of the Hammond legacy alongside modernization. She’s good. Clear, confident and passionate. Even facing a room full of skepticism and the man actively trying to sabotage her.
Weiss waits for his moment. Then he strikes. Not with open hostility. That’s not his style. But with subtle undermining. Innocent-sounding questions laced with doubt.
“Lucy, your projections for the tech integration savings are… optimistic, wouldn’t you say?” he asks smoothly, flipping through his papers. “Given the company’s current infrastructure limitations and the significant retraining required?”
“The projections are based on detailed analysis provided by Blackwell Innovations’ tech team, Morgan,” Lucy replies evenly. “And the proposal includes a budget for necessary upgrades and training.”
“Of course, of course,” Weiss waves a dismissive hand. “But relying so heavily on external projections… and entrusting implementation to current management, given recent performance issues…” He lets the implication hang there, poisoning the air. Undermining Lucy’s credibility without directly attacking her.
Slippery fuck.
Another board member picks up the thread. “Morgan raises a valid point, Lucy. Is the current team truly equipped to handle such a rapid, complex integration alongside the necessary operational restructuring?”
Before Lucy can defend herself, before the doubt can take root, I find myself speaking. My voice cuts through the room, cool and measured.
“Perhaps I can offer some perspective,” I say, addressing the board but implicitly supporting Lucy. “Blackwell Innovations has overseen numerous complex tech integrations across various industries. The projections provided are conservative, based on proven metrics. And,” I pause, letting my gaze sweep the table before landing briefly on Lucy, “my confidence in this partnership hinges significantly on Ms. Hammond’s leadership throughout the integration process. Her understanding of both Hammond’s operational realities and the strategic necessity of modernization is precisely what makes this plan viable.”
Silence. My intervention is unexpected. Unorthodox for a potential investor observing a meeting. It’s a clear signal. I’m backing Lucy. Not just the deal. Her .
Weiss looks momentarily stunned, his smug mask flickering. Richard Hammond looks surprised, then gives me a grudgingly appreciative nod. Lucy… her expression remains professional, but I see the faintest blush rise on her cheeks, a flicker of surprise, maybe relief, in her eyes before she quickly looks down at her notes. Or maybe she’s pissed that I’m stealing this moment away from her.
Fuck. I hope that’s not how she feels. I didn’t intend that at all.
Still, the dynamic in the room shifts. It’s subtle, yes, but the shift is there. My public, albeit measured, endorsement carries weight. There are no more undermining questions. The discussion moves back to the practicalities of the proposal.
After the meeting adjourns, I linger deliberately, allowing the other board members to file out. Weiss avoids my eye, making a hasty exit. Richard Hammond approaches me.
“Blackwell,” he says, his voice gruff but less hostile than before. “That was… appreciated. Your support for Lucy.”
“Lucy Hammond is a competent executive,” I reply neutrally. “Her leadership is essential for Project Nightingale’s success. Stating facts isn’t support, it’s sound business assessment.”
Bullshit. It was absolutely support.
He studies me for a moment, then nods slowly. “Perhaps. Well. Thank you.”
“I only hope you don’t think I stepped too far,” I continue. “I know I was only here to observe. If I overstepped, now is the time to tell me. It wasn’t my intention to undermine you or Lucy.”
He shakes his head in seeming disbelief. “You didn’t undermine me or Lucy at all.”
Oh.
Damn it.
Why am I second guessing myself? I never second guess myself.
But I know why.
Her.
“Thank you, again.” Richard walks away, leaving me alone in the suddenly empty boardroom.
Standing there, surrounded by the ghosts of Hammond history, I reflect on what just happened. Defending Lucy. Publicly aligning myself with her against the subtle attacks of my father’s pawn. It felt… natural. Instinctive. Not a calculated strategic move, but a genuine reaction.
Protectiveness. That’s what it was. A fierce, unexpected protectiveness towards the woman who is supposed to be my target, my adversary, my temporary entanglement.
And then of course, the second-guessing that came afterward. Worried I’d overstepped my bounds. A worry I’ve never had before, in business.
This is getting dangerous. My business philosophy is shifting. My emotional defenses are compromised. My relationship with my father is heading towards open warfare.
All because of one person.
Lucy Hammond.
And the most fucked up part?
I probably wouldn’t change a damn thing.