31. Christopher
31
Christopher
H ospitals.
I fucking hate hospitals.
The smell of disinfectant.
The relentless, cheerful beeping of machines.
The forced calm of the staff navigating other people’s worst fucking days.
It’s an environment predicated on loss of control, something fundamentally alien to my nature.
Yet here I sit. In a private waiting room at Mount Sinai that my name and a few quiet calls secured. Not for me. For Lucy.
For her father, Richard Hammond, the man whose company I was supposed to dismantle, currently lying upstairs recovering from a fucking heart attack.
Life has a sick sense of humor.
Across the small table, Lucy looks pale but composed. The initial shock has worn off, replaced by a grim determination I recognize. She’s processing the dual blows. Her father’s brush with mortality. And his confession about the Special Purpose Entities. The potentially company-killing, jail-time-inducing financial skeletons rattling in the Hammond closet.
“Okay,” she says, pushing a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Her finger trembles slightly. “SPEs. He confirmed it. Morgan wasn’t bluffing.”
“I know,” I reply, keeping my voice even. We went over this already.
“So what now?” she asks, looking at the tablet where I’ve pulled up some preliminary notes. “Morgan knows. Your father knows. How long before they use it? Or leak it?”
“They won’t leak it yet,” I counter, shifting into strategic mode. It’s familiar territory. Easier than navigating the emotional minefield of her tear-streaked face earlier. “My father wants control, not obliteration, at least not yet. He brought it to me first, expecting me to use it as leverage for a complete takeover on brutal terms. My refusal complicates his plan. Morgan wants leverage too, likely for a forced liquidation where he profits personally. A public scandal hurts their ability to extract maximum value quietly. But once they’ve milked Hammond & Co for all they can, it’s end will be swift and brutal.”
I tap the screen. “Our priority is twofold. First, ensure Richard gets the absolute best care. I’ve already spoken to Dr. Alistair Finch, head of cardiology. He’s overseeing the case personally.” Using my resources for this . For the Hammonds. The irony isn’t lost on me. “Second, we need to neutralize the SPE threat before Morgan or my father can leverage it effectively. That means damage control. Now.”
“How?” Lucy looks overwhelmed. “Dad said the documentation is damning.”
“We get ahead of it,” I explain. “Forensic accountants. My team. They’re discreet, the best in the business. They go through Hammond’s books, trace every transaction related to these SPEs. Understand the full scope, the exact exposure. Then we can better decide what to do. Simultaneously, we develop a counter-narrative. A restructuring plan. Just like we did with the previous accounting revelations, we start a controlled disclosure to key stakeholders, framed as correcting historical errors under new leadership. We take the weapon out of Morgan’s hands by owning the information.”
She absorbs this, nodding slowly. “Hire your team to find dirt on my company.” A wry, humorless smile touches her lips. “Six months ago, I would have thought that was the prelude to the killing blow.”
“Six months ago, it might have been,” I admit flatly. Because it’s true. Before her. Before this… complication. “Things change.”
I’m surprised by my own actions. The instinctual way I moved to help. Calling Dr. Finch. Briefing my legal team not on exploitation, but on mitigation strategies for Hammond & Co. Investing my time, my resources, my focus here, in this sterile waiting room, strategizing how to save the company I initially targeted.
It’s illogical. Inefficient. Contrary to every business principle my father beat into me.
And yet… it feels necessary. Protecting her. Protecting this . Whatever the hell ‘this’ is.
The realization settles, cold and hard. My carefully constructed world, the one built on ruthless logic and emotional detachment, is fundamentally altering its axis.
But I already knew that. And I almost told her at the gala. But not quite.
To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll ever tell her.
My secure phone buzzes. Tatiana. I glance at the screen. Urgent flag.
Petrov deal finances have hit a snag.
Needs my immediate authorization.
Fucking perfect timing.
I silence the phone.
It buzzes again, insistently.
Lucy looks up. “Is that work? You should take it.”
“It can wait,” I say curtly.
“Christopher.” She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing my hand. That simple touch shouldn’t affect me. It does. “Go. Your empire won’t run itself. I know you have responsibilities far bigger than babysitting me and my family drama.” She offers a small, tired smile. “I’ll be okay. Dad’s stable. I need to process everything, anyway.”
Her understanding, her lack of demand or expectation… it throws me off balance more than tears or accusations would have. She sees me not just as a potential savior or adversary, but as someone with their own complex world, their own pressures.
Partnership.
Fuck.
“Tatiana can handle the immediate fallout,” I argue, reluctant to leave.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says gently. “Go be the billionaire tyrant CEO you’re meant to be for a few hours. I’ll text you if anything changes. Promise.”
I hesitate. Leaving feels wrong. But she’s right. Blackwell Innovations needs its head. Deals are collapsing, opportunities are passing.
My empire requires feeding.
“All right.” I stand, grabbing my suit jacket. “Maya will remain outside. She has my direct number. Anything happens, anything you need, you tell her, she calls me. Understood?” I look towards the hallway where my security detail waits, ever-present, ever-vigilant.
She nods. “Understood. But I might just ring your direct line as well, because... you know. Anyway, go. Close a deal. Acquire something. Intimidate someone. It’ll probably make you feel better.”
A faint smile touches my lips. Maybe she understands me better than I thought. “Probably.”
I spend the next few hours buried in work back at the office. Conference calls. Financial modeling. Strategic decisions worth quite a lot of money.
The usual controlled chaos.
But my focus keeps splintering.
My thoughts drift back to the hospital.
To Lucy’s pale face. To the weight of Richard Hammond’s secrets.
To the choice I made.
Did I make the right decision?
I don’t know.
By evening, I’ve dealt with the most pressing fires. The Petrov deal is stabilized, for now. A potential acquisition target needs more analysis. Nothing that can’t wait until morning.
I tell Tatiana I’m done for the day.
“Returning to the hospital, Mr. Blackwell?” she asks, already anticipating.
“Yes.”
“Understood. Elijah is standing by.”
Back at Mount Sinai, the evening shift is on. The waiting room is quieter. Maya gives me a subtle nod as I approach with Elijah.
Lucy is curled up on one of the uncomfortable sofas, laptop open but screen dark, staring into space. She looks exhausted but resolute.
She looks up as I enter, a flicker of surprise followed by a soft warmth in her eyes that does stupid things to my insides.
“You’re back,” she says, straightening.
“Finished for the day.” I sit beside her, closer this time. The professional distance feels absurd now. “Any change?”
“No, still stable. Sleeping mostly. Which is good, I guess.” She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I spoke to Liam O’Connell, our head architect. And Carol. Just… keeping the operational wheels turning. Trying to project calm when internally I’m screaming.”
“You’re handling it,” I say. And she is. Impressively so.
We sit in comfortable silence for a while. The weight of the day settles around us. The fear. The revelations.
“So,” I say finally, breaking the quietude. The practicalities can’t be ignored forever. “Who leads Hammond & Co. now? With Richard incapacitated indefinitely?”
She bites her lip, looking away. “I… I don’t know. The board will have to appoint an interim. Morgan will push for himself, or someone who will liquidate.”
“There’s an obvious choice,” I state, looking directly at her.
She meets my gaze, apprehension clear in her eyes. “Who?”
“ You , Lucy.”
She flinches, shaking her head immediately. “No. I can’t. ”
“Why not?” I press. “You know the business better than anyone. You have the vision. You have the employees’ loyalty. You’ve practically been running the damn place behind the scenes for months anyway. You’re the only logical choice, even temporarily.”
“No,” she repeats, her voice tight. “I’m not… I’m not ready. I don’t have the experience. I’m not Dad.”
“Thank fuck for that, given recent revelations,” I mutter darkly. “That’s not a valid reason.”
“It’s not just that!” Her voice rises slightly, laced with an emotion I haven’t heard from her before. Raw insecurity. Fear. “Christopher, I… I’m terrified I’ll fail. That I’ll make the wrong call, destroy everything. The weight of the legacy, the responsibility… it’s crushing. Everyone expects me to step up because I’m a Hammond, but I don’t feel… worthy. I feel like a fraud, waiting to be exposed.” Her cheeks flush that familiar pink, but this time it’s born of deep vulnerability, not just awkwardness.
She finally admitted it.
The fear I suspected, the inadequacy her father likely fostered.
Her confession hangs in the air. The brilliant, resilient woman who stood up to me, who defends her company with fierce passion, feels like a fraud.
It makes no logical sense. Yet, seeing the genuine fear in her eyes, I understand. The paternal shadow isn’t unique to the Blackwells.
I reach out, pulling her closer. She resists for a second, then leans into me, resting her head against my shoulder. Her hair smells like her usual sophisticated perfume, but underneath, there’s just… Lucy. Warm, real, unexpectedly fragile.
“Look at me,” I say softly but firmly. She lifts her head, her eyes glistening. “You feel unworthy? You feel like a fraud?” I keep my voice low, intense. “Bullshit. Absolute, complete bullshit.”
“Christopher…”
“No. Listen to me. I’ve seen frauds, Lucy. I grew up with them. I’ve crushed them in business. You’re not one of them. You have more integrity, more business sense, more genuine leadership potential in your little finger than Morgan Weiss has in his entire sniveling body. You navigated this company through crisis while your father was running it into the ground. You stood up to me when I came calling like the goddamn Executioner. You brokered a partnership that preserves the best of Hammond while paving the way for its future. You did that. Not Richard. You .”
I cup her face, making her meet my gaze. “Fear of failure? Everyone feels that. It means you understand the stakes. Inadequacy? That’s just noise. Probably noise your father put in your head because he couldn’t handle your competence threatening his ego.” My grip tightens slightly. “You are capable, Lucy. More capable than you realize. More capable than anyone else on that board, or any external party. You are the leader Hammond & Co. needs right now.”
She searches my face, uncertainty warring with a flicker of hope.
“There’s a board meeting tomorrow, isn’t there?” I ask. She nods mutely. “They’ll try to install Morgan, or someone like him. Someone who will serve the vultures. You can’t let that happen. Promise me you won’t.” I lean closer, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “You walk into that room tomorrow, and you fight for it. You demand the interim CEO position. You lay out your vision. You remind them who saved the Hammond Tower project. You remind them who secured the Blackwell partnership. Don’t let anyone else take it, Lucy. It has to be you.”
I hold her gaze, pouring every ounce of conviction I possess into my words. Because I believe it. Every fucking word. She’s the one. For the company. And maybe… just maybe… for me too. The thought is terrifying. Exhilarating. A future I never thought possible, taking shape right here in this sterile hospital waiting room.
A tiny spark ignites in her eyes. Resolve. The fighter I saw from day one.
“Okay,” she whispers, a shaky breath escaping her lips. “Okay. I’ll fight. But only because it’s a temporary position. When my dad is well again, I’ll step down so he can be the proper CEO again.”
I smile patiently. It’s not quite what I wanted to hear, but it will do for now.
“That’s my girl,” I tell her, and give her a hug.