Chapter 2
Chapter Two
brUNO
Six months later
The helicopter’s distant whine cuts through my morning silence, coming closer and closer.
I don’t have to look up from the watch face I’m polishing to know it’s carrying one of my brothers.
Russell, probably, here to beg me to fly back with him to the family estate and be in this American Spotlight segment.
Which cannot happen. Not ever.
I set down the peg tool I was using, polishing compound still on the tip.
My custom workbench rides on hydraulic stabilizers of my own design to make up for the ocean’s churn. Precision tools gleam in their designated spaces.
Both of my younger brothers have been hounding me about coming home for this thing for months. Yes, it’s great exposure for their struggling vineyard, but if my brothers knew what else could get exposed, they wouldn’t be pushing it, either.
But they don’t know. And they never can.
If I’m not in the documentary, it’ll effectively kill it. Our family is old and storied and regal and all that, but it’s me they want. The recluse. The mystery man who won’t give interviews. The subject of all of that unfortunate press.
My absence is the only card I hold, and I intend to play it.
I take one last look at the watch face I’ve been working on; its perfectly polished black surface glints darkly. One thing, at least, is exactly as it should be.
A text alert sounds. It’s my assistant, Sadie. A series of exclamation marks and then one word.
Calling.
Not a good sign. I never talk to people if it can at all be avoided.
I pick up on the first ring.
“Russell’s heading your way.”
“I hear him.”
“There’s something you need to know: Adrian’s found a way to force your hand on the documentary.”
“Good luck with that,” I say.
“No, listen—Adrian has uncovered some clause in the trust documents that stipulates that if any Blackwood brother refuses to participate in officially designated family business matters without a legitimate prior commitment, or agreement of the other remaining siblings, they forfeit their controlling interest in all Blackwood-owned businesses.”
Ice slides through my veins. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I am. They could take control of your watch business if you don’t show up for the filming.”
I swear under my breath. I added my watch business as a division of Blackwood family holdings because I wanted my brothers to inherit it in case something happened to me. Not like I’ll ever start a family of my own; I’d rather pull out my own teeth.
“Get legal on this thing. Figure it out.”
“I’ve already spoken with them,” she says. “They’ve gone over it exhaustively.”
“And?”
“Your best hope is the ‘legitimate prior commitment’ clause. We need to find you a commitment that can’t be rescheduled. Some kind of unavoidable event to attend for the next three days, ideally starting today.”
“Options.” I head down my private staircase to the public deck of the yacht below, phone to my ear, hand trailing the rail.
A sharp whistle sounds—two short blasts, which means I’ve been spotted moving through the ship.
By the time I reach the aft deck, the crew has already assembled, shoulders squared, eyes forward, white uniforms perfectly pressed.
Chief Steward McGillicuddy stands at the head, clipboard against her hip, expression neutral.
I pass without stopping, walking to the railing. Russell’s bird is coming in. I can see his silhouette through the glass.
“Will a conference or a summit work? Those can’t be rescheduled.”
“So you’d be willing to attend something...in person?” She says this like she’s shocked. Of course, Sadie doesn’t understand what’s at stake. She doesn’t understand why this documentary simply cannot go forward.
“Yes,” I say.
“In person?” she clarifies.
“I do own several means of transportation. What about Dubai Watch Week? Isn’t that happening right now?” I imagine myself walking in, taking a few photos, and flying home.
“Umm... I’m not sure that’ll work at this juncture...”
“At this juncture.” Sadie only uses that phrase when she’d rather not say what comes next.
“Why not?”
“Well, you turned down their keynote. Rather...emphatically.”
“I did?”
“You told them their co-chair was...” I wait while she accesses whatever she’s accessing. Sadie keeps notes on everything. “...‘an opportunistic hack who wouldn’t know craftsmanship if it slapped him in the face.’ I’m afraid...they rescinded your invite.”
I grind my molars together. Past me should have been more diplomatic. I wait on the aft deck as the helicopter comes in, rocking gently as it lowers. “The metallurgy symposium in Geneva?”
“Um...you once said their main sponsor’s understanding of molecular structure was ‘kindergarten at best’?”
“Doesn’t the Horological Society have a monthly dinner in London?”
“Maybe.” A pause. “But do you remember that one time you told the guest of honor his body of work was...uh...”
“Never mind. There’s got to be something else.”
The helicopter touches down, sending vibrations through the deck.
“Wellllllll.”
“What?”
It sounds like she’s rooting around in papers now. Sadie works out of my Tribeca office, which she keeps immaculately organized.
“Okay, you were invited to a wedding in the Hamptons, but it’s just a gift get.”
“What’s a gift get?”
“It’s some sort of trend on TikTok where couples invite as many billionaires or celebrities as they can find addresses for to their wedding in hopes that assistants will auto-send presents without checking if you actually know the couple.
I have a file where I keep them after I cross-check against your address books and—”
“So I was invited.”
“Well, yes.”
“How long does this thing last?”
She takes a beat to process what I’m getting at. “You can’t go to the wedding of perfect strangers.”
“They invited me.” Russell’s bird touches down on the helipad. “How long does it last?”
“Three days. Welcome cocktails at six tonight.”
“The three days that they’ll be shooting at the estate?”
“Yes, it aligns perfectly.”
A wedding. I’d rather get a root canal from an evil clown, but desperate times... “I’m going. Figure it out. Get me the details.”
“Bruno, you don’t know these people. You didn’t even RSVP!”
“I’m sure whatever gift you get for me to give them will more than make up for that.”
“This is a bride’s big day. You can’t crash it.”
“Of course I can. They invited me. I’ll drop off my present, take a few pictures, and go home.”
“Bruno, no. They followed a silly trend to get a nice gift.”
“That’s odd. It sounds more like a scam to me.”
She sputters some protest.
“Text me the itinerary and dress code. Figure it out.” I click off before she can launch into her usual lecture that human beings aren’t watch movements.
If only.
The crew is still in formation. They haven’t moved, and they won’t move until McGillicuddy dismisses them, and she won’t dismiss them until I’m out of sight.
Contrary to what Sadie might profess, people are at their best when they behave like clockwork, and that’s how I run this boat. Every member of my crew is a functioning part in a larger system—precise, disciplined, dependable. The military is a frat house compared to how I run my ship.
People are overly attached to the human element, as if it’s something to be treasured. I prefer to minimize it where I can.
Russell steps down from his helicopter, hair whipping, squinting against the rotor wash. He straightens his jacket and waves at me.
I cross my arms and wait for him to descend the stairs that lead down past the captain’s bridge, past my private deck where my quarters and workshop are. It’s a cloudy day, relatively calm. The ocean is a murky green with patches of dark that signal puffs of wind.
To the west, Long Island’s spine dissolves into haze, the last of the mainland. To the east, the Atlantic. Nothing between us and Portugal. Like the edge of the world.
He reaches the bottom and crosses the gleaming wood planks past perfectly coiled lines toward where I stand.
“What now?”
“Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?”
“Let me save you time. The answer is still no.”
“Come on, Bruno! One interview.”
One interview. That’s how they’re describing the documentary now, as if it would stop at one interview.
“Not happening.”
“They’re arriving as we speak. An entire production team. They’re expecting the whole family to be there.”
Translation: they’re expecting the famous reclusive brother to be there.
“I specifically told you no from the start. I also told you that I wouldn’t be changing my mind. I don’t know what’s so difficult about it.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets. “What’s a guy gotta do for a drink around here?”
I sigh and lead him toward the interior, past the line of crew members.
He waves a hand in front of the deckhand’s face. My deckhand gives him no reaction.
“Leave him alone.”
Russell snorts. “Sorry you’re stuck working for my brother.” He catches up to me as I make my way to the bar.
“My people are professionals. Let them do their jobs.” I pour us both a drink and hand him his.
He makes his pitch once again. American Spotlight has millions of viewers.
Free advertising for the vineyard. They won’t air the segment if the whole family’s not there.
Can’t I ramble around the wine cellar with Adrian and him and mumble a few things about our family’s history in front of the camera?
“This is just a backdoor way for them to get an interview of me.”
“Number one, that’s a pretty arrogant way of viewing it, and number two, even if it were true, is it so bad? Do you really prefer us to come begging to you hat in hand to support the winery?”
I clench my jaw. “You know damn well that I’m happy to provide whatever funds you need at any time.”
“But you wouldn’t have to provide us funds if you just come do a fucking cameo there. You’re a public figure now whether you like it or not. What’s the harm in appearing in this thing? It just doesn’t make sense.”
Of course it doesn’t make sense. To him.
My brothers don’t know what I know. They don’t understand that making a juicy little documentary out of our family will cause secrets to unbury themselves.
I toy briefly with telling him. They’d shut that documentary down so fast. But then, Jesus Christ. There’s no fixing what it would do to them.
Needless to say, I don’t take that road. I take the road where I’m the asshole, not wanting to do the documentary for whatever selfish reasons. It’s a road I’m pretty handy at driving on.
“I told you no, and you should’ve taken my word for it.”
“Bruno, please.” There’s a thread of desperation in his voice. He doesn’t want to have to pull out the big guns and threaten my watch business. That would be more Adrian’s style.
“I have a prior commitment that cannot be rescheduled.”
Russell has the good sense to look embarrassed.
“That’s right, I know all about the new legal flex. You can tell Adrian that trying to force me to appear in this thing by threatening my watch business? Very bad form.”
“I know, I know. I told him not to use it,” Russell says. “Not cool to force your hand, but he just wants the winery to stand on its own two feet. We’d do the same for you if it were for your watch business.”
“You need to honor my decision.”
Russell bites his lip. He doesn’t want to honor my decision, or more like, he doesn’t want to go back and tell Adrian he’s honored my decision.
“Look, I have to get ready for this thing.”
Russell studies my face. “Be real. You don’t have a commitment.”
“In fact I do. All the way through to Monday, so...” I gesture at his helicopter.
Russell crosses his arms. “That seems a little convenient. What is this very important event?”
“I’m attending a wedding in the Hamptons, if you must know.”
Russell nearly chokes on his scotch. “You hate weddings.”
“But sometimes they’re unavoidable.”
“Whose wedding is it?”
“You wouldn’t know them.”
“Are they business peers? No. Why would you bother? But it’s not like you have friends. There’s no wedding.”
“There is. I’ll send a picture or two.” I gesture at his bird with both hands now, a sort of behold type gesture. Behold your helicopter upon which you will fly away.
“Oh you want me to leave? And miss this chance to see you off to this very important wedding you must attend? Which will miraculously force you to miss all three days of shooting?”
“If that’s how you want to spend your afternoon, I won’t stop you.”
My phone pings again. Welcome cocktails start at 6. Ceremony tomorrow morning. Pasting itinerary below. Gift due at Eastside Marina within the hour. Check with bosun for onboard ETA. Bosun to confirm helipad clear by 5:15.
Good. I’ll put on a tux, drop off the present, snap a few pictures of myself to send to Russell and Adrian, and be back here in time for a late dinner.
“College friend?” He narrows his eyes. “No. No way. You hate everyone.”
“Delightful as this is, I do need to pack and wrap things up in my workshop.”
“Be serious!” His expression is a cross between amusement and outrage. “There’s no wedding.”
“My guy’s coming in just after five to take me there. You’ll have to be cleared out by then.”
Russell takes another sip, studying me over the rim of his snifter, which does nothing to conceal his smile. “Hamptons? Why make your pilot come out? I’d be happy to give you a ride on the way back.”
“You don’t want to wait all that time.”
“I don’t mind. I insist.”
Fine. Let him give me a lift. He can report it all back to Adrian.
“Great, I’ll have Sadie cancel the ride.”
“Great.” Russell makes himself comfortable in one of the deck chairs.