Chapter 16 #3
I stop the recording and open my email. More than twenty messages have accumulated in the thread Vivian began in Milan.
Outside counsel has now been included. Internal Legal is reviewing document exposure, and several executives have been copied on conversations that were still contained between a handful of people less than two days ago.
The details are still developing, but the tone has changed. What began as something Vivian wanted reviewed has escalated enough that lawyers are now discussing exposure, response strategy, and what may need to happen if the matter moves outside the company.
Her latest message is brief.
Vivian: We can hold this through tomorrow morning. After that, I want you and Adrian on the same call with counsel.
I lean back in the chair and drag a hand across my jaw. I knew the quiet could not last indefinitely. I simply expected to have one more day before New York reached across the Atlantic and demanded my attention again.
I open Adrian’s message thread and type a response.
Julian: I’ll leave tomorrow. I’m moving the flight up one day. I’ll call you after dinner.
His answer appears less than a minute later.
Adrian: Finally.
I ignore the commentary and call Clive through the estate system. He answers almost immediately.
“Yes, Mr. Blackwell?”
“I need you to contact the travel concierge in Milan and move my departure to tomorrow,” I tell him.
“Of course.”
“Sophie’s arrangements need to be moved as well,” I add.
“Keep the same routing and transportation. We’re simply leaving one day earlier.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Clive says.
“Let me know as soon as everything is confirmed.”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call and return to the email thread.
For the next hour, I work through the messages carefully, separating what actually requires my attention from what Vivian, Adrian, and counsel are already handling.
I resist the familiar urge to take control of every moving piece.
There will be more than enough time for that when I return to New York.
By the time Clive confirms the revised travel arrangements, the immediate logistics are settled and the situation back home is stable enough to leave alone for the evening.
I close the laptop and look through the office windows. The lake is turning gold beneath the lowering sun. Tonight was supposed to be one of a couple nights we still had here. Now it is our last.
By the time I enter the dining room, Sophie is already there.
She stands near the open terrace doors with a glass of wine in her hand, wearing a fitted black dress that falls just below her knees.
Her hair is loose again, moving slightly in the breeze coming off the lake, and for several seconds I simply watch her.
After the calls, emails, and legal language that consumed the last hour, the sight of her has an immediate effect on me.
The tension in my shoulders loosens, though I know it will return the moment we leave this place.
Sophie turns and catches me looking.
“There you are,” she says.
I cross the room toward her.
“Sorry. It took longer than I expected.”
Her expression shifts as she studies my face.
“Something happened?”
I take the glass a member of the staff offers me, but I don't drink from it yet.
“We need to leave tomorrow.”
Sophie’s eyebrows lift.
“Tomorrow? I thought we had another day?”
“We did.”
“What changed?”
I glance toward the terrace before looking back at her.
“The situation Vivian flagged in Milan has escalated. Legal is dealing with it, but I need to be back in New York.”
“Is the company in trouble?”
“Not necessarily.” I keep my answer measured because I don't yet have enough information to give her anything more useful.
“There are legal issues developing. Right now, there are more questions than answers.”
She watches me for a moment.
“And you're going to tell me that's all you know?”
“It’s all I know with any certainty.”
“That isn't exactly the same thing.”
“No,” I admit. “It isn't.”
Sophie could push. She has every professional reason to do it, especially now that something involving Blackwell Technologies is clearly moving behind the scenes.
Instead, she takes a small sip of wine.
“All right,” she says. “Tomorrow.”
The staff begins serving dinner, and we move to the table. I deliberately left my phone upstairs. For the next hour, I don't want New York in this room.
Dinner is quieter than the night before, although not uncomfortable. There is simply an awareness between us that wasn't there yesterday. Our time here has acquired an ending neither of us expected to arrive this quickly.
Sophie looks out through the open doors toward the darkening lake.
“It's strange,” she says.
“I've spent weeks trying to figure out your family, and I think I understand less now than I did when I started.”
I smile faintly. “That doesn't sound promising for the article.”
“It probably makes the article better.”
“That sounds more promising.”
She turns her attention back to me.
“The public version of your family is easy. Founder. Sons. Global company. Wealth. Expansion. Legacy.” She pauses.
“The actual people are harder.”
“They usually are,” I say.
“You make it particularly difficult,” she says.
“That sounds like criticism.”
“It might be,” she replies.
I take a drink of wine.