Chapter Nineteen
Ivy
My cursor hovers over the comments section. "The Rule applies to any lawyer who engages in sexual relations with a current client..."
Client. Current. Representation.
Blackstone Bourbon? I was hired by the company, not by Thorne personally. And whatever this thing is between us started before any representation began. On the train. When we were strangers.
Besides, it's not a relationship. It's physical. Temporary. We've both been clear about that.
I scroll down to the conflicts of interest section.
The rule exists to prevent situations where personal feelings might compromise professional judgment.
But I'm not compromising anything. My legal advice is sound.
My work is excellent. The fact that I'm sleeping with Thorne Blackstone doesn't change my analysis of EPA regulations or environmental remediation protocols.
It's fine.
I close the laptop.
It's fine.
This mantra sounds like a lying client.
At the bottom of the stairs, I hear the mixed voices of the Blackstones and head to the dining room. My short heels click against the hardwood floor, each step the drumbeat of walking toward something inevitable.
I inhale deeply. The scent of honey-glazed salmon and roasted vegetables makes my stomach growl. "There she is," Sebastian says as I enter. “Mark made your favorite."
“He spoils me," I look at Thorne. “I told Lillianna, I’m kidnapping him when I return h-home.”
“She has threatened,” Lillianna says, smiling.
Thorne isn’t smiling. Did he catch how I stumbled over calling New York home? Does it make his heart ache too, thinking about taking opposite paths when this is all over?
Shaking off my melancholy, I ask, “Where is Rosalia?”
“Had a meeting with the staff at 3Bs. I promised to take notes for her,” Lillianna tells me.
"What's the update on the remediation plan?" asks Lillianna.
"Containment barriers are in place. Monitoring wells are operational," Sebastian reports. "The crew finished the initial phase last week. So far, the permits for 'drainage improvements' are holding up as cover."
"And the contamination levels?" Thorne asks.
I answer this time. "Still below mandatory EPA reporting thresholds. Barely. But we're remediating anyway,” I add, though my stomach twists. We're walking a legal tightrope—fixing the problem without disclosing it. Defensible, but risky as hell.
Sebastian's phone rings. He glances at the screen. “It’s Hanna, my PA. Let me see what she needs.” He answers. "Hello?"
His face loses all color. “When?” A pause. “This morning?"
Lillianna's hand moves to her mouth and she looks at me. I shrug, but what little I ate of dinner hardens in my stomach. Whatever the news is, it isn’t good.
Sebastian's knuckles whiten around his phone. "What are the charges?" He nods. “Environmental fraud. And he's cooperating?”
Shit. That doesn’t even sound in the realm of good. I push away my plate, the smell of salmon suddenly too much.
"Understood. Thanks for the call." Sebastian ends it and sets his phone down carefully, like it might explode. He looks at each of us in turn. “That was our contact at the EPA. Williams was arrested this morning.”
“Oh, shit,” Lillianna whispers.
"Yes. He's charged with environmental fraud and accepting bribes. And from what I'm hearing, he's looking to cooperate with prosecutors to reduce his sentence."
“Williams knows about the contamination,” I say, my stomach sinking.
"If he tells prosecutors your father bribed him to skip inspections and hide the contamination during the land purchase, and then they find out we've been quietly remediating for weeks?
" I shake my head. "Our whole defense falls apart. .."
“Because it looks like we've been hiding it all along," Sebastian finishes.
"Technically, we're within our legal rights to remediate at these levels without reporting to EPA. But if Williams tells prosecutors your father bribed him to hide the contamination, and they find out we've been quietly remediating? It looks like a cover-up, even if it isn't."
Thorne sets down his glass with controlled precision. "This is exactly what I said would happen."
Sebastian's jaw tightens. "Thorne—"
"No." Thorne's voice cuts through the room like a blade.
"I told you. All of you. We should have kept Williams comfortable.
On the payroll. But you wanted to do things 'the right way.
'" He makes air quotes, his expression hardening.
"Well, congratulations. We tried it your way.
Not covering all our bases, and Williams has been arrested and is cooperating with prosecutors.
Lillianna looks at me. “And if he does? How bad is this for us? Are we talking a PR nightmare or more?” She leans toward me, her words barely making it across the table.
I clear my throat, hating that I have to be the one to deliver all this bad news.
"If Williams talks, he could implicate Blackstone Bourbon in the bribery scheme and expose the contamination we're quietly remediating. Your father is dead, but the company faces massive fines for the bribery scheme, illegal land acquisition, and possible criminal charges.”
"But none of us participated," Lillianna says. "None of us knew about it until after the fact. Until Madison told us."
“It's Dad's name on those bribes," Sebastian says, looking at Thorne. "Not ours. We didn't commit his crimes."
Thorne laughs, but there's no humor in it.
"You think that matters? Williams is looking at serious prison time.
He'll say whatever reduces his sentence.
And right now, the only people left to rely on are us.
" He leans forward. "But if we'd kept him on the payroll like I suggested, we could have paid him enough to report someone else.
Point him at other EPA violators. Give prosecutors bigger fish to fry. "
"We're not criminals," Sebastian says.
"No, but our father was. And Williams knows enough to make us look like we are." In the heavy silence, Thorne pulls out his phone. “But there’s still a chance we can get to him and cover our asses.”
He dials a number and puts the call on speaker. A pre-recorded message informs us that the caller’s number is no longer in service. “Give me Julius’s new number,” he tells Sebastian.
“I don’t have it,” he replies. “I let him go last year.”
Thorne holds his phone, ready to dial. “Then give me Mark’s?”
“He’s gone too.”
"Fine." Thorne's already scrolling for another contact. "What about Carmichael? The investigator Dad used—"
"Gone. They're all gone, Thorne." Sebastian stands, meeting his brother's increasingly furious gaze. "I let all of them go. Every single person who was part of Dad's network."
Thorne stares at his brother like he's never seen him before. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I made the right call—"
"The right call?" Thorne slams his phone on the table. "We're running a business, Sebastian! Not a fucking charity!"
"We're not running the mob either!" Sebastian shouts back.
"Sometimes it's the same thing!" Thorne's words ricochet off the dining room walls.
"Only when you think like Dad," Sebastian holds his ground, fury burning quiet in his eyes.
"You want to know the difference between Dad and me?" He rises from his chair. "I would have had the sense to keep our options open." Three steps bring him around the table. "But you? You fired everyone who could help us, and now we're backed into a corner with no way out."
"We have ways out that don't involve criminal fixers—"
“Name one." Thorne crosses his arms. "Williams is in federal custody. The DOJ's Environmental Crimes unit has him. Are you going to visit the jail and ask for a meeting…”
He looks past us, but he’s not seeing the foyers. I know that look. He is strategizing.
I stand. “Thorne—”
Thorne grabs his suit jacket that is hanging on his chair. "Then I'll take care of it."
I’m not sure I want the answer, but I ask, “How?”
He doesn't answer, but strides out of the dining room toward the foyer.
Sebastian gets up. “Thorne, wait—"
He's already crossing the foyer, but he stops and turns to face his brother. “No. You made your choice. You wanted to run this company your way, with your morals, your clean hands." Thorne's laugh is bitter. "Well, someone still has to do the dirty work. Might as well be me."
I follow him across the foyer, my heels clicking double-time against the marble to match his stride.
He heads for the front entrance rather than the porte cochère.
He’s taking the long way to the garage, like he needs to put as much physical distance between himself and this conversation as possible.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
“To do whatever it takes to find out where we stand with Williams." He keeps walking, not looking back when I fall behind. "I still have a few contacts Sebastian didn't burn."
Picking up the pace, I grab his arm, forcing him to face me. “And then what?”
His expression smooths into that calm, controlled mask I've come to recognize as his most dangerous look. "Then we'll know exactly what he's planning to tell prosecutors. And we can plan accordingly."
"Thorne, touching Williams right now isn't damage control — it's a gift to the prosecution."
“Only if they find out.”
He looks at me, and I wish he looked guilty. Guilty I could work with. But what's looking back at me is worse. It's certainty. Calm, cold, and completely unmovable.
“I’ll be back later,” he says, pulling out his phone as he goes. He disappears around the side of the house.
I stand on the porch steps, arms wrapped around myself. A minute later, a black Audi prowls down the driveway and turns onto the main road. He's driving himself. No chauffeur. Like he doesn't want witnesses to wherever he's going.
My heart is pounding, my pulse racing in my ears. Panic for him—and for myself. I told him. I warned him. And I let him walk away anyway.
What does a man like Thorne Blackstone do when everything is on the line? My mind skitters away from the possibilities. Bribery. Threats. Worse?
No. Not Thorne. But even as I think it, doubt creeps in. How well do I really know him? I know how he tastes, how he sounds when he comes, how his hands feel on my skin. But this cold, controlled version of him who drove away? Maybe that's who he really is.
What if I lose him? Not as a client, but as... whatever we are?
The thought shouldn't hurt this much. We agreed. Temporary. Physical. No strings.
And everyone eventually leaves.
Even knowing this, my chest is tight and my eyes are burning, and watching those taillights disappear feels like witnessing something precious slip through my fingers.
Behind me, the front door opens. Sebastian steps out onto the porch. “Where did he go?"
I turn to face him, wrapping my arms tighter against the cold in my heart.
“No idea. He just said he'll be back later.”
I just hope when he comes back, we can all still live with whatever he's done.