Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thorne
The rain sounds different when you're alone.
Water streams down the billiards room window in relentless sheets. I follow the patterns so I don’t have to turn around and face the empty room.
I should go after Ivy. Climb those stairs, knock on her door, figure this out together.
But she asked me to stay out of it. Made me promise.
I turn from the glass, her shoes are still by the leather sofa where she kicked them off, smiling at me over her shoulder, daring me to play. Had that been less than an hour ago?
And now, I’m standing here like an idiot, doing nothing, while Ivy's upstairs dealing with the consequences of my actions.
Walking toward the door, my side bumps into the drink cart. Snatching up my bourbon, I swallow it in one gulp. The burn does nothing.
Bill is using Ivy. My name. My visibility. The fact that I couldn't keep my hands off her for five minutes at that club.
I refill my glass, but don't pick it up.
I knew who she was. I pursued her anyway. And now Bill's treating her like a disposable asset he can use to make his profit margin.
I drain the bourbon. Set the glass down.
And I promised Ivy I wouldn't call Bill. Promised I'd let her handle it.
The promise is choking me.
I pace to the pool table. Back to the windows. The rain hasn't let up. If anything, it's getting worse.
My phone sits on the bar cart, screen dark. Bill's number would be easy enough to find. I could have it in thirty seconds.
No. I promised.
But how am I supposed to keep that promise while Ivy loses everything?
Because here's the truth I can't get past: this is my fault.
Not Ivy's. She didn't ask for my name, my baggage, my complications.
She came here for her sister and was pulled into this mess.
Knowing who she was, I should have stayed away, but instead I pursued her, knowing there would be a cost. There always is with my family.
And I'm supposed to do nothing.
People I care about pay the price for being in my orbit.
Wait.
There is a third option.
I make the call. Give Bill exactly what he wants. Ivy keeps her job, gets her partnership.
And hates me for it.
But that's the thing about option three—she hates me instead of hating herself. She's furious at me for breaking my promise instead of being broken by watching five years of work disappear. Instead of questioning her worth, her choices, her judgment.
I lose her.
But she keeps herself.
And if that's the trade, there's no question which one I’ll make.
My hand closes around my phone before I can talk myself out of it.
She said no. She was clear. She made me promise not to call Bill.
But watching her lose everything while I do nothing is not something I can survive.
Bill Fischer's home number takes one call to a contact in New York. Thirty seconds, maybe less.
I dial before I can change my mind.
He picks up on the third ring, voice loose, unsuspecting. "Fischer."
"Bill." I let his name sit there. "It's Thorne Blackstone."
A beat. When he speaks again, the ease is gone. "Mr. Blackstone. This is... unexpected."
"I imagine it is." I pour two fingers but don't drink it. "Ivy doesn't know I'm calling." I pace to the windows. "And she didn't ask me to. In fact, she specifically asked me not to get involved."
"I see." He sounds amused. "But here you are anyway."
"I understand you gave Ivy an ultimatum today. Get Blackstone to hire Huntsman & Fellows as full-time environmental counsel, or she's fired."
"I presented her with an opportunity—"
"You're using her as leverage to land a client." I cut him off. "Let's not pretend this is anything else."
A pause. "Mr. Blackstone, this is simply business. Ivy has a unique relationship that could benefit the firm. I'm giving her a chance to capitalize on that."
"By threatening her job."
“I’ve done no such thing, Mr. Blackstone. I’ve done the opposite and offered her partnership."
“If she delivers Blackstone Distillery.”
"Surely you understand that bringing in clients is how partnerships work."
“And you’ll fire her if she doesn’t.”
“No, of course not. That would be illegal.” The smarmy fucker is covering his ass. “However, being in a relationship with a client while working for the client’s business could become problematic… It’s not a good look for the firm.”
“Dancing is not a relationship.”
“Go online. Take a look at the images. No one will believe you two aren’t doing more than dancing.”
"We both know you wouldn't fire a male attorney for the same thing."
"We both know this isn't about gender, Mr. Blackstone. This is about opportunity. I'm offering Ivy a path forward. Whether she takes it is up to her." He pauses. "Or up to you, I suppose."
And there it is. The real play. He's counting on me to save her. Counting on me to hand him exactly what he wants because I can't stand watching Ivy's career burn.
He's right.
"You want Blackstone as a client?” I grate out.
“I do.”
“Shut the fuck up and listen before I change my mind.” I wait. He doesn’t even breathe. “You've got us. Full-time environmental counsel. Exclusive contract for all East Coast legal work."
The silence on the other end shifts. Sharpens.
“And Ivy makes partner by year's end. No probation. No conditions. And you make damn sure everyone knows it's because of her work, not because of me."
"Of course. Her work has been exceptional—"
"Cut the shit, Bill. We both know what this is.
" My hand tightens around my phone. "You're getting exactly what you want.
But understand I'm watching how this plays out for Ivy.
The moment her partnership gets quietly sidelined, her caseload dries up, or she gets passed over for anything she's earned, I pull the contract.
And I'll make sure every firm in New York knows why. "
I let that land.
"You're getting eight million in annual fees, Bill. Don't be stupid with it."
"Understood. Ivy's contributions to the firm have always been valued on their own merit."
"If that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation." I hang up and set the untouched glass on the bar cart.
Done.
I stand there, cell in hand, staring at my reflection in the rain-streaked window.
This is it. The moment I lose her.
Not when she finds out about my past. Not when the Blackstone chaos becomes too much. But right now. This phone call.
I'm choosing to save her career over keeping her.
I broke my promise.
And that choice will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Crossing to the bar cart, I pick up my abandoned drink. I don't bother savoring it. Just tip it back, let it burn.
She's going to hate me for this.
When Bill calls her with the good news, she'll know even if he doesn’t tell her I called. Maybe not immediately. Maybe she'll let herself believe it for a day or two.
But she's too smart for that. She'll add it up. The timing. Bill's sudden reversal.
She'll know exactly what I did.
My phone buzzes on the cart. I glance down. It’s a text from Lillianna.
We need to talk. Like Now
I’m surprised she didn’t call sooner about the article in the paper. I don't reply.
Another buzz. This time is my mom.
What the hell is going on? Call me.
I don't reply to that either.
Picking up the bottle, I take a swallow. Who the hell is it now?
You have to be fucking kidding me.
Warren Hartwell.
Given the way this evening has tanked, why am I even surprised?
I almost don't answer. But ignoring Hartwell never made problems disappear. The time merely gives the bastard time to sharpen his knives.
"Thorne." He sounds almost sympathetic. But I hear the glee. "Rough day?”
My hand tightens around my glass. "What do you want, Hartwell?”
“I’m calling an emergency board meeting for your removal. A week from Thursday, six p.m.” A pause. "Next Thursday, that is. Give you a little over a week to get your affairs in order."
The bourbon turns to acid in my stomach. "On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that photos of you bribing an EPA official hit every major outlet this afternoon."
Red blurs my vision. "There are photos of me leaving his house. That's it. Not bribing anyone, you asshole."
“Now, now, son, settle down. It doesn't matter what actually happened. What matters is what it looks like.”
"I'm not your son." I set down my glass with deliberate care. "And you want to talk about narratives, Hartwell? Let's discuss your quarterly reports. The discrepancies I asked about when I was seventeen. I’m sure my father wasn’t acting alone. And he’s no longer here to cover your ass. He didn’t change, and I’m sure you haven’t either. ”
A beat of silence. Good. Let him sweat.
“You have nothing on me,” Hartwell says smoothly. "And it’s irrelevant to the current situation. What is relevant is that you're a liability this company can't afford."
"The bylaws require—"
“I’m the interim board chair. I have the authority to call for this vote. And Thorne, I have the votes.” The false sympathy returns, and he clucks, “Maybe more than I need. Didn’t you and your brother have a big fall-out a few years back? I bet he’ll be relieved to have you gone.”
I can’t speak. He’s right. This is Sebastian’s chance to get rid of me. Things have improved between us, but he is livid about my involvement with Williams.
“See you next Thursday,” Hartwell practically sings.
The line goes dead. I throw my phone across the room, but the damn thing doesn’t even have the decency to break.
Hartwell’s pitch to the other board members is predictable: Thorne's unstable. Always has been. Look at the photos. Look at the risks he's taken. The family can't control him and we can't afford such a loose cannon.
If Sebastian votes against me, Hartwell has the votes. They'll remove me from the board, trigger the buyout clause in the shareholder agreement, dilute my twenty percent back into the company pool.
Where Hartwell, as CFO and interim board chair, would have first rights to acquire them.
I run a hand down my face and stare out the window. The rain hasn't let up. If anything, it's worse now—relentless, punishing.
Everything's falling apart.
I broke my promise to Ivy. She's going to hate me.
Hartwell’s going to push me out of the company.
Sebastian probably won't even fight to keep me.
Pushing all that aside for now, I retrieve my cell from the floor. Ivy asked me to call Voss. To set up the meeting properly.
At least I can keep that promise.
After two rings, Voss answers.
“I saw the papers, I figured I’d hear from you soon,” he says.
"I need you to set up a meeting with whoever's in charge of Williams's case."
A pause. "Why?"
"Given they saw me at his house, they probably want to talk to me."
"Probably. But maybe you should wait until they come to you and then call me."
"I'd rather not."
Voss sighs. "Why am I not surprised? What are you hoping to get out of this meeting?"
"First, to find out if Williams talked."
"And if he did?"
"We'll make sure everyone at Blackstone was in the dark about me talking to him and the deals my dad made." I stare out at the rain. "Keep the family clean. The business. This stays on me."
Another pause. Longer this time. "You understand what you're doing here. You're not just cooperating—you're making yourself the fall guy."
"Better me than them."
"That's noble. Stupid, but noble." I can hear him thinking, the wheels turning.
"All right. I'll reach out to the lead agent tomorrow.
But Blackstone, we need to meet first. Before you talk to anyone.
I need to know exactly what you're planning to say, what you think Williams might have told them, and how we're going to position your. .. involvement."
"Fine."
"I'll call you tomorrow with a time."
We hang up.
Voss will set up the FBI meeting.
Bill will call Ivy about her partnership.
Warren will gather his votes.
Piece by piece, everything I care about will be gone.
Because I’m exactly who I've always been—a Blackstone who fixes things with money and doesn't ask permission first.
My father would be proud.
I'm not.