Page 160 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
“That was…” I start, unsure how to articulate the whirlwind of emotions.
Shock, vindication, overwhelming gratitude.
“Leverage,” he finishes quietly. “Proof of intent. Enough to challenge the legitimacy of his bid, expose Morgan’s complicity, and hopefully convince any remaining wavering investors on your side that this isn’t about business.”
“But… how? When?”
“After our dinner I paid him a visit.” He says it so calmly. Like he just popped over for tea, not engagedin psychological warfare with his own father to obtain damning evidence.
“Christopher.” I step towards him, my throat tight. “After everything... you still did this? For me? For Hammond & Co.?”
“I told you,” he says softly, his gaze searching mine. “This doesn’t change how I feel about you. And protecting Hammond & Co. protects Project Nightingale. Protectsourinvestment. It’s strategically sound.” A hint of the old deflection, but his eyes betray the deeper motive.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words feeling utterly inadequate. “And sorry for being such a bitch to you.”
He reaches out, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger for a second against my cheek, sending a jolt through me.
“Lucy,” he says, his voice losing some of its usual guarded edge. “Stop apologizing. You’re CEO. You made a leadership call under impossible pressure. I understood it then, even if it felt…” He hesitates. “…difficult.” He looks down at his hand, then back at me. “Maybe I didn’t fully appreciate the pressure you were under either. My default is control, assertion. Gideon King pointed out I might need to learn… patience. Support without interference.”
Gideon King? He talked to Gideon? The thought is startling. Unexpected.
Wow. Maybe billionaires do actually talk about their feelings sometimes? Or at least, billionaire-adjacent feelings.
“Our backgrounds haven’t exactly predisposed either of us to easy trust, have they?” he continues, his lips twisting in a wry smile. “Me, with my father’s example and my mother’s departure. You, with yours.”
His acknowledgment, his willingnessto admit his own part, his own issues… it cracks open something inside me. The wall I built feels suddenly flimsy. Unnecessary.
Before I can respond, his phone buzzes urgently. He glances at it, his eyes widening slightly. “You’re going to want to see this.”
He taps the screen, bringing up a live news feed.
A hastily assembled press conference.
Mark Blackwell stands at a podium, looking pale and drawn, flanked by grim-faced lawyers.
An unbelievable headline crawls across the bottom:
MARK BLACKWELL ANNOUNCES IMMEDIATE RETIREMENT FROM BLACKWELL HOLDINGS, CITES HEALTH CONCERNS.
My jaw drops. Retirement? Effective immediately?
“What happened?” I breathe, staring at the screen as Mark reads a brief, stilted statement about needing to focus on his health and stepping down from all executive roles, including his seat on the Blackwell Innovations board.
Christopher watches the screen, his expression grim but resolute. “I forgot to mention, I already emailed the recording to the Blackwell Holdings board. I guess they took it very seriously... I also included a little tidbit about the shell corporations he’s been using for financing... companies that have ties to offshore accounts with questionable FBAR reporting. I suppose his board gave him an ultimatum: retire gracefully or face public removal and investigation.”
“So you… took down your own father?” The scale of it, the ruthlessness combined with the protective motive… is simply staggering.
“I neutralized a threat,” he corrects, though his eyes hold a flicker of something complex. Regret? Satisfaction? Both? “Getting him off my board was always part of the long game after his stunt with my executives. This… accelerates things. Drastically. I didn’t expect my father to retire from his own company quite so soon, but I guess he saw the writing on the wall.”
Christopher turns from the phone screen, looking at me. “He can’t hurt you or Hammond & Co. now. Not like this.”
I watch Mark’s deflated figure retreat on the screen.
“Maybe this will teach him some humility?” I suggest cautiously.
Christopher lets out a short, dark laugh. “Doubtful. But,” he adds, a thoughtful look coming to his eyes, “it certainly removes him from the equation.”
Mark neutralized. His takeover bid effectively dead in the water without his company backing.
