The Collateral
1061 Words
Ivy's POV
The words didn’t land all at once.
They settled.
You marry my brother.
For a second, no one spoke.
Not my father.
Not me.
Once again my life had been reduced to a transaction.
Damon Blackwood’s eyes were fixed on me, watching me carefully as if my reaction mattered
My fingers tightened slightly in my lap.
I turned my head slowly to look at my father.
He exhaled softly. Relief. It made something in my stomach tighten.
“That’s… generous,” he said too quickly.
I realized this was an arrangement he had already decided I would accept.
“My brother Julian requires a public engagement. Ms. Marchetti will agree to the engagement and fulfill the formal expectations that follow. In exchange, the debt is restructured and your company continues operations.”
“I think we can certainly discuss—”
“What?” I asked.
My father looked at me.
“Ivy, we can talk this through,” my father said.
“Why are you even thinking about talking it through?”
My voice trembled once.
I turned to Damon. “Why does your brother need a public engagement and why choose from a family currently drowning in debt? If this is about optics, there are better options.”
Something flickered in his expression.
“That’s my business,” he said.
“It’s being made mine,” I replied, my voice rising slightly. “So I’m asking.”
“Careful,” my father murmured under his breath.
I ignored him.
The room fell silent.
“My brother, Julian, is under public scrutiny,” Damon said. “An engagement provides context. Stability. Your family name still carries weight in the right circles.”
“So I’m a prop.”
“Ivy,” my father warned.
“I’m clarifying the arrangement,” I said, not looking at him. “You want me visible beside your brother. Performing stability.” I let the word settle. “And in exchange, eleven million disappears.”
“The debt is restructured,” Damon corrected. “Not eliminated. Seven-year repayment. Below-market interest.”
“Seven years.”
“With no liquidation.”
I glanced at the paper, then back at him.
He was still watching me.
Not my father.
Me.
He leaned forward slightly now.
“Miss Marchetti–”
“Ivy,” I cut in.
He paused briefly but his gaze didn’t leave mine.
“Ivy,” he repeated. “This arrangement benefits you.”
“It benefits my company,” I said. “Let’s not confuse the two.”
My father shifted beside me. “Ivy—”
“No,” I said, without looking at him.
I kept my eyes on Damon.
“If this is a negotiation,” I continued, “then let’s be clear about the terms. Because from where I’m sitting, this sounds less like a proposal and more like coercion.”
My father inhaled sharply.
Damon didn’t react.
“I'm not–”
“Ivy, that's enough!” My father said in a tone I knew better than to argue with.
He turned to Damon.
“We’ll need time,” he said.
“You have forty-eight hours,” Damon replied. “After that, the acceleration clause activates and liquidation begins. I’m not negotiating the deadline.”
He closed the folder. Stood.
“My assistant will provide documentation.”
A brief glance at my father.
Then back to me.
“Ms. Marchetti.”
And he left.
I didn’t move.
My father let out a long breath. “That went better than I expected.”
I turned slowly. “Better.”
“He’s reasonable. The terms are reasonable.”
“He just gave me forty-eight hours to agree to marry a man I’ve never met.”
“Engage,” he corrected. “And it’s Julian Blackwood, not some stranger. Good family. Established. The Blackwood name—”
“Papa.”
He stopped.
I looked at him, at the man who had been deciding my life since I was nineteen. Who had taught me everything about business and nothing about autonomy.
I turned fully to look at him.
“I’ve already developed strategies on how to save what’s left of the company.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“What–?”
“You're signing that contract.”
“Papa?” my voice cracked finally
He reached out his hand to hold me
“Don’t,” I said quietly, wiping a tear from my face.
I picked up my bag and walked out.
I held it together in the elevator. Through the lobby. Through the revolving doors.
Out into the cold January air.
Then I stopped.
Midtown moved around me, cars, voices, motion but I stood still, staring at nothing, breathing.
I hailed a taxi and returned to the office.
I walked into my office and slammed the door shut.
I slumped into the chair. I opened my desk drawer. Beneath a stack of quarterly reports was a slim grey folder I had placed there eight months ago. No label on the front. Nothing to identify it.
I opened it.
Notes. Records. Acquisition patterns. Names. A timeline going back three years.
At the top of the page, in my own careful handwriting, two words.
COUNTER PLAN.
I stared at it for a long moment.
I closed the folder. I put it back in the drawer and closed it.
I thought about the debt and Damon’s condition.
Forty-eight hours. Julian Blackwood.
I thought about my father. He had already accepted without a second thought.
The lump at the back of my throat grew bigger.
My phone rang, pulling me from my thoughts.
I pulled it out. Then stopped.
I stared at the name for a moment.
Blackwood Consolidated.
I answered.
“Blackwood,” he said without hesitation.
I stepped towards the window, my voice steady when I spoke.
“I’m not agreeing to this.”
On the other end, Damon didn’t respond immediately.
“I won’t enter an arrangement I can’t control,” I continued. “And I won’t stand beside a man I never chose.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Forty-eight hours, Ms. Marchetti,” he said.
“No need to wait that long. I’ll give you an answer now.”
Silence.
“No,” I said.
And I hung up before he could answer.
- Writer
