Blackwood will not see me coming

Chapter 5

The holding cells had a distinct charm, if you could call cold and dampness charming. Yet, they were certainly not your run-of-the-mill prison cells. No, this place was a cut above, with polished concrete walls that gleamed like they’d just come from a fancy showroom, solid steel bars that wouldn’t budge for anything but a small army, and surveillance cameras perched like watchful owls in the corners. It was an establishment made for people whose names would never grace a newspaper or a public record. People meant to vanish without a trace.

Inside, the room housed a narrow bed bolted to the floor, a shiny stainless-steel toilet and basin, and a single gray blanket folded so sharply it could have been used as a ruler. Everything whispered control. Efficiency. Power. And, yes, punishment.

The space was so snug that I could barely pace without kissing the walls. Three dreary concrete sides surrounded me, and the fourth side, a set of steel bars, was like an unwanted reminder of my visibility. I was there, but only to be watched. Judged.

Seven days had rolled by since the Blackwood legal team had decided to “temporarily detain” me. Seven days since my name had been quietly scrubbed from board meeting minutes, internal emails, and hushed conversations that once fell silent out of respect for my presence. Today was the hearing, though not a grand trial before a court, oh no! This was far more intimate, more terrifying, a private tribunal of sorts. Blackwood’s people, Blackwood’s witnesses, and certainly Blackwood’s version of the truth.

As I perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, my fingers began to tremble. I already knew how this story would unfurl. The evidence didn’t need to stack up when the power of judgement already had everything neatly set in its favor. All the pieces were arranged perfectly to paint me as the villain, a jealous wife, a discarded woman, a barren one accused of destroying another woman’s pregnancy. It felt almost impossible to weather this storm, with the only fragile thread keeping me upright being Sophie, if she was still alive, if she hadn’t been silenced, if she could just stand in that room and say she’d been with me every night that week.

Then came the tell-tale heavy footsteps echoing outside my cell. “Stand up,” ordered a clipped voice, professional and void of emotion.

Looking up, I found myself staring at James, head of private security. A man who had once smiled warmly at me. A man whose wife I had sat beside in the hospital, only to see him shake Blackwood’s hand at those charity galas while I stood by his side. Now, he wouldn’t even spare me a glance.

As I stood, my body protesting like an old man in socks on a slippery floor, weakness surged through me, hunger gnawing at my insides. I hadn’t had a decent meal in ages; whatever they brought me tasted more like guilt and nausea than food. I stepped forward at his command, and James slid into the cell, shoving me back against the wall.

A jolt of pain shot through my shoulder, and I bit my lip until I could taste blood. My skin protested as bruises began to bloom beneath the surface, yet they felt trivial in the grand scheme of things, stress had a way of slowing everything down, even my will to fight.

“Will Sophie be there?” I asked quietly, a small flicker of hope easing into my voice.

He didn’t respond, just forced me forward, his grip firm as he led me out of the cell. I couldn’t tell if he’d been ordered to keep silent or if speaking with me had become an act he could no longer justify to himself.

As we passed by the other holding rooms, my eyes darted desperately through the bars. Faces flitted by, executives, assistants, scapegoats. “Please let her be here,” I muttered under my breath.

Then, amidst the crowd, there he was, silver hair and familiar shoulders that sent my heart racing. “Dad!” I cried out, twisting violently against James’ grip.

“Elena?” My father surged to his feet, his face showing the shock of seeing me in such a place. “What are you doing here?”

James tightened his hold, trying to drag me onward, and I couldn’t outmuscle him. “James!” I pleaded, turning to him. “If this ends today, if they ruin me, just let me speak to my father. Please.”

My voice trembled, currents of humiliation coursing through me as I continued, “I didn’t hurt anyone. I would never harm a child. If I’m ruined for something I didn’t do, don’t take this from me too.”

His jaw tightened, eyes flickering momentarily with indecision.

“Please,” I whispered. “I was there when your son was born. I held him before anyone else. Just five minutes.”

Tears edged and burned at my eyes, emerging like unwanted guests. After a long moment of silence, James finally nodded once.

Relief surged through me so fiercely I could hardly stand. “Thank you,” I whispered, racing to the bars of my father’s cell. His face was older than I remembered, a fragility in him I’d never seen before.

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I tried to stop this. I tried to protect you.”

“Don’t,” he whispered back. “I knew what I was risking. But why are you here? What did Blackwood do?”

My heart sank. “It was her pregnancy,” I said. “They claim I tampered with her medication. That I caused the miscarriage.”

His face turned ashen. “That’s insane.”

“Insanity seems to hold no power when you’re helpless,” I replied with bitterness. “They ‘found evidence’ in my belongings. Something I’ve never seen before.”

“Oh, Elena…” His voice quivered.

“I’m sorry I was such a disappointment,” I said softly. “I know I ruined everything.”

“Never,” he shot back fiercely. “I was never ashamed of you, I was angry at how you were treated. How Blackwood broke you.”

Tears slid down his face, an agonizing sight. My father, a man who had weathered countless boardrooms and hostile takeovers, is now crumbling because of me. My body quaked as I leaned my forehead against the bars, craving his closeness, and he mirrored my action on the other side, the steel separating us.

“Time,” James interrupted, clearing his throat, and I felt the emptiness inside me grow wider.

“I love you,” my father said urgently.

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

James led me away, and we entered the hearing room, which felt massive, more a palace than a trial chamber. Glass walls, marble floors, Blackwood’s name subtly etched everywhere like a ghost. Executives occupied the seats, while security lined the perimeter.

And there he stood at the front, impeccably dressed, untouchable, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, beside him, the woman who had replaced me. My knees quivered as I took my seat before them, bereft of my title, dignity, or even protection.

Blackwood’s gaze finally met mine. It was cold, assessing, and possessive, remarkably unchanged even now.

“We’re all here,” he said, voice calm as a summer breeze.

“To determine the truth behind Elena Blackwood’s actions.”

Former wife.

Public disgrace.

Already condemned.