DAMIAN BLACKWOOD
By the time I was twenty-five, I was on top of the ladder.
I had survived a number of assassinations without cuts and made so much money that my next goal was to transition all the Blackwood assets into legal businesses. My father had retired, leaving everything in my hands-he had done it since I turned twenty-and Michael Black was dead for four years. I mourned his death after learning so much from him, as we had grown so close that whispers started to go around about him being my true father.
Those whispers became even louder when I was one of the first and few on his deathbed, and he went into the afterlife after leaving me a 20% share in his will, an equal amount to the shares he left his biological children. When he was asked about it, he said:
"This one is my s
