The Contract
1441 Words
The boardroom smelled like leather and money.
Clara Brooks stood just inside the door with her arms wrapped around herself. She’d been pulled straight from the refinery. Her Brooks Oil t-shirt had a small grease stain near the hem. Her ponytail was coming loose. Her hands still had dirt under the nails from checking valves that morning.
This was not a place for her.
Her parents were already seated. Daniel sat stiff, like a man at his own trial. Margaret was staring at her hands. Her eyes were red.
Across the table: Richard Blackwood in a 10,000 dollar suit. And Victoria Blackwood with diamonds at her throat and a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Close the door, Clara,” Daniel said quietly.
She did. The click sounded like a gunshot.
“What's going on?” Clara asked. “Is it the bank? Did they move the foreclosure date up?”
For 30 years Brooks Oil had been her family’s everything. Her grandpa built it. Her dad ran it. She grew up in it.
Richard gestured to the empty chair. “Please. Sit.”
Clara sat. The chair was too big. She felt 12 years old again.
Victoria slid a black folder across the polished table. It stopped right in front of Clara.
“We have a solution,” Victoria said. “To save the company.”
Clara opened it. Her eyes scanned the first page.
_MARRIAGE AGREEMENT_
_BETWEEN LEO BLACKWOOD AND CLARA BROOKS_
_TERM: 12 MONTHS_
She blinked. Read it again.
Then she laughed. It was a sharp, ugly sound.
“This is a joke. This has to be a joke. Dad?”
Daniel didn’t look at her. “It’s not a joke, baby.”
“The company is 3.2 million in debt,” Richard said. His voice was calm. Boardroom calm. “The bank has given us 60 days. After that, they take the refinery, the assets, everything.”
“And you want to save it by marrying me off?” Clara’s voice cracked. “Like it’s the 1800s?”
“It’s a contract marriage,” Victoria said quickly. “Very common for business families. You would live at the Blackwood residence. Attend functions. Appear as a couple. For 12 months.”
“Appear as a couple,” Clara repeated. “What does that even mean?”
“Public appearances,” Richard said. “Photos. Press. It shows the merger is stable. That Blackwood and Brooks are one.”
Clara looked at her mom. “Mom. Say something.”
Margaret finally looked up. Her face was wet. “Honey... we tried everything. Loans. Investors. Selling pieces. This is the only thing left.”
“So sell me,” Clara whispered. “That’s what you’re doing.”
“No,” Daniel said sharply. Then he deflated. “Yes. God. I don’t know. We’re selling a piece of you to save the rest of you.”
Victoria leaned forward. “Miss Brooks, you will be compensated. 2 million dollars, paid into an account in your name on the day the divorce is finalized. Plus a penthouse, a car, an allowance during the marriage.”
“Wow,” Clara said. “Two million. What’s my hourly rate for that?”
“Clara,” Daniel warned.
“What? You want me to be grateful?” She pushed the folder away. “I don’t even know Leo Blackwood!”
“You’ll get to know him,” Victoria said. “He’s a good boy. A little hot-tempered, but he understands business.”
“I don’t care if he’s hot-tempered or ice cold. I didn’t agree to this.”
“You don’t have to love him,” Richard said. “That’s not the point. The point is the signature on page 17.”
Clara stood up. Her legs were shaking. “I can’t do this. I won’t.”
“Clara, sit down,” Daniel said.
“No! You can’t make me!”
“We’re not making you,” Margaret said, and broke. She started crying in earnest now. “We’re begging you.”
The word hit Clara like a slap.
Her mom. Begging.
Margaret stood up and came around the table. She knelt next to Clara’s chair and took her daughter’s hands.
“Babe, listen to me. If we don’t do this, the bank takes everything. The refinery. The house. Grandpa’s name comes off the gate. James loses his job. He has 3 kids. Maria too. She’s a single mom. 200 families, Clara. 200.”
Clara pulled her hands away. “So make me the villain. Make me the one who ruins everyone.”
“You wouldn’t be ruining anyone,” Victoria said. “You’d be saving them. And yourself. After one year you walk away. Free. Rich. You can go anywhere.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere!” Clara shouted. “I want to work at the refinery! I want to be normal!”
“You haven’t been normal since you were 10,” Daniel said softly. “Not with our last name on the building.”
That shut her up.
Clara walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. From here she could see it. The Brooks Oil refinery. The smokestacks. The sign her grandpa painted himself in 1982.
She remembered being 8 and sitting on his shoulders while he showed her the tanks.
“One day this is all yours, peanut,” he’d said.
She pressed her forehead to the cold glass.
Behind her, no one spoke for a long time.
Finally Victoria spoke. “The wedding is Friday. Courthouse. 10am. We’ll keep it small. Just family and the lawyers.”
Clara didn’t turn around. “And Leo?”
“He will be informed tonight,” Richard said. “He knows his responsibilities.”
_Responsibilities._ Like she was a tax bill.
Clara turned back around. Her face was blotchy. Her eyes were swollen. “Do I have to... touch him? Kiss him?”
“No,” Daniel said immediately. “Civil ceremony. No vows. No kiss. You sign, the judge signs, it’s legal.”
Victoria pushed the pen across the table. It was heavy. Gold.
“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Brooks.”
Clara stared at the pen. Then at the signature line.
_CLARA BROOKS_
Her name. Her whole life in two words.
She picked up the pen. Her hand was shaking so badly the tip rattled against the paper.
The first letter came out wrong. Too big.
_C_
A tear dropped onto the page. She tried to wipe it but just smeared the ink.
“L”
Another tear.
“A”
She was crying in full now. No hiding it. Her shoulders shook.
Margaret came and stood behind her chair. She didn’t touch her. She just stood there.
“R”
“A”
Clara gasped between sobs. “I hate this. I hate all of you.”
“I know,” Margaret whispered. “I hate it too.”
“B”
“R”
“O”
“O”
“K”
“S”
The last letter was barely legible through the tears. The ink bled where it hit the wet paper.
Clara dropped the pen. It rolled off the table and hit the floor.
“There,” she said, voice raw. “You got what you wanted.”
Victoria reached for the contract like it was something fragile. She didn’t look at the tear stains. “Thank you, Miss Brooks. This is very brave.”
“Don’t,” Clara said. “Don’t call me brave. Call me what I am.”
“Clara,” Daniel started.
She cut him off. “I’m going. I can’t be here anymore.”
She grabbed her bag and walked to the door. Her steps were unsteady.
“Clara, wait,” Margaret said.
Clara paused with her hand on the door handle. She didn’t turn around.
“You should’ve fought harder,” she said. Then she opened the door and ran.
She ran past secretaries. Past the elevator and took the stairs instead. 40 floors down.
By the time she got to her car in the garage, she was screaming. Into her hands. Into the steering wheel.
Inside the boardroom, the door closed behind her.
Richard picked up the contract. He looked at the smudged signature.
“It’s done,” he said.
Victoria nodded. “Good. Now we tell Leo.”
Margaret sank into the chair Clara had just left and put her face in her hands.
Daniel just stared at the door.
He’d just sold his daughter.
And the worst part was, he thought it was the right thing to do
- Writer
