The lawyer cleared his throat, the scrape of sound cutting through the silence like a knife.
“To Evelyn Hawthorne Blackwell,”he began. Each word was clipped. Careful. Cold. “I leave the Calloway Estate in Oregon, along with its vineyards.”
Evelyn didn’t flinch, but Gideon caught it. A slight tension in herjaw. Barely there, but telling. She’d dismissed Calloway as insignificant more than once. Now it landed like a veiled insult. A thorn dressed as a rose.
“To Alexander Blackwell,Hawthorne Lodge in Wyoming, and its surrounding acreage. May its quiet offer space for reflection.”
Alex’s smirk slipped, his contempt barely masked. A remote lodge wasn’t the crown he expected. Evelyn’s glance toward him carried decades of unspoken disappointment.
“To Catherine Blackwell,”the lawyer continued, “the art collection housed at the estate, along with its archive. You’ve shown appreciation for its value, not as capital, but as legacy.”
Cate dipped her head in acknowledgment, but her grip tightened on Alex’s hand. Her polish cracked, if only for a second.
The room constricted with silence as the lawyer turned the page.
“To Sebastian Hawthorne,I leave Hawthorne House in Newport.”
A ripple moved through the room. It wasn’t wealth; it was memory. A symbol of a friendship between Richard Blackwell II and Henry Hawthorne, long since frayed.
Sebastian arched a brow. “A challenge from beyond the grave,” he murmured, all charm and venom. “How fitting.”
Evelyn’s voice cut sharply. “It’s a relic. A liability.”
The lawyer didn’t flinch. “To Henry, it represented loyalty. Community. A vision this family once aspired to, before it was lost.”
Sebastian glanced toward Gideon. “Loyalty. Legacy. Lofty ideals for a room full of wolves.”
Then came the pause.
The shift.
“To Gideon Blackwell,” the lawyer announced, and the air in the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the name itself disrupted the balance.
“I leave my shares in The Blackwell Room, an establishment co-founded with Richard Blackwell II. A space meant not for power, but for artistry, integrity, and sanctuary.”
Gideon’s fingers curled against the carved armrest. He didn’t blink.
The lawyer unfolded a letter. “And a personal note,” he said, his voice quieter now. “‘You are your grandfather’s grandson, Richard and I dreamed of alegacy built on principle. That dream was lost, but I believe you can restore it. I entrust you with my share of The Blackwell Room.’”
Another pause.
“Additionally, I leave my controlling shares in Hawthorne Holdings to Gideon Blackwell. Combined with Richard Blackwell II’s legacy, Gideon now holds full ownership of The Blackwell Room.”
The silence cracked open.
Evelyn’s composure cracked enough to see the fury underneath.
Alex looked stunned, his mouth hardening. Even Sebastian’s smile faltered before it returned, colder than before.
Sebastian lifted his glass. “Well,” he said, mock-toasting, “the golden child emerges.”
Gideon rose, slow and certain, his gaze cutting across the room.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.
Each step toward the door echoed like a verdict.
Henry’s final words followed him out like prophecy:Forge your own path. Don’t let this family’s darkness consume you.
