"Actually," Mitch said, "Harrison mentioned he'd done this with several Virginia Beach charities, and he has a preferred vendor in Norfolk he works with. His son, Harry, takes care of the ordering and delivery so we don't have to worry about it."
"That's perfect," sighed another member, whose wife recently had twins and probably needed fewer responsibilities. "One less thing on our plates."
Terry's attention sharpened. It was convenient that Blackwood wanted to handle the procurement himself.Probably just efficient business practice.
Ginny McFarlane, the program treasurer, pulled out her notebook. "I'll need to see the invoice from the company once everything's purchased. That way I can provide Mr. Blackwood with a proper receipt for tax purposes."
"Makes sense," Mitch agreed. "Harrison said his contact would coordinate everything and send the paperwork directly to you, Ginny."
Terry listened to the conversation with growing interest. It could be simple generosity, but it also provided remarkable control over how the money was actually spent. Pushing it from his mind, he had more important things to worry about.
Later that evening, Terry walked through his front door to find Toby sprawled on the living room floor, ostensibly doing homework but actually building an elaborate fort out of couch cushions.
"Dad!" Toby scrambled to his feet, homework forgotten. "Emma said you went to a meeting about baseball tonight. Is it true we might get new uniforms?"
Terry couldn't help but grin at his son's enthusiasm. "It's true, buddy. A local businessman donated money for new uniforms and equipment for all the American Legion teams."
"New everything?" Toby's eyes went wide.
"Everything," Terry confirmed, laughing. "New uniforms, new equipment, the works."
Toby let out a whoop and began bouncing around the living room. "This is the best day ever! Wait until I tell Jimmy! Can we get pinstripes? I've always wanted pinstripes like the Yankees."
"I think that'll be up to whoever orders the uniforms," Terry said, remembering Blackwood's insistence on handling the procurement. "But I'm sure they'll look great."
As Toby continued his celebration dance, Terry found himself thinking about Harrison Blackwood's smooth presentation and the way he'd effortlessly charmed a room full of skeptical adults. The man certainly made a lot of kids happy tonight, and Terry couldn't fault him for that.
In his experience, when someone worked that hard to be liked, they usually wanted something in return. The questionwas what Harrison Blackwood wanted from a small Eastern Shore community, and why he was willing to spend serious money to get it.
11
BLACKWOOD LUXURY CUSTOM HOMES, VIRGINIA BEACH
Harrison Blackwood didn't look up from the architectural blueprints spread across his mahogany desk when his secretary's voice crackled through the intercom. The corner office of Blackwood Luxury Custom Homes commanded an impressive view of the Chesapeake Bay from the Virginia Beach side, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the kind of waterfront vista that justified the company's premium pricing.
"Mr. Blackwood? Harry's here to see you."
"Send him in," Harrison replied, his tone neutral as he made a final notation on the blueprints for the Martinique estate. Twelve thousand square feet of custom luxury on three waterfront acres. The kind of project that built reputations and bank accounts in equal measure.
Harry entered with a cautious air. At twenty-eight, he possessed Harrison's height and thick dark hair, but something about his bearing lacked the commanding presence that had made Harrison successful. Maybe it was the way Harry's eyes never quite held steady contact, or how his shoulders carried a subtle tension that suggested he was perpetually braced for criticism.
"You wanted to see me, Dad?" Harry asked, settling into one of the burgundy leather chairs across from Harrison's desk.
Harrison finally looked up, his steel-gray eyes conducting the same assessment he applied to potential business partners or problematic contractors. Harry shifted under the scrutiny, another tell that reminded Harrison why his son would never possess the instincts necessary for truly high-stakes negotiations.
"I have some new charitable contributions that need processing," Harrison said, sliding a cream-colored piece of company letterhead across the polished desktop. "The Baytown American Legion donation for uniforms and equipment. Also, the amount pledged for the new roof at the Easton Catholic Church."
Harry glanced at the figures and nodded. Fifteen thousand for the baseball program, thirty thousand for the church roof. "Do you want me to coordinate the orders through the usual channels?"
"Yes. Norfolk contacts for the sports equipment, and Richmond for the roofing materials." Harrison made a precise note on his desk calendar, his handwriting reflecting the same controlled efficiency he brought to every aspect of his business. "Make sure the invoices go directly to our accounting department, not to the recipients."
"Of course." Harry folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket. "Anything else?"
Harrison leaned back in his executive chair, studying his son with the calculating look that had served him well in thirty years of business dealings. Something in Harry's demeanor felt off. Not nervous exactly, but carrying an undercurrent of energy that Harrison couldn't quite place.
"What are your plans this weekend? Your mother mentioned wanting you to join us at the country club on Sunday."
"That works fine," Harry said. "I have dinner with friends, golf tomorrow morning, and things to do with a friend tomorrow evening. But I'll be free Sunday afternoon."
