With my father's face grinning back at me from the time before I was born, I fixated on the old family picture in my hands. The man next to him, however, sent a shudder down my spine. Vic Hawthorne. A name I hadn't heard in years, but one that apparently had more meaning than I would have ever thought.
"Mr. Blackwood?" Startled from my musings, my assistant's voice crackled across the intercom. "Mr. Hawthorne is here to see you."
I froze. Speak of the devil here he is. I answered, fast slipping the picture into my desk drawer. "Send him in."
The door opened and Victor Hawthorne entered. Though his hair was more salt than pepper and he was older now, his eyes still gleamed with the same cold clarity I knew from early meetings.
"Dylan," he answered, his voice like polished marble. "It's been far too long my child."
I stood holding out my hand. "Mr. Hawthorne. This is so..... unexpected." To what do I owe this visit? I asked, trying a smile.
He chuckled, shaking my hand with a grip that was a touch too strong. "I'm sure it was," he smiled. But when I learned about your father's will, well, I simply had to pay my respects."
My guard suddenly went up. How did he know about the will? That information wasn't public.
"Thank you," I murmured cautiously. "Though I'm surprised you'd come all this way just for that."
Victor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, your father and I go way back. We had quite a... collaboration in our younger days."
The way he uttered "partnership" made my skin crawl. I waved for him to take a seat, buying myself a moment to consider. I knew my father and Victor had been business adversaries, but there was certainly more to the story now.
"I wasn't aware you and my father were close," I queried, relaxing back into my chair.
Victor leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "Oh, we had our ups and downs. But that's ancient history today. I'm more interested in you, Dylan. And this amazing stipulation in your father's bequest."
My blood ran cold. "I'm not sure what you mean," I lied, trying to keep my voice calm.
He laughed, a sound devoid of any true mirth. "Come now, my boy. No need for pretension. The whole city's buzzing about it. Marry by thirty or lose it everything. Quite the dilemma you're in now."
I leaned closer, anger starting to simmer beneath my carefully controlled facade. "With all due respect, Mr. Hawthorne, my personal affairs are none of your concern."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong boy," he continued, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "You see, your father and I made a pact many years ago. A contract that directly influences your... condition now."
My thoughts raced. What kind of deal? And why was I only hearing about this now?
"I'm afraid I don't follow," I answered, struggling to keep my voice calm.
Victor reached into his jacket and brought out an envelope. "This might clear things up child," he added, slipping the envelope across my desk.
With dread, I opened it. Inside was a contract, dated nearly three decades ago. As I skimmed the document, my heart began to pound. It was an agreement between my father and Victor, outlining a merger of their enterprises. But the last clause made my blood run cold.
"In the event that Charles Blackwood's heir fails to marry by the age of thirty," I read aloud, my voice barely above a whisper, "control of Blackwood Industries will transfer to Victor Hawthorne or his descendants."
I looked up, struck with Victor's pleased sneer. "This can't be legal," I murmured, my thoughts reeling.
"Oh, but it is, my boy" Victor answered, leaning forward. "Your father may have established an empire, Dylan, but he developed enemies along the way. I was his fail-safe. And now, I'm come to collect it."
I stood abruptly, my chair scrapping against the floor. "Get out," I growled.
Victor rose gently, adjusting his jacket. "Think carefully about your next action, Dylan. You have more than simply your trust fund to lose now."
As he approached the door, he turned back. "Oh, and do extend my best respects to your gorgeous helper. Sarah, isn't it? It would be a tragedy if anything were to happen to her family's little business. Times are rough, after all."
The barely veiled threat hung in the air as he went, the door clicking shut behind him.
I collapsed back into my chair, my mind spinning as if the whole world want's to collapse on it. The marriage deadline was no longer simply about my fortune. The entire firm was at danger. And now, Victor had dragged my innocent staff into this mess.
I reached for my phone, preparing to call my lawyers, when a notice flashed up on my screen. An email from an unknown source. With shaky hands, I opened it.
The message had only four words, but they sent a shudder down my spine:
"The clock is ticking."
I froze when reading that. Attached to the message was a photo of me, presumably snapped earlier that day without my knowledge. I was standing outside my building, completely unaware I was being watched.
As the implications of Victor's visit and this mysterious threat sank in, a crash from my living room made me jump. Heart thumping, I got from my desk and proceeded slowly toward where the sound came from.
The sight that greeted me made my blood run cold. My window was shattered, glass strewn across the floor. And there, spray-painted on my wall in angry red letters, was a statement that made the whole room spin:
"MARRY OR BURN" Dylan Blackwood
I staggered backward, fumbling for my phone to summon the guards. But as I turned, a shadow came into my peripheral vision. Before I could react, something had connected with the back of my head.
The world went black.