Chapter 10 - CONRAD’S TABLE
Conrad Blackwood summoned his family to dinner when he wanted obedience disguised as tradition.
The table in his Fifth Avenue townhouse seated twenty-four, though that night only four places were set.
Conrad.
Vivian.
Julian.
And an empty chair.
Julian noticed it immediately.
“Who else is coming?”
Conrad lifted his wineglass.
“That depends on whether you force my hand.”
Vivian sat stiffly at the far end, pale beneath her makeup. She had said almost nothing since Julian arrived. That alone warned him.
His mother’s silence was not peace.
It was survival.
The dining room glowed with candlelight. Portraits of dead Blackwood men lined the walls, each one stern, wealthy, and satisfied. Julian had grown up beneath their painted eyes, learning that legacy was not inherited passively.
It was enforced.
Conrad gestured toward the chair.
“Sit.”
Julian remained standing.
“You destroyed Lydia Marsh’s records.”
Conrad smiled faintly.
“Did I?”
“Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Answer facts with fog.”
Vivian’s fork clicked softly against her plate.
Conrad set down his glass.
“You have had a difficult week. Public humiliation can make men emotional.”
“I found the photograph.”
For the first time, Conrad’s eyes sharpened.
“What photograph?”
“The first son.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
Conrad looked at her.
“You spoke to Elena.”
Vivian did not answer.
“After everything,” Conrad said softly, “you choose sentiment now?”
Vivian’s laugh was small and bitter.
“No, Conrad. I chose fear. Sentiment died in this house before Julian learned to walk.”
Julian stared at his mother.
He had never heard her speak to his father that way.
Conrad leaned back.
“Lydia Marsh was a mistake.”
“A woman is not a mistake,” Julian said.
“No. Sleeping with one beneath your station is a mistake. Letting her believe the child gave her leverage is another.”
Julian felt sick.
“What happened to her?”
“She left.”
“Did she?”
Conrad’s gaze did not move.
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
Vivian flinched.
There.
The answer was in his mother’s body.
Julian stepped toward the table.
“What did you do?”
Conrad’s voice hardened.
“I preserved this family.”
“You threatened Nora Bennett too.”
“I cleaned up after you.”
“I did not ask you to.”
“You never ask. You create messes, then enjoy the illusion that servants and lawyers are weather.”
Julian laughed once, sharp and humorless.
“That sounds like you describing yourself.”
Conrad rose.
“You were raised to inherit power, and you have spent your life confusing appetite with command. Elena understood that before you did. That is why I wanted her in this family.”
Julian went still.
“What?”
Conrad walked toward the sideboard and poured more wine.
“The Vale trust. The land holdings. The hospital boards. The philanthropic networks. Your marriage was good strategy.”
Julian’s throat tightened.
“I married Elena because I loved her.”
“You pursued her because I placed her in your path.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Vivian whispered, “Conrad.”
“No. Let him hear it. He wants truth now like a child wants a knife.”
Julian remembered the charity gala where he first met Elena. She had stood near a sculpture, refusing champagne, laughing with an old judge. Julian had noticed her because his father pointed her out.
Caroline Vale’s daughter. Worth knowing.
Worth knowing.
Not beautiful.
Not brilliant.
Strategic.
Julian gripped the back of a chair.
“You arranged it.”
“I introduced opportunity. You did what you always do. You decided desire made acquisition romantic.”
For a moment, Julian could not speak.
His entire love story shifted under him.
Had he loved Elena?
Yes.
Had he also been trained to see her as an expansion of the Blackwood empire?
Yes.
The two truths collided and neither survived intact.
Conrad returned to his seat.
“Elena leaving is inconvenient. Harrison’s name issue is embarrassing. The mistress is vulgar but manageable. Henry can be contained. Gabriel Marsh is irrelevant unless fools make him relevant.”
Julian looked up.
“So you know where Gabriel is.”
“Of course.”
“Does he know about you?”
Conrad smiled.
“He knows enough to stay away.”
The empty chair suddenly made sense.
Julian’s blood went cold.
“What did you do?”
The dining room doors opened.
A butler stepped in.
“Mr. Marsh has arrived.”
Vivian stood so fast her chair scraped the floor.
“No.”
Conrad looked pleased.
“Show him in.”
Julian turned toward the doors.
Gabriel Marsh entered without hesitation.
He was tall, dark-haired, dressed in a charcoal coat, no tie. He did not look like Julian exactly. His face was leaner, harder, shaped by work rather than privilege.
But the eyes.
The Blackwood eyes.
Gabriel looked first at Conrad.
Then Vivian.
Then Julian.
“Interesting,” he said. “The portraits are uglier in person.”
Conrad smiled.
“Gabriel.”
“Mr. Blackwood.”
“You accepted my invitation.”
“I accepted a chance to see which version of the devil had my mother’s name in his mouth.”
Julian stared at him.
Gabriel glanced over.
“You must be the legitimate disappointment.”
Despite everything, Julian almost laughed.
Conrad gestured toward the empty chair.
“Sit.”
“No.”
The same refusal.
The same instinct.
Julian saw Conrad notice too.
“I understand Elena Vale contacted you,” Conrad said.
Gabriel’s expression did not change.
“Elena Vale has more courage than anyone in this room.”
Julian looked away.
Conrad sipped wine.
“She is emotional.”
“No. She is strategic. That is why you’re nervous.”
Vivian whispered, “Gabriel, you should leave.”
He looked at her.
“You knew my mother.”
Vivian’s face crumpled for half a second before she rebuilt it.
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
Conrad said, “She abandoned you.”
Gabriel did not blink.
“My mother kept every letter I sent her in foster care, though she never received them. A woman who abandons her child does not leave behind a bank envelope full of baby photographs and a silver rattle hidden under floorboards.”
The dining room froze.
Conrad’s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
Gabriel smiled coldly.
“There it is.”
Julian turned to him.
“You have evidence?”
“I have enough to know she was afraid. Enough to know she planned to run. Enough to know someone stopped her.”
Conrad set the glass down.
“You have grief. It makes poor evidence.”
Gabriel stepped closer.
“And you have arrogance. It makes sloppy murderers.”
Vivian made a small sound.
Julian looked at his father.
Murderer.
The word entered the room and did not leave.
Conrad’s face went still.
“You should be careful.”
Gabriel leaned both hands on the table.
“My mother disappeared thirty-one years ago. I spent my childhood being told I was unwanted. Then I became a lawyer and learned unwanted people are often just inconvenient to powerful men.”
He straightened.
“I’m not inconvenient anymore.”
Conrad smiled.
“You think Elena will use you to hurt me?”
“No,” Gabriel said. “I think I’ll use myself.”
He turned to leave.
At the door, he stopped beside Julian.
“Elena says Harrison deserves better than this family.”
Julian looked at him.
“She’s right.”
Gabriel studied him for a moment.
“Then prove you are not just another Blackwood man apologizing after the damage becomes public.”
He left.
The doors closed.
Conrad looked at Julian.
“You will stay away from him.”
Julian stood.
“No.”
Vivian whispered his name.
Conrad’s voice dropped.
“You are my son.”
Julian looked at the portraits on the wall, at the men who had inherited and consumed and called it legacy.
Then he looked at his father.
“That used to be enough to frighten me.”
Conrad’s expression darkened.
“And now?”
Julian picked up his coat.
“Now it embarrasses me.”
He walked out before his father could answer.
Outside, snow had begun to fall over Fifth Avenue.
Julian stood beneath the awning and saw Gabriel waiting near the curb.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Then Gabriel said, “You look like hell.”
Julian laughed once.
“I probably deserve worse.”
“You do.”
A black car pulled up.
Gabriel opened the door, then paused.
“Elena is meeting me tomorrow. If you warn Conrad, I’ll know.”
“I won’t.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Julian looked back at the glowing windows of the townhouse.
“Because I think my father may have killed your mother.”
Gabriel’s face hardened.
“And?”
May you like
Julian met his eyes.
“And I want to help you prove it.”
