Chapter 6 - HARRISON’S VISIT
The supervised visitation center sat between a dental office and a tax preparation service in a brick building Julian would have ignored on any other day.
Now it was where he had to ask permission to see his son.
A woman named Denise greeted him with a clipboard.
“Mr. Blackwood?”
He adjusted his cufflinks.
“Yes.”
“You’re ten minutes early.”
“I assumed that was acceptable.”
“It is. You’ll wait in Room B until Harrison arrives.”
“Harrison is my son.”
Denise looked up.
“I know who he is.”
Julian followed her down a hallway decorated with finger paintings and paper snowflakes. Room B contained a small sofa, a low table, wooden blocks, toy cars, and a camera in the corner.
Julian looked at it.
Denise noticed.
“All visits are observed.”
“Of course.”
He sat on the sofa and checked his watch.
He had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions with less anxiety than he felt waiting for a toddler.
At 10:03, the door opened.
Harrison stepped in holding Elena’s hand.
Julian stood too quickly.
Harry.
The word rose in his throat and almost broke there.
His son wore a green sweater, small boots, and a serious expression. His hair curled at the ears like Elena’s. In his hand was the new stuffed elephant.
Julian noticed immediately.
“That’s not Mr. Blue,” he said.
Harrison pressed the elephant to his chest.
“This is Theo.”
Julian smiled, too wide.
“Theo. Good name.”
Harrison did not run to him.
He did not shout Dada.
He stood beside Elena and looked at Julian as if deciding whether he belonged in the room.
Elena knelt.
“I’ll be right outside, okay?”
Harrison gripped her sleeve.
“You stay?”
“Miss Denise will stay. I’ll be close.”
His lower lip trembled.
Julian felt irritation flicker.
What had Elena told him?
Had she made him afraid?
Had she turned a two-year-old into a witness?
“Harrison,” Julian said gently, lowering himself to one knee. “Come here, buddy.”
Harrison looked at Elena.
She kissed his forehead.
“You can play. I’ll be right outside.”
Then she left.
The door clicked shut.
Harrison stared at it.
Julian remained kneeling, arms open.
After a long moment, Harrison walked not to him, but to the blocks.
Julian lowered his arms.
Denise sat in the corner with her clipboard.
For twenty minutes, Julian tried everything.
Cars.
Blocks.
The dinosaur voice Harrison used to love.
He stacked towers and knocked them down. He made a red car race across the carpet. He asked about Christmas.
Harrison answered in single words.
Yes.
No.
Theo.
Mommy.
The name Mommy became a wall.
Finally, Julian sat back.
“Did Mommy tell you not to talk to me?”
Denise looked up.
Harrison blinked.
“Mommy says use gentle hands.”
Julian forced a smile.
“That’s good.”
“And no yelling.”
“I don’t yell.”
Harrison looked at him with the unbearable honesty of a child.
“You yell at Mommy.”
Julian’s chest tightened.
“I don’t mean to.”
“Mommy gets quiet.”
Denise wrote something down.
Julian saw the pen move and anger rose again.
“Is everything I say being documented?”
Denise said, “Yes.”
He turned back to Harrison, lowering his voice.
“I’m sorry if I scared you.”
Harrison placed a yellow block on top of a blue one.
“Daddy gone Christmas.”
Julian’s throat closed.
“I had to work.”
Harrison shook his head.
“Shiny lady.”
The room went colder.
Julian looked at the camera.
Then at Denise.
Then back at his son.
“Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes.”
Harrison considered that.
“Mommy cried in laundry room.”
Julian closed his eyes.
He remembered Christmas Eve two years ago, Elena rocking newborn Harrison beneath the tree.
He remembered promising he would never make her feel alone.
He remembered meaning it.
That was the cruelest thing.
Julian had not always been lying.
At the beginning, he loved her with the hungry focus he gave everything he wanted. Elena had been different from the women who chased his last name. She corrected him. Refused him. Laughed when he tried to impress her.
Winning her had felt like becoming better.
Then marriage turned love into possession.
A child turned Elena’s attention away from him.
And Julian, who had been worshiped by rooms since boyhood, resented a baby for needing his mother more than she needed her husband.
He hated himself for knowing that.
The visit ended after one hour.
Denise gave a five-minute warning.
Julian panicked.
Not visibly. Blackwoods did not panic visibly.
But inside, something grabbed at him.
“Harrison,” he said, “Daddy loves you.”
Harrison held Theo.
“Okay.”
Julian reached out.
“Can I have a hug?”
Harrison looked toward the door.
Denise said softly, “He can choose.”
Julian hated her for that.
Harrison stepped forward after a moment and gave him a quick, stiff hug.
It lasted less than two seconds.
Then he pulled away and ran to the door.
Elena entered.
Harrison threw himself into her arms.
Julian stood.
Elena lifted their son and settled him against her hip with practiced ease.
For one reckless second, Julian saw the life he had lost.
Not the estate.
Not the name.
This.
A child’s head on Elena’s shoulder.
A wife who once looked at him as if he were home.
“Elena,” he said.
She did not answer.
“Please.”
That made her stop.
Because Julian Blackwood rarely said please.
Harrison buried his face in her neck.
Elena looked at him across the small room.
“What?”
“I want to talk.”
“You can speak through counsel.”
“Not as a legal strategy. As your husband.”
“My husband spent Christmas in another woman’s bed.”
Denise became very interested in her clipboard.
Julian’s face burned.
“I made mistakes.”
“No,” Elena said. “You made choices. Harrison and I lived inside the consequences.”
He stepped closer.
“I can fix this.”
For a moment, something flashed in her eyes.
Pain.
Old and deep.
“You still think fixing means getting back what you lost.”
“What else would it mean?”
Elena shifted Harrison higher on her hip.
“It would mean understanding why we were never yours to lose.”
She left.
Julian stood in the room after the door closed.
On the carpet, Harrison had left behind one wooden block.
Black.
Square.
Alone.
Julian picked it up and held it like evidence.
That afternoon, he returned to Blackwood Tower and found Isabel Crane waiting in his office.
She wore a black coat, red lipstick, and the expression of a woman who had already cried and decided never to do it in front of him again.
“We need to talk,” she said.
Julian closed the door.
“Not today.”
“Yes,” Isabel said. “Today.”
He tossed his coat over a chair.
“If this is about the articles—”
“It’s about Henry.”
Julian froze.
Isabel smiled without warmth.
“There he is,” she said. “The real Julian. Not sorry. Not ashamed. Just calculating which lie costs the least.”
“Be careful.”
“No. You be careful.”
She placed a flash drive on his desk.
“What is that?”
“Insurance.”
His voice dropped.
“Isabel.”
“You told me I mattered,” she said. “You told me I was different. But I was just another room you thought you could lock.”
Julian looked at the flash drive.
“What did you do?”
“I gave Elena everything.”
The office windows reflected him back at himself.
Expensive suit.
Perfect hair.
A man losing control one woman at a time.
Isabel turned to leave.
At the door, she paused.
“Oh, and Julian?”
He did not respond.
She looked back.
“Your father called me this morning. He offered me money to say I pursued you.”
Julian’s blood went cold.
“What did you tell him?”
Isabel smiled.
“I told him Blackwood men really do share one disease.”
Then she walked out.
Julian opened his laptop with shaking hands.
One new email waited from Conrad.
Subject: Containment.
May you like
Inside were four words.
Bring me the girl.
