Chapter 10 - Confronting the Master
Alexander Blackwood sat behind an enormous walnut desk strewn with financial spreadsheets, maritime shipping manifests, and half-empty glasses. The dark circles under his eyes were deep, carved by twenty-four months of sleepless agony.
He looked up, frowning when he saw Emily holding Mason’s breakfast tray.
“What is this?” Alexander asked, his voice rough. “Where is Evelyn?”
Emily set the tray down on the corner of his desk. She didn't hesitate. She didn't bow her head.
“Mrs. Evelyn is downstairs preparing for Doctor Thorne’s visit,” Emily said clearly. “And I am here to tell you that your son is being systematically poisoned under your own roof.”
Alexander stood up so fast his leather chair slammed back against the bookshelf. His imposing frame towered over her, his jaw clenching with dangerous fury.
“Watch your tongue,” Alexander growled, his voice vibrating with authority. “You have been in this house for two weeks. Evelyn has served my family for thirty years. Clara loved her like a mother. If you think you can slander my staff and create drama to elevate your position—”
“Look at this!” Emily interrupted, pulling the glass vial of dark orange liquid from her uniform and slamming it onto the desk between them.
Alexander blinked, momentarily stunned by her defiance. “What is that?”
“This is the orange juice Mrs. Evelyn just prepared for Mason,” Emily said, her voice shaking with passion. “She put twelve drops from an unmarked amber bottle into it. She told the kitchen maid that Doctor Thorne is coming at noon to conduct a 'final evaluation' to have Mason committed to a psychiatric facility.”
“Mason has severe trauma!” Alexander roared, slamming his palm onto the desk. “He attacked you yesterday with a bronze sculpture! He screams until he vomits! The doctors told me his brain is deteriorating from grief! Do you think I *want* to send my four-year-old son away? Do you think I want to wake up every morning wishing I was in that car with Clara instead of him?”
The raw, bleeding vulnerability in Alexander’s voice caught Emily off guard. The billionaire wasn't an evil man; he was a blinded, shattered man who had outsourced his son’s care to a monster because looking at Mason reminded him too painfully of the wife he couldn't save.
Emily stepped closer, refusing to flinch from his wrath.
“Mr. Blackwood, look at me,” Emily said softly, her eyes blazing with absolute certainty. “Mason attacked me yesterday because he was terrified. But when I knelt down, when I showed him I wouldn't hurt him, what did he do? He hugged me. And what was the word he said to you?”
Alexander went dead silent. His breathing turned ragged.
“He said *'Door,'*” Emily whispered. “Why would a mute boy’s very first word in two years be *'Door'*, Mr. Blackwood? Have you ever asked yourself what door he is talking about?”
Alexander stared at her, the mask of cold arrogance completely cracking. “What... what are you saying?”
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👉 “I’m saying you need to come with me to Mason’s nursery right now,” Emily said, “and see what your wife hid behind the mirror before she supposedly died.”
***
