"The terms remain as discussed," I said finally. "He can accept them or face the alternatives." A discreet knock preceded Marcus's entrance. "The board members are returning to the conference room, Mrs.
Blackwood, and" he hesitated, uncharacteristically uncertain. "And?" I prompted. "Oliver's asking to speak with you privately before the session resumes."
I exchanged glances with Jonathan, whose expression remained carefully neutral. "Professional advice?" I asked. "As your attorney, I'd advise against any conversation without witnesses," he replied.
"As Richard's friend of 40 years," he sighed, "some matters transcend legal caution." I nodded. "10 minutes. Here, not his office, and you'll interrupt if we're not finished when the board is ready."
Marcus left to relay my terms while Jonathan gathered his materials. "Are you certain about this, Amelia?" "No," I admitted.
"But it may be our last opportunity for honesty before positions harden beyond reconciliation."
After Jonathan departed, I remained at the window, watching the city rather than the door. When it finally opened, I sensed rather than saw Oliver's entrance, a shift in the air, the subtle scent of the cologne Richard had given him last Christmas. "Mother." His voice held none of the arrogance from earlier.
"Thank you for agreeing to see me." I turned to face my son, struck by how weary he appeared. The polished corporate facade had crumbled, revealing the strain beneath. For a moment, I glimpsed the boy who had once come to me with scraped knees and broken toys, seeking comfort and repair.
"10 minutes isn't long to explain years of deception," I observed, neither accusation nor forgiveness in my tone. Oliver moved to the opposite side of the room, maintaining distance between us. "I'm not here to justify what I did.
The evidence is comprehensive." "Then why are you here?" He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so like Richard's that my heart contracted painfully. "To understand what happens next.
The board is reviewing documentation that could send me to prison. My career, my reputation." He faltered. "Everything I've built is hanging by a thread.
Everything we built," I corrected gently. "This company wasn't your creation alone, Oliver. It was your father's life's work.