Chapter 10 - THE NEW KINGMAKERThree weeks later, the headlines dominated every major news network across the country.
BLACKWOOD EMPIRE COLLAPSES: FEDERAL CORRUPTION SCANDAL BRINGS DOWN SECURITY DIRECTOR AND CRIME SYNDICATE.
The old guard was gone. Whitaker was rotting in a maximum-security federal penitentiary awaiting trial, Marcus Vance was in an ICU under armed guard, and the Blackwood estate was reduced to a blackened skeleton of stone and ash.
Yet, against all odds, Ethan Blackwood walked out of federal court a free man, all charges dropped due to lack of sustainable evidence and cooperation with federal prosecutors.
And standing beside him, wearing a crisp black suit that actually fit, was me.
We stood on the steps of the federal courthouse as a swarm of reporters shoved microphones and cameras toward us, shouting questions over one another.
"Mr. Blackwood! Is the family syndicate finished?"
"Agent Whitaker! Is it true you single-handedly uncovered the biggest corruption scandal in the agency's history?"
Ethan held up a single hand, silencing the mob of journalists instantly. He looked tired, but for the first time in his life, he looked like a man who owned his own future rather than his family's past.
"The Blackwood name is no longer in the shadows," Ethan announced clearly, looking straight into the camera lenses. "We are liquidating our remaining assets to fund civilian security foundations and victim advocacy programs. And as for my personal protection..."
He turned his head and looked directly at me. A faint, genuine smile touched his lips.
"I’ve decided to keep the best guard in the country by my side permanently. Chief of Security."
The reporters gasped, flashbulbs exploding like lightning in broad daylight.
Later that evening, sitting in a quiet, high-rise office overlooking the city skyline, Grant Blackwood slid a sleek, black leather folder across the mahogany desk toward me.
I opened it. Inside wasn't a threat note or a photograph of a target. It was a formal, open-ended contract for the newly formed Blackwood Global Security Corporation—with my name written across the top as Managing Director.
"You proved me wrong, girl," Grant said, pouring two glasses of amber whiskey and sliding one across the desk to me. "You aren't built for a desk job."
May you like
I took a sip of the whiskey, looking out over the sparkling lights of the city where no one would ever dare throw a trash can at me again.
"No, Mr. Blackwood," I smiled, raising my glass to meet his. "I was built to run the whole board."
