June 13, 2020 · 6:03 PM
Black & Co. — Executive Conference Room, Midtown Manhattan
—
The walls gleam, the table stretches like a runway, and the city sprawls beyond the windows in a haze of late-morning light. Everything about the room screams permanence, legacy, intimidation.
Sebastian sits at the head of the table, jacket unbuttoned, posture deliberately loose, eyes fixed on the skyline instead of the stack of reports in front of him. His reflection stares back faintly in the glass: sharp jaw, dark eyes, the faintest shadow of stubble. He looks exactly like his father, and the familiar, cold thought makes his stomach clench.
Jonathan Keller clears his throat, a sound heavy with professional patience. He's a Black man in his mid-fifties, skin deep umber against the sharp blaze of his suit, tailored like a warning label, all hazard and precision pinstripes. He speaks for ten minutes, outlining a merger strategy that folds Blackwell Enterprises into Black & Co. The plan is airtight, the numbers gleam, the synergies are obvious.
Sebastian does not hear a word.
The presentation slides blur into a meaningless wash of color. He tries to force his attention back to the quarterly reports, but his concentration is completely derailed. It's the woman in the pink skirt. Always the woman in the pink skirt.
He replays the scene from this afternoon: the sudden screech of tires, the dull thud of his fender tapping the other car's bumper, and then the slow, furious turn of the other driver.
Why is she thinking about her right now? It's ridiculous. He's supposed to be finalizing this merger strategy. Yet, all he can focus on is the heat of their argument. The way her voice had deepened with annoyance, and the way she pointed accusingly at the damage.
The woman was utterly insufferable. Arrogant, loud, and totally unreasonable about the insurance details. Sebastian's blood still boils just thinking about the confrontation.
But then, the memory shifts. He recalls the startling, almost painful beauty of her. The sharp angles of her face, the dark, intense eyes that had locked onto his own. She was, quite possibly, the most gorgeous creature he has ever met. The realization is a bitter, confusing pill to swallow.
Sebastian runs a hand over his face, frustrated by the sheer power of this distracting, unwelcome presence in his mind.
"Sebastian," Jonathan says finally, nudging him with a look that is half stern, half paternal. He taps the table once. "Are you with me?"
Sebastian blinks, drags his gaze from the hypnotic vastness of the skyline, and exhales through his nose. He leans an elbow on the leather armrest. "Not really."
"This is important. The merger would—"
"I am not merging Black & Co. With Blackwell Enterprises," Sebastian cuts in, his voice flat, devoid of negotiation. "There's already one merger underway,"
Jonathan stills, his posture straightening instantly. "Then what are you saying?"
Sebastian leans back, the chair creaks sharply under his weight, the sound aggressive in the quiet room. "I am liquidating Blackwell."
The words hang in the air like a gunshot. Silence follows, heavy and stunned. Jonathan's face tightens, a slow, angry color rises in his cheeks.
"Liquidating? Sebastian, that is—" Jonathan grips the edge of the table, breathing deeply to pull back his temper. "That is madness. This company is worth billions. Your father built it from the ground up. You cannot just erase his life's work—"
"I can," Sebastian interrupts, his tone sharp as glass. He meets Jonathan's wounded gaze head-on. "And I will."
Jonathan stares, the betrayal clear in his eyes. For seventeen years, he's been the closest thing Sebastian has had to a father figure, a fact that stings them both. He watched Sebastian fail, claw his way into the market, and turn grit into profit. Hearing Sebastian dismiss the Richard Blackwell empire feels like a personal wound.
"You should take some time," Jonathan says carefully, his voice lowered. "Think about this. Do not make a decision you will regret."
Sebastian's laugh is humorless, a quick puff of air. He raps his knuckles lightly on the table. "I have been thinking about it for a year. Ever since the old man died and left me every dime, every property, every share. I never wanted this company. Never wanted his shadow hanging over me. That is why I built my own."
He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a thick folder, dropping it onto the polished wood with a resounding thud. The sound echoes, pulling focus. "This is what I want."
Jonathan eyes the folder warily, his hand resting beside it but not touching. "What is it?"
Sebastian flips it open, revealing charts, proposals, architectural renderings that are vivid with color and life. "The Blackwell Foundation."
Jonathan leans forward, interest momentarily overriding his shock. "A foundation?"
Sebastian nods, his shoulders finally relaxing. "Charities. Drives. Clinics. Domestic and international. I have already started renovating the twentieth floor. You know the construction is well underway."
Jonathan blinks, his frown dissolving into genuine confusion. "That is what it is for?"
"Yes." Sebastian's voice is steady, his energy shifts, his eyes sharp now, alive in a way they were not minutes ago. He pushes off the chair and steps to the edge of the table. "That floor needed some TLC, but I thought about it. It is a big floor. Big enough to house something that matters."
He begins to outline the plan, his tone shifting into the rapid, commanding cadence of a man who lives for strategy. "The Blackwell Foundation focuses on LGBTQ communities. Real outreach. Real care. I am tired of watching trans men and women denied proper gender-affirming treatment. I am tired of seeing kids thrown out of their homes with nowhere to go. So we build clinics. We fund schools. We create jobs. We hire the best, and I'm people who are not homophobic, who are not transphobic. People who actually give a damn."
Jonathan listens, his expression softening with reluctant admiration. Sebastian's passion fills the room now, his vision undeniable.
"This will burnish the Black & Co. name and, yes, be strategically lucrative," Sebastian continues, sweeping a hand out, "but that is not the point. The point is impact. The point is giving people what I had. The freedom to not give a shit what anyone thinks. Not everyone has that. And even the ones who do still need a hand sometimes."
"It is ambitious. Risky. You will face backlash. Investors may walk."
Sebastian's eyes flash, his lips pull back in a sneer. "I do not give an everlasting fuck who walks. If someone wants to stop doing business with me because I am an ally of my own community, then they can take their money and choke on it."
Jonathan exhales slowly, studying him, a strange mix of emotions crossing his face. "Sebastian... is this you coming out to me?"
Sebastian frowns, irritation flickering across his face. He jams his hands into his pockets. "I do not give a shit about that coming out crap when it comes to me. I like what I like. That is not the point. The point is, not everyone has what I have. Not everyone can shrug it off. And those who cannot deserve better."
The room is quiet again, but this time the silence hums with something different. Respect. Awe.
Jonathan leans back, shaking his head slowly, a reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. "It is impressive. It is bold. It is... you. But it is a big step."
Sebastian smiles faintly, the kind of smile that never quite reaches his eyes. "Big steps are the only ones worth taking."
He closes the folder and pushes it toward them. "Roll the plan together. Get me whatever I need. And have fun with it."
Then he rises, buttoning his jacket with a snap, already halfway to the door.
Jonathan watches him go, pride and worry etched into his features. For all his gruffness, for all his walls, Sebastian Black is still the boy who grew up without a father, still the man who built an empire just to prove he did not need one. And now, he is about to burn down another empire to build something entirely new.
The door to the conference room swings shut behind Sebastian. Jonathan joins him instantly, lengthening his stride to catch up.
"You know," Jonathan says, voice low but edged with concern, "liquidating a multi-billion-dollar company is not exactly like selling a used car. It is a big undertaking. And even after you fund this foundation of yours, you are still going to be sitting on billions. What happens to all that?"
Sebastian does not slow. He adjusts his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. "Some of it goes to charities. Maybe I take a little piece for myself. Or maybe Richard's fucking grandkids, if I ever have any kids, can enjoy it."
The words are tossed out carelessly, but a flicker of pain crosses his eyes. He falls silent for a beat, his jaw tightens. "Actually..." He exhales, his voice drops. "Tell me if this is too much. Caleb's medical bills. Callie has been drowning trying to care for those boys on her own. I step in when I can, but they aren't mine. They belong to the state. And the state is not exactly the best place for kids like Cairo and Caleb."
Jonathan studies him, the hard edges of Sebastian's voice betraying something softer underneath. "Sebastian, you have the money. More importantly, you have the love for those two boys. If you want to cover Caleb's bills, do it. Do not overthink it."
Sebastian's mouth twists, he looks down at his polished shoe. "It's still not my place."
Jonathan chuckles, shaking his head. "Maybe you do not need to worry about heirs to the Black empire. You are already their default father."
Sebastian stops walking, turns sharply, his face tight with sudden anger. "Do not joke like that. I cannot be their father."
Jonathan arches a brow, the easygoing smile vanishing. "Why not?"
"Because they deserve better than some rich asshole who is probably doing all this for vanity. Not love. Not real affection." His voice is rough, almost bitter, and he looks away quickly.
Jonathan sighs, softer now, his hand rising to rest on Sebastian's shoulder briefly. "Sebastian, the fact that you are questioning yourself proves you are not doing it for vanity. You are doing it because you care. That is who you are, whether you want to admit it or not."
Sebastian looks away completely, jaw tight, struggling to accept the praise.
Jonathan presses gently. "Think about your father's legacy. He may not have been the best father, but he loved you. He expected you to carry it on."
Sebastian lets out a sharp, dismissive laugh. He shakes his head. "Richard Black is fucking lucky I am not throwing all his money into charities like Oprah and those damn cars. 'You get a check, you get a house.'" He waves a hand dismissively.
Jonathan chuckles despite himself. "You know what? You might be right. But still, think about the path you are taking."
"My mind's made up," Sebastian says, his voice final and unyielding. "I just need the right person to run this. Someone who can speak the language, handle the numbers, and actually give a damn."
Jonathan nods, resigned. He pulls his hand from his pocket. "Fine. But I have to go. Ms. Murphy is waiting for the check and the papers. And brace yourself because the next few weeks are going to be rocky. One of the proposed buildings in Georgia just got flagged for rebuilding."
Sebastian's brow lifts. He stops again, interest piqued. "Send me the files on that. I hear Murphy had one dangerous negotiator who made it all happen."
Jonathan laughs, shaking his head in admiration. "Yes. That young woman was flipping pizzas and planning how to franchise her boss's place instead of running her own damn company. She is fucking brilliant."
Sebastian's interest sharpens. He turns to face Jonathan fully. "Tell me more."
Jonathan grins. "She walked into the meeting with a plan so airtight even our lawyers cannot poke holes in it. She laid out projections, market analysis, even a five-year roadmap for scaling. Black & Co. could not refuse. That deal alone makes you richer. Or, rather, an even richer, more smug asshole."
Sebastian smirks faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Hmm. Send me those files. I wanna see what this young woman has to offer. I missed the proceedings."
"I will send them," Jonathan says, already pulling out his phone. "You will like her. She is sharp. Hungry. Reminds me of someone I knew seventeen years ago."
Sebastian does not answer, but his hand unconsciously adjusts his tie.
Jonathan claps him lightly on the shoulder. "Alright. I am off. Try not to burn down the empire before lunch."
Sebastian grunts, already turning toward his office. Jonathan disappears down the hall.
Sebastian's phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, glances at the screen: Kellie Cardin.
He answers, voice clipped. "Kellie."
Her voice purrs through the line, direct as ever. "Spare me the pleasantries, Black. Are you free tonight to fuck?"
Sebastian exhales, a humorless smile tugs at his mouth. He leans his head back against the wall. "Straight to the point, as always."
"Always," she replies. "So?"
Sebastian pushes off the wall, walking slowly now, eyes narrowing at the skyline beyond the glass. "Depends. Are you offering dinner, or just dessert?"
Kellie laughs, low and throaty. "You do not need dinner. You need me."
Sebastian's smile fades into something darker, more thoughtful. "We will see." He ends the call without another word, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
He stands there for a moment in the quiet hallway, his jaw working. The weight of his father's empire presses down on him, the thought of two little boys tugging at his conscience, and the echo of Kellie's voice lingers like smoke.
Then he pushes off the wall and strides toward his office, already plotting the next move.
—