Page 172 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy

But Dad just nods slowly, looking thoughtful rather than angry.

“Good,” he says quietly. “Like I told Christopher, he’s proven he’s not his father. Took me nearly dying to finally let go of that old bitterness, but he’s shown his character these past weeks.” He sighs, looking out the window briefly before turning back. “He’s honorable, in his own way. More importantly, he looks out for you. And he clearly respects what you’re doing with the company. That counts for a lot.” He offers a faint, tired smile. “Maybe a Blackwell and aHammond can actually build something together after all. About damn time.”

Wow. There it is. I needed to hear it for myself. My father’s blessing.

And somehow, hearing those words, feeling that decades-old animosity finally dissolve… it feels like another heavy weight lifting off my shoulders.

Back at Hammond & Co. headquarters, armed with Dad’s blessing and a renewed sense of purpose, I dive into implementing the changes Christopher and I had started outlining. Reorganizing teams, streamlining workflows, cutting dead wood Dad had been too sentimental to prune.

It feels good. Decisive. Like finally taking the wheel and steering towards a clear destination, instead of just reacting to crises.

Then comes the main event. The board meeting. My first official meeting since the announcement of Mark Blackwell’s retirement and the withdrawal of his takeover bid.

My primary agenda item? Operation: Annihilate the Weasel.

The atmosphere in the boardroom is tense but different from before. There’s a cautious respect in the eyes of the remaining members. They saw me handle the takeover threat, saw me confirmed in the role. Now, they’re waiting to see what I do next.

Morgan Weiss sits at the far end, looking pale but attempting his usual smug arrogance.

Enjoy it while it lasts, buddy.

“Gentlemen,” I begin, my voice calm and clear. “Today’s meeting concerns the conduct of board member Morgan Weiss.”

Morgan’s head snaps up, his eyesnarrowing.

“We have recently obtained irrefutable evidence,” I continue, my gaze sweeping the table, “demonstrating a pattern of deliberate sabotage, breach of fiduciary duty, and collusion with external parties acting against the interests of Hammond & Co.” I gesture to my legal counsel, who discreetly places a secure tablet in the center of the table. “Specifically, collusion with Mark Blackwell to undermine this company, both prior to and during his hostile takeover attempt.”

“This is ridiculous,” Morgan says. “I haven’t been colluding with Mark Blackwell.”

I nod to counsel. He presses a button.

Christopher’s voice, cool and controlled, fills the room from the hidden recorder, questioning his father.

“What Morgan has done for you is illegal, you know that, right?”

Then, Mark Blackwell’s voice, enraged, venomous, admitting everything.

“Illegal? It’s called strategy, Christopher! Long-term planning! Seeing the weaknesses and exploiting them! Sure, he might have fudged a few Hammond & Co. property valuations, but that’s par for the course on these sorts of things. You know that.”

The recording clicks off. Silence hangs heavy in the room. Every eye is fixed on Morgan, whose face has gone from smug to ashen grey.

He leaps to his feet, chair scraping harshly against the floor. “That’s— that’s absurd! Preposterous!” His voice cracks, shaking with disbelief and rising panic. “It’s fabricated! A complete fabrication!”

“Is it, Morgan?” I ask quietly, my voice steady.

“Yes! It’s... it’s taken out of context! Completely! Mark Blackwell, he… he exaggerates! Uses hyperbole! You can’t possibly take that literally!” He gestures wildly, appealing to the stunned faces around the table. “Those discussions were complex! Nuanced!”

“He seemed quite specific,” Mr. Davies, my counsel, interjects dryly, “about the property valuations you ‘fudged.’”

Morgan’s eyes dart around frantically, searching for an ally, finding only stony expressions. Desperation takes over.

“It’s a deepfake!” he cries out, pointing a trembling finger at the recorder on the table. “That’s it! A sophisticated deepfake! Blackwell! Christopher Blackwell did this!”

A surprised murmur goes around the table.

“He’s a tech mogul!” Morgan insists, his voice rising hysterically. “His company practically invented this kind of AI manipulation! Of course he could fake his own father’s voice! He’s trying to discredit me! Discredit Mark! Consolidate his control over this company through her!” He jabs his finger towards me now, his face contorted. “They’re sleeping together! Everyone knows it! She’s probably been feeding him information all along, helping him set this up, helping him frame me!”

“Mr. Weiss,” I cut him off, my voice like ice now, all traces of nervousness gone, replaced by cold authority. “Your accusations are baseless, and frankly, pathetic.” I slide one of the summary reports down the table. “Setting aside Mr. Blackwell’s recorded confession of your collusion, let’s discuss the forensic accounting reports detailing the systematically suppressed property valuations you submitted over the past year, directly correlating with Mark Blackwell’s known areas of interest. Actions clearly designed to weakenHammond & Co. financially and facilitate an undervalued acquisition.”