The Blackwood legacy

Derrick Blackwood stared out the panoramic window of his corner office, jaw clenched as he surveyed the Manhattan skyline. The sprawling city below was a constant reminder of all that was at stake, the legacy, the empire, the future of Blackwood Enterprises. And it was all slipping through his fingers.

He turned away from the view, sinking into the plush leather chair behind his desk. The air was thick with the weight of responsibility, a burden that had rested heavily on his shoulders since his father's passing two years prior. As the sole heir, the company's fate now lay squarely on him.

Derrick ran a hand through his neatly styled dark hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. The quarterly earnings report sat open on his desk, the numbers stark and unforgiving. Blackwood Enterprises was hemorrhaging money, the once-thriving conglomerate teetering on the edge of ruin.

If he didn't find a solution, and fast, his family's legacy would crumble, taking everything Derrick held dear down with it.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," Derrick called, straightening in his chair as his executive assistant, Olivia, stepped into the office.

"Mr. Blackwood, I have the updated cash flow projections you requested." She approached the desk, holding out a slim folder.

Derrick took it, flipping it open. His frown deepened as he scanned the figures. "This is worse than I thought," he muttered, jaw tightening. "We're bleeding out faster than I anticipated."

Olivia nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so, sir. At this rate, the company will be insolvent within six months."

The words landed like a sucker punch, Derrick's stomach twisting. He'd known the situation was dire, but hearing the stark reality spoken aloud made it all the more stark.

"There has to be a way to turn this around," he insisted, closing the folder and setting it aside. "Something, anything, that can save the company."

Olivia hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her leather portfolio. "Well, sir, there is one option you've been considering..."

Derrick's gaze sharpened. "The trust fund." Of course, that was the key. His grandfather had left him a sizable inheritance, but the funds were locked away, only accessible if Derrick met certain criteria. Criteria that, until now, had seemed unattainable.

"Yes. The trust fund stipulates that you must be married in order to access the full amount." Olivia paused, her expression cautious. "It's a substantial sum, more than enough to stabilize the company's finances."

Derrick let out a humorless laugh. "Married. As if I have time for that." He drummed his fingers on the desk, mind racing. The trust fund was his last hope, but the idea of getting married, of finding a suitable partner on such short notice...

"I realize it's an unorthodox requirement," Olivia said gently. "But desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say."

Derrick knew she was right. With Blackwood Enterprises on the brink of collapse, he couldn't afford to be picky. He needed to act, and act fast. The fate of his family's legacy depended on it.

"All right," he said, straightening in his chair. "Start compiling a list of potential candidates. I want to know every eligible bachelorette in this city who fits the trust fund's criteria."

Olivia nodded, already pulling a small notebook from her portfolio. "Of course, Mr. Blackwood. I'll get started right away."

As she hurried from the office, Derrick turned his gaze back to the cityscape outside his window. The glittering towers and bustling streets were a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within.

He had always prided himself on his control, his ability to navigate any obstacle with cool, calculating precision. But this - this was uncharted territory. Finding a wife, on demand, to save his family's company? It was absurd, the stuff of romantic comedies, not real life.

Yet here he was, facing that very prospect.

Derrick exhaled slowly, steeling himself. There was no time for hesitation or self-doubt. He needed to act, and act quickly. The clock was ticking, and the fate of Blackwood Enterprises hung in the balance.

With newfound determination, he turned back to his desk, already mentally sifting through the possibilities Olivia would uncover. This would be a strictly business arrangement, nothing more. All that mattered was finding a woman who fit the trust fund's criteria - young, unattached, and willing to enter into a marriage of convenience.

Feelings need not apply.

Several floors below, in a cramped studio apartment on the Lower East Side, Hope Emerson sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the stack of overdue bills scattered across the worn quilt.

Her fingers trembled as she ran them over the envelopes, each one a glaring reminder of her ever-deepening financial hole. The rent was two months past due, her utilities threatened to be shut off, and the debt collectors were circling like vultures.

Hope let out a shaky sigh, burying her face in her hands. How had it all gone so wrong? Just a few years ago, she had been on the cusp of breaking into the art world, her bold, vibrant paintings drawing the attention of galleries and collectors.

But then the market crashed, and with it, her dreams of artistic success. Commissions dried up, galleries shuttered, and Hope found herself drowning in debt, barely scraping by on odd jobs and the last of her savings.

Now, with no other options in sight, she was on the verge of losing everything. Her tiny studio, her meager possessions, her fragile independence - all of it hanging by a thread.

Hope lifted her head, swallowing hard as she caught sight of the crumpled eviction notice on her nightstand. She had to do something, anything, to stop the bleeding. Her pride be damned, she was out of time.

As if summoned by her desperation, Hope's phone suddenly buzzed with an incoming call. She snatched it up, heart racing.

"Hello?"

"Is this Hope Emerson?" a crisp, professional voice inquired.

"Yes, this is she."

"My name is Olivia Dennison. I'm the executive assistant to Derrick Blackwood, of Blackwood Enterprises. Mr. Blackwood would like to meet with you. Are you available this afternoon?"

Hope's breath caught in her throat, eyes widening. Blackwood Enterprises? The Derrick Blackwood? What on earth could the scion of one of the city's wealthiest families want with her?

She glanced back at the stack of bills, then at the eviction notice. This could be her chance, her salvation. Whatever Derrick Blackwood had in mind, she couldn't afford to turn it down.

"Yes," she said, voice trembling slightly. "I'm available."

"Excellent. I'll send a car to collect you in an hour. The address is 450 Park Avenue."

Hope nodded, even though Olivia couldn't see her. "I'll be ready."

As the call disconnected, Hope felt a flicker of hope flare to life within her. She didn't know what Derrick Blackwood had in store, but whatever it was, it had to be better than the alternative.