The secret of the billionaire's heart

As Emily Chase stared at her laptop's glowing cursor, the hubbub of the newsroom faded into the background. She could only hear the terrible silence of her blank screen, despite the bustle of keyboards and whispered voices. She understood the irony that a journalist without a story was as worthless as a painter without a brush. The pressure of the impending deadline caused her to rub her temples. She still had nothing after two hours.

"Chase!" Margaret Hart's piercing voice sliced like a whip across the clamor. Emily turned to see her editor standing over her desk, her sharp features etched with a familiar frown. Even the most seasoned reporters were made to feel like interns by Margaret. "Is there anything you can give me?" Margaret snapped, impatient in her tone.

"Not yet, but I-"

"Please don't hurt me. This is your tale." Margaret, looking as icy and uncompromising as usual, thumped a document onto Emily's desk. Emily paused, lingering on the folder with her fingers. Her stomach roiled when she eventually opened it. She was surprised to find the name Damien Blackwood at the top of the first page, bolded. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she cautiously stated, "I thought he was off-limits."

A tiny, sardonic smirk curved Margaret's lips. "No longer. The superiors want him to do something. Something significant. Something to sell papers. The golden goose of journalism was Damien Blackwood, a mysterious tech billionaire. In addition to having a Midas touch for business, he was plagued by a litany of scandals. However, nobody had ever been able to break through the curtain of secrecy that surrounded his life.

Emily scowled as she perused the folder's information. "I don't know-"

Margaret cut you off, saying, "I don't care about your doubts."

"Split the narrative. How you do it doesn't matter to me. Please deliver anything to me by next week."

Emily was left staring at the packet as Margaret pivoted on her heel and went back to her office before Emily could object. She sat transfixed, the illumination of her computer screen seeming to mock her. A cursory search turned up the same rehashed headlines: Tech Giant Damien Blackwood Strikes Again and The Billionaire No One Can Touch. Nothing fresh.

Then she noticed a passing reference to a ten-year-old whistleblower scandal. The tale had been buried nearly as soon as it came to light, and the details were hazy. Nevertheless, there was a break in Blackwood's unbreakable exterior. With her fingers poised over the keyboard, Emily paused. At last, she composed a brief email:

Mr. Blackwood,

For an article about the most important people in the computer industry, I would want to interview you. Please let me know when you are available.

Her chest constricted with a mixture of fear and excitement as she pressed "send." Her phone buzzed hours later as the city lights flickered outside and the newsroom emptied. When she saw the sender's name, Damien Blackwood, her breath caught. The message was succinct and to the point:

I don't give interviews. Don't meddle with my business.

Her curiosity was aroused, yet her stomach roiled. Blackwood's answer simply strengthened her determination. She had no intention of giving up.

Later in the evening, the uneasiness started. Emily saw a shadow outside the window as she sat at her desk, her mind racing. With her heart racing, she froze. "Who is present?" She called out, trying to sound steady but her voice was shaking. The city below hummed faintly, but there was no answer.

The shadow changed as she got closer to the window, now clearly visible. Just outside the glass, a man was silhouetted against the dim streetlight glow. As Emily closed the blinds, her heartbeat accelerated. She mumbled, attempting to get rid of the nagging paranoia, "Get a grip, Emily."

As she walked home from the workplace, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being followed. Every sound appeared to be heightened in the silence as her footsteps reverberated through the still streets. She kept looking over her shoulder, but there was nobody on the walkways.

Upon arriving at her flat, she fell onto the couch with a wave of fatigue. However, the uneasiness persisted. Her phone then buzzed once more. It was an unidentified number this time.

Give up on the story. Otherwise.

Her blood froze. "Who is this?" she typed in answer. Almost immediately, the response was:

This is your only warning.

She put down the phone with trembling hands. She thought about phoning the cops for a second. What could she say, though? That an unknown source had sent her a mysterious text message? They would write her off as insane or, worse, paranoid. Rather, she turned her laptop on. She was only onto anything if someone was attempting to frighten her away.

Emily searched through previous interviews, newspapers, and public documents to learn more about Blackwood's past. She discovered a mysterious investment that had turned Blackwood's faltering startup into a billion-dollar empire almost overnight, tales of a whistleblower who disappeared after accusing his company of fraud, and reports of a falling out with his family. She had created a list of possible sources before morning, including old coworkers, business associates, and even rival companies. In the hopes that someone would be open to speaking, she sent out a barrage of emails.

Once more, her phone buzzed. It was Margaret this time.

Chase. Arrive at the workplace. Right now.

Emily's heart pounded as she snatched up her coat and hurried to the newsroom, mentally reliving the events of the previous evening. Margaret was pacing her office when she got there, her face strained and pallid.

"What's happening?" As she entered, Emily inquired.

Grinning, Margaret turned and gave Emily a manila envelope. Emily's breath caught as she opened it. Pictures were showing her walking to the metro, sitting at her desk, and leaving her apartment. Every picture was taken within the last 24 hours.

"What is this?" Emily's voice was unsteady as she whispered.

Margaret crossed her arms. "I hoped you could let me know. This morning, these were delivered to the front desk. No return address, no note."

Emily's mind was racing. Not only was someone alerting her, they were also keeping an eye on her. Margaret's voice was low and solemn as she drew closer.

"Chase, you could have pricked the wrong bear. Do you really want to continue?"

Emily's determination solidified as she gazed at the pictures. Her stomach twisted with fear, but she forced it out of her mind. The only indication that the narrative was worthwhile was if someone wanted her to stop.

Emily sat looking at the pictures in front of her at her desk. Every picture was more eerie than the last. Someone had been watching her closely, observing everything she did. She shuddered at the thought. She couldn't give up now, though. Not with her so near. She didn't allow fear to control her; she was able to find the truth.

She was startled out of her reverie by Margaret's words.

"Chase, I need an answer. I'm not sure how much longer I can shield you from this type of attention, yet you keep digging into Blackwood."

Emily looked at her editor, whose normally stern expression had softened and been replaced with sincere compassion. She was correct. Whoever was responsible was becoming more and more dangerous, and Emily's profession was no longer the only thing at stake. Even though the walls were closing in, Emily couldn't afford to give up just yet. But now she was unable to retreat. There was nothing she could do. The narrative was too significant and too large.

Emily firmly declared, more to herself than to Margaret, "I'll keep going."

"But I need your assistance."

Margaret's eyebrow went up.

"Aid? From me?"

"I require entry to Blackwood. I must speak with him."

Margaret squinted her eyes.

"You must be joking. He won't speak to you, especially if you've been interfering in his affairs in this manner. Emily, you're playing with fire."

Emily's mouth clenched.

"I'm not interested. I will stop at nothing to obtain the evidence I need to prove his involvement in that scandal."

Margaret folded her arms and moaned.

"You are tenacious, I'll grant you that. Alright. Don't come running back to me when this blows up in your face; I'll arrange a meeting."

Margaret then turned and walked out of her office, leaving Emily with the pictures and the icy burden of her choice.

After several hours, Emily finally got an email with the subject line, "Interview Request for Damien Blackwood." She clicked it open, her heart pounding. The message was succinct yet unambiguous:

Emily, You have fifteen minutes, please. Tomorrow at precisely 10 a.m., be in the foyer of the Blackwood Tower. No cameras. No entourage. I'll answer some questions when we meet. That's all.

She needed the respite. In an attempt to stifle the mounting worry that was eating at her, she scribbled a short response verifying the time and place. Now she couldn't afford to doubt herself.

Emily took her time getting ready the following morning, opting for a polished black dress and blazer. She had to project composure; she couldn't let anything reveal the nerves that were seething beneath the surface.

With marble floors that shone in the gentle lighting and tall windows that provided an unhindered view of the city, Blackwood Tower's lobby was a testament to riches and power. A separate room on the upper floor was shown to Emily. She was spared a long wait. The door opened a moment later, and Damien Blackwood entered.

In person, he was much more formidable. Tall, with dark, penetrating eyes that appeared to stare right through her, and sculpted features. His presence filled the room as soon as he entered, and his well-tailored suit suited him like armor.

He answered coolly, "Ms. Chase," in a smooth voice that was infused with a quiet strength. "I hope you're not squandering my time."

Trying to catch her breath, Emily got to her feet.

"I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Blackwood. I-"

With a fixed gaze, he interrupted, "I'm not here to chit-chat. You've got fifteen minutes. Pose your inquiries."

She cleared her throat.

"All right. You are among the richest and most powerful persons in the IT sector, then. However, there are tales about your history, especially regarding a whistleblower who vanished for no apparent reason. Could you elaborate on that?"

He didn't answer right away, but his face stiffened. His gaze remained fixed on hers for a long minute, silently evaluating her. At last, he added,

"I don't know what you've heard, but there isn't any scandal. I don't like getting pulled into unfounded rumors, and the business I founded is real."

Emily persisted, resolute.

"But the documents indicate-"

He interrupted her with a raised hand.

"Ms. Chase, you have been encroaching into matters that don't affect you. You've crossed a certain boundary."

There was a hint of caution in his statements. Despite her instincts telling her to back off, Emily was unable to do so. Her pulse was pounding, but she spoke steadily,

"Mr. Blackwood, the truth doesn't hide. My goal is not to harm your reputation. All I want is answers."

Rising, Damien loomed over her. Now his eyes were like a glacier, colder.

"Answers?" he asked again, a small smile curving his lips. "Are you looking for answers? When you're ready to hear the answers, stop asking them. I've left this place."

She stood there with her heart thumping in her chest as he abruptly turned and left before she could say another word. With the conversation's weight bearing down on her, Emily took a seat again. Harder than she should have, she had pushed him. But she saw something in his eyes. Fear? Feeling guilty? There was more to his narrative than he was revealing, but she wasn't positive.

She looked at her timepiece. Any possibility of a cordial chat had vanished along with the fifteen minutes. But she had to do one last thing before she could go. She selected a tiny recorder from her bag and turned it on.

With a firm voice, she said,

"Mr. Blackwood, I have one more question."

With his back to her, Damien hesitated at the entrance. He didn't look back. She whispered,

"Why are you so desperate to hide your secrets?"

Emily hoped for a second that he would respond. Rather, he uttered one more sentence before leaving.

"What you're getting into is completely unknown to you."

Emily's phone buzzed with an unidentified number as the door behind him clicked shut. The connection was silent, but she responded without hesitation. Then there was a murmur:

"Emily, stop digging. We've warned you."

The chat with Damien Blackwood was still weighing heavily on Emily as she sat in the conference room. She was chilled-not by the frigid chamber, but by the unmistakable feeling that he was concealing something-a dark, perilous secret. She tried to concentrate by massaging her temples. The easy part was supposed to be the interview. It felt different than the tense she had anticipated. She skimmed through her notes once more. His final words, "You have no idea what you're getting into," stuck in her head even though nothing in his actions indicated shame or worry.

Every second dragged on, and the wall clock ticked louder than usual.

Emily's phone buzzed with an email notice just as she was ready to depart. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at the screen.

Subject: Request for Interview Follow-Up

Emily's hands trembled a little as she opened the email. Damien sent it.

Dear Ms. Chase,

Regarding the accusations you brought up during our discussion, I have nothing further to say. But I've gone ahead and scheduled a private tour of Blackwood Tower for you for tomorrow. I'm counting on you to be here on time at 9:00 AM.

Regards,

Blackwood, Damien

Her stomach churned. Why would he ask her to return? She was uneasy about how suddenly everything happened. Was this a chance to be nearer to him? Or a trap? She was too busy to be self-conscious. Her research might come to an end if she rejected this.

Emily's thoughts were racing when she arrived early at Blackwood Tower the following morning. The glass shell of the sleek edifice reflected the clear sky as it loomed ahead. With her heels clicking on the shiny floors, she entered the lobby. She was greeted by a sharply smiling receptionist.

"Greetings, Ms. Chase. Mr. Blackwood is anticipating your arrival."

Emily's pulse accelerated. She was escorted to the top floors using a private elevator. With a gentle chime, the elevator doors opened, revealing a hallway lined with dark wood paneling and abstract artwork. The silence seemed uncanny. The receptionist led Emily past several striking offices with floor-to-ceiling windows without saying a word. Then, however, they came to a pair of doors. The front desk agent hesitated. After saying, "Mr. Blackwood will be with you shortly," she turned and walked away without saying anything else.

Emily stood by herself in a large room with a broad view of the city in front of her. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a big desk with tidy stacks of papers sat in the middle. Everything shouted power and money.

After a few minutes, Damien entered through the open door. His voice was calm and silky as ever as he said, "Ms. Chase." Despite his impeccable attire, he appeared slightly softer this time, as though he were lowering his defenses just enough for the occasion.

Emily tried to remain calm as she added, "Thank you for inviting me back."

With a nod, Damien offered her a place at the central table. He pointed to the chair on the other side. "Please sit down." In a neutral but not rude tone, he said, "I thought you might appreciate a tour of the building. A peek behind the scenes, as it were."

Emily sat down, although she wasn't sure if she should be cautious or impressed. Was he putting her in danger by inviting her here? Although she was unsure, she felt compelled to be vigilant. She leaned closer and said, "So, tell me. Why make such an offer? You don't want me to go into your past. Why take a tour now?"

With his gaze fixed on hers, Damien reclined in his chair. "A tour doesn't cause any harm. I hope it might help you comprehend what I have created here. Perhaps your perspective will change." He didn't appear to be responding to her. More obscure phrases, that is.

Emily persisted, though. "Now, let's discuss the whistleblower."

Even though Damien's countenance scarcely changed, Emily could still see it. Although he didn't flinch, his eyes twitched. She briefly believed she saw a glimpse of guilt, but it quickly disappeared. His voice was harder now as he questioned, "Do you like trying to ruin people's lives?"

Emily's heartbeat accelerated. "I'm not attempting to destroy anyone's life. My goal is to find the truth."

"The reality?" His hands were clasped in front of him as he leaned forward. "You have already decided on me, haven't you? You've already made up your mind about me."

In an attempt to hide how deeply his remarks affected her, she bit her lip. "Mr. Blackwood, I'm just asking questions."

He got up suddenly. "And I've provided enough responses. You have no idea what you're up against. I'll do everything it takes to keep this empire safe because I started it from nothing. People are unaware of that."

Emily was also resolved not to be intimidated by him, so she stood up. "So why do you think it's so important that I and others don't know your secrets?"

The room felt considerably colder for a minute as Damien's eyes darkened. "Because the questions you're asking are incorrect. And those inquiries will cause you pain."

Emily's throat tightened with breath. The air was heavy with danger as the disguised menace hung there. However, the tension in the room was abruptly cut off as the door banged open before she could reply. A man in a dark suit entered, his expression severe and strained.

The man said, "Mr. Blackwood, we must speak."

Damien's expression tensed. "We'll discuss it later. I'm occupied."

However, the man refused to give up. "Sir, this is urgent. A situation has arisen."

Damien squinted his eyes. He looked back to Emily. His tone abruptly became angry as he continued, "You should go."

Feeling like a stranger at the moment, Emily hesitated. She was aware that she had no other option. She gave Damien one more quick look before leaving the room, her thoughts racing.

Emily's phone buzzed as the elevator doors closed. The message came from an unidentified number.

"Ms. Chase, you've gone too far. Don't claim that we didn't alert you."