Chapter 53

Chapter 53

Harper

I didn’t sleep at all after that.

I sat upright against the headboard, phone clutched tightly in my hand, rereading the message until the words blurred meaninglessly together. Now I have to consider a different kind of message entirely.

Damian woke beside me sometime near four, immediately alert the moment he registered my rigid posture.

“What happened?”

I handed him the phone silently, watching his expression harden as he read it.

“That’s it,” he said, already reaching for his own phone. “I’m calling the police. Actual police, not just private security. This has gone far enough.”

“Damian, if we bring in law enforcement, this becomes public in ways we can’t control.”

“It’s already dangerous in ways we can’t control,” he said firmly. “Harper, someone stood outside our daughter’s window tonight. I’m not weighing our privacy against that risk. Not for a single second.”

He was right, and some exhausted, frightened part of me had known that even before he said it aloud. I nodded, and he made the call, voice clipped and precise as he explained the situation to a detective who promised to arrive within the hour.

Richard, still at the house from the night before, joined us in the kitchen as dawn began breaking pale and gray outside the windows.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, dark circles evident beneath his eyes, suggesting he’d slept no better than we had. “Whoever’s threatening you clearly has access to real-time information. They knew about Renata’s call almost immediately after it happened.”

“Which means someone close to us,” Damian said slowly, the implication settling heavily across the kitchen. “Or someone who’s been monitoring our phones.”

“Or someone within Blackwood Industries itself,” Richard added grimly. “Someone with access to information they shouldn’t have.”

The detective arrived precisely on schedule, a measured, careful woman named Detective Ruiz who listened intently as we recounted everything — the threats, the photograph, the broken sapling, the marina, decades of buried history suddenly resurfacing with dangerous urgency.

“I’ll need copies of everything,” she said, studying the photograph carefully once we’d shown it to her. “The messages, this photograph, any documentation Renata Cole has gathered so far. And I’d strongly recommend you avoid any further independent investigation. Let us handle tracing whoever’s sending these threats.”

“We’re not going to just sit back and wait,” Damian said, though his tone remained respectful despite the tension underneath it.

“I understand the impulse,” Detective Ruiz said. “But amateur investigation right now could compromise whatever evidence we’re able to gather, and could put your family at greater risk rather than less.”

I appreciated her directness, even as frustration simmered beneath my exhaustion. “What do we do in the meantime? Just wait, hoping whoever this is doesn’t escalate further?”

“We’ll increase patrol presence around your property immediately,” she said. “And I’ll personally reach out to Renata Cole today, coordinate rather than duplicate whatever investigation she’s already conducting.”

Once Detective Ruiz departed, promising updates as soon as any developed, the house settled into an uneasy, watchful quiet. Lily woke eventually, sensing immediately that something felt different despite our careful attempts at normalcy.

“Why are there police cars outside?” she asked over breakfast, eyes wide with curious concern rather than fear, thankfully too young yet to fully grasp the danger surrounding us.

“Just extra safety precautions,” I said carefully. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Is it because of Grace?” Lily asked. “Did something happen to Grace?”

“Grace is perfectly safe,” Damian said gently. “We just want to make sure everyone stays that way.”

Lily studied us both carefully, the particular perceptiveness she’d always carried since infancy clearly picking up on tension neither of us managed to fully hide. But she didn’t push further, returning her attention to breakfast with the resilient trust children often extended toward parents determined to protect them from adult complications.

By midmorning, Renata called with an update, voice tight with the same urgency that had colored our conversation the previous night.

“I found someone,” she said. “A retired dockworker who remembers the marina from that period. He’s agreed to meet, but only in person, and only somewhere he considers safe. He’s nervous, Harper. Genuinely frightened, even after all these years.”

“Did he see something? That night?”

“He wouldn’t say over the phone,” Renata admitted. “But his fear suggests he knows considerably more than he’s initially letting on.”

“When can we meet him?”

“Tomorrow, tentatively. Assuming Detective Ruiz clears the meeting, given everything happening with your security situation.”

We spent the remainder of the day in careful, watchful tension, additional security patrolling the property visibly enough to feel reassuring, though the constant presence also served as a stark reminder of exactly how serious the danger had become.

That evening, once the children had finally settled and the house grew quiet around us, Damian and I sat together on the porch, watching security move methodically across the yard, the broken sapling still lying where it had fallen the night before, too raw a reminder to address just yet.

“I keep thinking about Grace’s window,” I said quietly. “How close someone stood to her room.”

“I know,” Damian said, voice tight with barely controlled anger. “I keep thinking about it too.”

“Are we doing the right thing? Continuing this investigation, even with threats escalating?”

Damian considered the question carefully, exhaustion evident across every line of his expression. “I think we’re doing the only thing we can do, honestly. Whoever’s threatening us clearly believes silence protects them. I don’t think stopping now actually makes us safer. I think it just delays whatever they’re planning until we’re less prepared to face it.”

“That’s terrifying logic.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But I trust it more than pretending ignorance will somehow keep us safe.”

I leaned against him, exhaustion finally beginning to outweigh fear, though sleep still felt distant and uncertain given everything happening around us.

“Whatever this dockworker knows,” I said, “I need to hear it directly. Not secondhand through Renata. I need to understand exactly what happened to my father that night, regardless of how dangerous the truth turns out to be.”

“Then we’ll go together,” Damian said firmly. “With whatever security Detective Ruiz recommends. I’m not letting you face this alone, Harper. Not any part of it.”

We sat together quietly as evening deepened into full darkness around us, security lights casting long shadows across the yard, the broken sapling a stark reminder of exactly how close danger had come to everything we’d carefully built.

Just as we finally rose to head inside, my phone buzzed one final time that night, and this time, the message came from Detective Ruiz herself, her earlier calm professionalism replaced by something considerably more urgent.

“Harper, I need you and Damian to come to the station immediately. We just received a call. The dockworker Renata Cole was planning to interview tomorrow was found unconscious outside his home an hour ago. Before you ask, yes, we believe it’s connected to your case.”