Chapter 56

Harper

“Alone” was not going to happen. I showed Damian the message, and his jaw set immediately.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “That’s exactly the kind of message someone sends when they want to isolate a target.”

“It’s from Richard’s number.”

“Numbers can be spoofed, Harper. Or Richard could be compromised somehow, forced to send it.” He was already dialing Detective Ruiz. “We’re not doing this without police involved. Not after everything that’s happened.”

Detective Ruiz answered immediately, and within minutes, a plan had formed — officers would meet us near the marina, staying out of sight but close enough to respond instantly, while Damian and I approached together, refusing to split up despite whatever the message had requested.

The drive out to the marina took nearly forty minutes, the abandoned property emerging gradually from behind overgrown brush and weathered fencing, exactly the kind of forgotten place that made sense for secrets to have festered for over two decades.

“There,” Damian said, pointing toward a figure standing near the end of a crumbling dock, silhouetted against the gray afternoon sky.

Richard turned as we approached, relief flooding his expression the moment he registered we weren’t alone.

“You brought her,” he said, glancing toward Damian. “Good. I wasn’t certain you’d trust the message enough to come at all.”

“We brought police too,” Damian said. “Nearby, watching. What’s happening, Richard? Who’s really behind this?”

Richard’s expression tightened, exhaustion and fear visible beneath his usual composed exterior. “Charles Cole contacted me an hour ago. He’s terrified, Damian. Says everything’s spiraling beyond his control, that Victor built something decades ago that’s continued operating independently, protected by people even Charles doesn’t have full visibility into anymore.”

“What kind of something?” I asked.

“A network,” Richard said grimly. “Blackmail, corporate sabotage, intimidation used against anyone who threatened certain business interests over the years. Victor originally built it for me, decades ago, though I distanced myself entirely once I realized how far he’d taken things beyond simple business leverage.”

“You knew about this,” I said, disbelief and anger tangling together. “This entire time, and you never said anything.”

“I suspected,” Richard admitted. “I never had proof, not concrete enough to act on, and I told myself ignorance protected me from complicity. I understand now how cowardly that reasoning actually was.”

“Where’s Charles now?” Damian asked.

“That’s the problem,” Richard said. “He says whoever’s currently running this network discovered he’d contacted me, discovered he was considering coming forward. He’s disappeared, Damian. I think he’s genuinely afraid for his life.”

A sound echoed suddenly from somewhere behind the nearby boathouse, sharp and metallic, causing all three of us to freeze instantly.

“Get down,” Damian said, pulling me instinctively behind him.

Detective Ruiz’s officers emerged rapidly from their concealed positions, moving swiftly toward the boathouse, weapons drawn cautiously as they approached. Several tense minutes passed before one of the officers called out, voice carrying clearly across the quiet marina.

“We’ve got someone. Charles Cole. He’s alive, but he’s been beaten badly.”

Relief and horror tangled together as we watched officers carefully help an elderly man emerge from the boathouse, his face bruised and swollen, though consciousness remained despite obvious injury.

Detective Ruiz approached us quickly. “He’s asking for you specifically, Richard. Says he needs to tell you something before he loses his nerve entirely.”

We moved closer cautiously, watching paramedics tend carefully to Charles’s visible injuries while he remained stubbornly focused on speaking despite obvious pain.

“Richard,” Charles said, voice rough and strained. “I’m sorry. For everything, decades of silence, of allowing this to continue far longer than I should have.”

“Who did this to you?” Richard asked urgently.

“Marcus Delgado,” Charles said. “Victor’s protégé, originally. He’s been running the network independently for the past decade, expanding it considerably beyond anything Victor originally built. I’ve been trying to extract myself for years, but he made clear exactly what would happen if I tried leaving entirely.”

“Is he here? Now?” Detective Ruiz asked sharply.

“He left before you arrived,” Charles said. “Told me he was going to handle things properly himself, permanently, before this investigation exposed everything he’s built.”

Ice flooded through me at the phrasing. “Handle things how?”

Charles’s eyes found mine, something apologetic and terrified behind his exhausted expression. “He mentioned your family specifically, Mrs. Blackwood. Said children make excellent leverage, that sometimes reputation isn’t the only thing worth protecting through fear.”

The words landed like a physical blow, terror flooding immediately through my entire body. “Lily. Grace.”

Damian was already moving, phone pressed urgently against his ear, calling security back at the house with barely controlled panic evident beneath his usually steady voice.

“This is Damian Blackwood. I need immediate status on my children, right now.”

The seconds stretched agonizingly while we waited for response, Detective Ruiz already relaying urgent instructions to nearby units, everyone moving with sudden, desperate urgency.

Finally, Damian’s shoulders sagged slightly with visible relief. “They’re fine. Security confirms they’re both fine, still at the house, completely secure.”

Relief flooded through me, though it remained tempered by continued fear given everything Charles had just revealed.

“We need to get back there immediately,” I said. “If this Marcus person is targeting our family specifically—”

“Agreed,” Detective Ruiz said. “I’m sending additional units to your residence right now, and I want you both there as quickly as possible, under full escort.”

We moved quickly back toward the car, Richard remaining behind briefly to provide additional statement to police, though his expression carried visible guilt and fear as we departed.

The drive home passed in tense, anxious silence, both Damian and I gripping our respective phones tightly, watching for any updates from security while officers escorted us at close distance the entire way.

We arrived to find the house exactly as we’d left it, security stationed visibly around the property, everything appearing calm despite the terror still coursing through both of us.

“Thank god,” I breathed, rushing inside immediately to find Lily still watching cartoons, entirely unaware of anything happening beyond her immediate world, Grace napping peacefully upstairs exactly where we’d left her.

Damian pulled me close once we’d confirmed both children remained completely safe, exhaustion and relief mixing overwhelming through both of us.

“We need permanent protection now,” he said. “Not just temporary measures. Actual, comprehensive security until this Marcus Delgado is caught.”

“Agreed completely,” I said, still trembling slightly from residual fear.

Detective Ruiz called an hour later, voice tight with continued urgency. “We’ve issued an alert for Marcus Delgado, but he’s disappeared completely. No trace at his last known address, no activity on any monitored accounts.”

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“We wait, cautiously, with maximum security in place,” she said. “And we hope he makes a mistake before he manages to act on whatever threat he’s planning.”

That evening, once children had been fed and settled despite the tension still thrumming visibly beneath our careful attempts at normalcy, Damian and I sat together in Grace’s nursery once more, watching her sleep peacefully, security now stationed directly outside every window and door surrounding our property.

“I keep thinking,” I said quietly, “about how close this came to touching them directly.”

“I know,” Damian said, voice tight with barely controlled emotion. “I won’t let it get that close again, Harper. Whatever it takes.”

We sat together for a long while, watching Grace sleep, listening carefully to every sound the house made, exhaustion and vigilance tangling uncomfortably as night deepened fully around us.

Just as we finally prepared to retire for the night ourselves, the nursery baby monitor crackled unexpectedly, static hissing loudly through the speaker before a voice, low and unfamiliar, whispered clearly through the device.

“Sweet dreams, Mrs. Blackwood. I’m closer than you think.”