Chapter 4: The Woman Who Had Been Watching
Detective Renata Voss arrived at my condo the following morning.
She was younger than her voice had suggested.
Early forties, maybe.
Short dark hair.
A grey blazer over a plain white shirt.
She carried a leather folder under her arm and accepted my offer of coffee with a simple yes and no instructions on how she took it.
She sat across from me at the kitchen table and opened the folder.
"How long have you been investigating him?" I asked.
"Officially, fourteen months." She set a photograph on the table between us.
It showed a row of financial transfer records.
Numbers I didn't recognize.
Amounts I did.
"Unofficially, I've been watching the Blackwood Group for closer to three years."
"Three years," I said.
"That's the length of my marriage."
"Yes." She looked at me directly.
"I know."
There it was.
The thing she hadn't said on the phone.
"You've been watching me too."
"Not you specifically.
But your position inside the household meant you appeared in the scope of the investigation." She paused.
"Mrs.
Blackwood, I want to be straightforward with you.
We are not investigating you.
We have no evidence of your involvement in any financial irregularity.
What we do have evidence of is that your husband has been using the Blackwood Group's shipping network to move funds connected to three separate organized crime operations in the Midwest."
I set down my coffee.
"The casinos," I said.
"That's part of it.
The shipping routes are the larger concern."
"And Marcus Cole?"
Her expression shifted.
Just slightly.
"What do you know about Marcus Cole?"
I reached into the folder on my side of the table — my own folder, the one I'd assembled over the past twenty-four hours — and placed the courier envelope in front of her.
She looked at it without touching it.
"Where did this come from?" she asked.
"It arrived two days ago.
No return address." I watched her face.
"Detective Voss, is Marcus Cole one of your sources?"
She picked up her coffee.
Took one deliberate sip.
Set it back down.
"I can't confirm that."
Which was, in my experience, the clearest possible confirmation.
"He sent me the photograph of himself and Vanessa," I said.
"He sent me the paternity document.
He knew what Vanessa was planning.
He knew what Ethan was planning.
And he decided I should have the evidence before the divorce was finalized." I folded my hands on the table.
"Why would he do that unless he was trying to protect something?
Or someone?"
Renata Voss looked at me for a long moment.
"Mrs.
Blackwood, how much do you know about your husband's relationship with your parents' financial history?"
The question landed strangely.
"My parents?"
"Your father.
Specifically, his employer before he retired.
A logistics company called Meridian Transport."
My father had worked for Meridian Transport for twenty-two years.
He had driven freight routes across the Midwest.
He had worked double shifts.
His hands had trembled by the end.
"What about it?" I said carefully.
"Meridian Transport was acquired nine years ago." She turned a page in her folder and slid it toward me.
"By a holding company with indirect ties to the Blackwood Group."
The kitchen went very quiet.
"Ethan knew who my father was," I said.
It was not a question.
It came out almost as a breath.
"We believe he identified you before your first date." Her voice stayed even.
"We believe the introduction was not accidental."
I looked at the page in front of me.
The acquisition date.
The holding company name.
The chain of ownership that led, eventually, to a man with dark hair and a watch that could have paid off my mother's hospital bills.
"He chose me," I said.
"Yes."
"Because of my father's connection to Meridian."
"Because you had no idea what Meridian was," she said.
"And because a loyal, discreet wife with no knowledge of the business was exactly what he needed."
I had told myself for three years that I had been the practical one.
The clear-eyed one.
The woman who had walked into an arrangement with her eyes open.
My coffee cup was in front of me.
I didn't pick it up.
"What do you need from me?" I asked.
Renata Voss reached into her folder and placed a second document on the table.
"There is a set of internal financial records from the Blackwood Group that we have been unable to access without triggering the organization's legal response protocol.
We believe those records exist in physical form inside the mansion." She looked at me steadily.
"You lived in that house for three years.
You have legal standing as a party to the divorce settlement, which grants you the right to collect any remaining personal property within thirty days of the agreement."
"You want me to go back."
"I want you to consider it."
My phone buzzed on the counter.
I glanced at the screen.
A text from Vanessa's number.
Seven words.
*Ethan knows what you told his attorney.
Be careful.*
I turned the phone so Renata Voss could read it.
Her jaw tightened by a fraction.
"When did she get your number?"
"She's always had it." I put the phone face-down.
"Detective Voss — if I go back into that house, how much protection can you actually offer me?"
She didn't answer immediately.
That was its own kind of answer.
"We will have personnel positioned nearby," she said finally.
"Nearby," I repeated.
"Mrs.
Blackwood—"
"Tell me one thing honestly." I met her eyes.
"Is Marcus Cole safe right now?"
Renata Voss picked up her coffee for the second time.
She held it without drinking.
"As of this morning," she said, "Marcus Cole has not reported to work.
May you like
His apartment shows no signs of recent occupancy." She set the cup back down.
"We do not currently know where he is."
