Chapter 2 - The Fall of the Blackwood Dynasty
The transformation of the Blackwood mansion from a sanctuary of high society into a crime scene was terrifyingly methodical. Within minutes of Detective Vane’s announcement, a team of plainclothes officers entered through the front and back doors, their heavy boots trampling the pristine rugs Ethan loved so much.
"What do you think you are doing?!" Margaret shrieked, finally breaking her trance. She stood up, her pearls clicking furiously against her chest as she tried to physically block an officer from entering Ethan’s study. "Do you know who we are? My late husband built the foundation of this city’s legal system! You cannot touch this house without a warrant signed by—"
"Signed by Judge Arthur Calder, ma'am," Detective Vane interrupted smoothly, pulling a folded document from his coat pocket and unfolding it right in front of her face. "Your husband might have built the old system, Mrs. Blackwood, but Avery's father still commands the current one. And if I were you, I’d sit down and remain silent. We have a secondary warrant for your arrest as well."
Margaret gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "What?"
Elias Thorne, the accountant, stepped forward, opening his briefcase on the dining table, right over the candied yams and fresh biscuits. "We have traced over eight hundred thousand dollars of the embezzled municipal funds directly into your private offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands, Mrs. Blackwood. Signed, authorized, and moved via your personal routing numbers. You weren't just a silent observer; you were the anchor."
The older woman sank back into her chair, her perfectly coiffed hair suddenly looking brittle, her gaze turning venomous as she locked her eyes onto me. "You viper," she hissed, her voice shaking with a rage that could no longer be hidden under a veneer of Southern charm. "We brought you into this family. We gave you a name. We gave you status. And you destroy us from within like a parasite?"
"You didn't bring me into a family, Margaret," I replied, walking past her toward the front hallway, where two officers were already placing Ethan in handcuffs. "You bought a mirror. You wanted a quiet, well-bred girl who would look pretty in photos and keep her mouth shut while your son bled the city dry to fund your lifestyle. But you forgot one thing: my father didn't just teach me how to be a lady. He taught me how to read a balance sheet."
Ethan was being led toward the front door, his arms pinned behind his back. The flawless white dress shirt he had been so proud of just an hour ago was wrinkled, and his face was distorted with a mixture of terror and unbridled fury.
"Avery!" he roared, trying to pull back against the officers' grip. "You won't get away with this! Everything in this house, every dollar you spend, comes from my name! If I go down, you go down with nothing! You hear me? Nothing!"
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"The house is in my father's trust, Ethan," I called out calmly as the heavy front door was opened, revealing a line of flashing blue police lights painting the morning mist. "And as for your money... I never spent a dime of it. I’ve been living off my own inheritance. Enjoy the ride."
With a firm push from Detective Vane, Ethan was guided out into the rain. The heavy mahogany door clicked shut, and for the first time in five years, the air inside the house felt clean.
