Chapter 3 - A Second Test and a First Threat
The Blackwood mansion had never felt like a prison while I lived there.
That changed the night I returned.
Ethan doubled security.
Armed men stood at every entrance.
The gates remained locked.
Marcus personally checked every employee.
Even the house staff looked nervous.
I walked back into my former bedroom carrying a suitcase and discovered something unexpected.
Nothing had changed.
My clothes were gone.
My jewelry was gone.
But the flowers I liked were still placed near the windows.
The books beside the bed were still arranged in the order I had left them.
Even the ridiculous silk sleep mask Ethan once mocked remained inside the top drawer.
Vanessa had not lived there.
I hated how relieved that made me.
Ethan stayed in the adjoining dressing room while I unpacked.
“You can leave.”
“This was my bedroom too.”
“Was.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“You took the sofa.”
“It was mine emotionally.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Furniture has emotions now?”
“That sofa understood me better than you did.”
For the first time in days, he almost smiled.
Then Marcus knocked.
The moment disappeared.
Lucas’s abandoned car had contained blood, but not enough to suggest someone had died.
Forensics confirmed it belonged to Lucas.
There was also a shattered phone, two empty shell casings, and a handwritten address hidden beneath the passenger seat.
A storage facility near Cicero.
Ethan wanted to go personally.
I told him that was stupid.
He went anyway.
I went too.
That was arguably stupider.
The storage unit contained no weapons.
No money.
No Lucas.
Instead, we found boxes.
Medical records.
Corporate documents.
Photographs.
Old letters.
Someone had been collecting information about Ethan for years.
Marcus opened one box and froze.
“What?”
He handed Ethan a folder.
The label read:
RICHARD BLACKWOOD — PRIVATE MEDICAL.
Ethan stared at it.
His father had died six years earlier from what doctors described as sudden cardiac failure.
The folder contained hospital records we had never seen.
Toward the back was a toxicology report.
Ethan read it.
Then read it again.
“What does it say?” I asked.
Daniel looked over his shoulder.
“Digitalis toxicity.”
I frowned.
“Isn’t that heart medication?”
“In controlled doses.”
“And uncontrolled?”
Daniel looked at Ethan.
“It can kill.”
The official cause of Richard Blackwood’s death had been heart failure.
No criminal investigation.
No autopsy beyond routine examination.
But the report suggested unusually high concentrations of a cardiac drug.
Ethan lowered the pages.
“My father was poisoned.”
No one spoke.
Then Marcus found another envelope.
Inside were photographs of Lucas meeting with Dr. Steven Adler.
My doctor.
The man who had handled Ethan’s first fertility examination.
Ethan’s expression hardened.
“Get Adler.”
Marcus made the call.
No answer.
He called the clinic.
Dr. Adler had not arrived for work.
His wife believed he had left before sunrise.
His car was gone.
By noon, police found it at O’Hare Airport.
Adler was nowhere in the terminal footage.
Someone wanted us to believe he had fled.
That evening, I sat in Ethan’s study reading everything we had taken from the storage unit.
Ethan poured whiskey.
I watched him.
“You shouldn’t drink when you’re angry.”
“I drink because I’m angry.”
“That explains the whiskey budget.”
He ignored me.
One document bothered me more than the others.
It was an insurance policy.
A huge one.
Three hundred million dollars.
Beneficiary: Blackwood Family Continuity Trust.
Trustee in the event of Ethan’s death without an adult heir: Lucas Blackwood.
I placed it on the desk.
“How long has this existed?”
Ethan looked.
“Seven years.”
“Before your father died.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
A quiet fury entered his voice.
“My father handled old family trusts personally.”
I leaned back.
“Maybe Richard discovered what Lucas was doing.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever this began as.”
Ethan looked toward the windows.
I continued.
“Think about it. Lucas resented being excluded from control. Your father creates estate structures giving Lucas temporary power if something happens to you. Maybe Lucas decides temporary isn’t enough. Maybe your father discovers it.”
“And gets poisoned.”
“Then years later Lucas finds Vanessa.”
Ethan’s face tightened at her name.
“She knew exactly what I wanted.”
“An heir.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He looked at me.
“Everyone knew.”
That was true.
Chicago society had been whispering about our lack of children for months.
Vanessa could have heard.
But the fertility diagnosis was private.
Only Ethan, me, the doctors, and Daniel had access.
Unless Lucas had been paying someone.
That possibility became certainty when Marcus traced a forty-thousand-dollar payment from a Delmore Medical subsidiary to a nurse at Adler’s clinic.
The nurse, Michelle Grant, agreed to meet.
She was terrified.
We chose a closed restaurant Ethan owned.
Michelle arrived wearing sunglasses despite the evening darkness.
Her hands shook.
“I never thought anyone would get hurt.”
Ethan sat across from her.
“Start talking.”
She swallowed.
“Mr. Blackwood, your brother paid me to copy your medical information.”
“When?”
“After your first fertility test.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did you give him?” I asked.
“Everything.”
“The results?”
“Yes.”
“Did he change them?”
“No. The results were real.”
Ethan looked at her.
“What did Lucas want?”
“He asked whether the condition could be temporary.”
“And?”
“I told him the doctor considered natural conception extremely unlikely.”
Michelle rubbed her palms together.
“Then he asked if there were any way you could be convinced a pregnancy was yours.”
Silence filled the room.
Ethan’s expression became frighteningly calm.
“What did you say?”
“I told him paternity testing would expose it.”
“What did he say?”
Michelle’s eyes filled with tears.
“He said you wouldn’t live long enough for that to matter.”
My stomach dropped.
Ethan did not move.
Marcus did.
He stepped closer.
“When did he say this?”
“Four months ago.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“I thought he was joking.”
“You accepted money from him.”
“I know.”
She began crying.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“Where is Lucas?”
“I don’t know.”
“Vanessa?”
“I don’t know.”
He stared until she trembled harder.
Then I placed my hand on his arm.
“Ethan.”
He looked down at my fingers.
I realized what I had done and pulled away.
“Let Marcus handle it.”
For once, Ethan listened.
Michelle told us one more thing.
Lucas had repeatedly asked about prenatal paternity testing.
Specifically how early it could be performed and what samples were needed.
“He was planning around it,” I said after she left.
Daniel nodded.
“If Ethan demanded a test, they needed a way to delay or manipulate it.”
“Or eliminate Ethan before the test happened,” Marcus said.
No one corrected him.
We returned to the mansion after midnight.
I could not sleep.
At one in the morning, I went downstairs.
Ethan was sitting alone in the kitchen.
Not the study.
Not his office.
The kitchen.
He had coffee in front of him.
“You hate coffee after dinner.”
“I’m not sleeping.”
“Neither am I.”
I sat opposite him.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Ethan said, “I was cruel to you.”
I looked up.
He stared at the cup.
“When Vanessa told me she was pregnant, I didn’t ask enough questions.”
“No.”
“I wanted it to be true.”
“I know.”
“I wanted a child so badly that I decided believing her was easier than respecting you.”
That hurt because it was accurate.
I folded my arms.
“You also brought a divorce attorney into our house before I got home.”
“Yes.”
“And let her sit on my sofa.”
His eyes flickered.
“You took the sofa.”
“I deserved compensation.”
A faint smile appeared and vanished.
Then he said, “I’m sorry.”
Ethan had apologized to me perhaps four times in three years.
Three involved accidentally ruining expensive clothing.
This was different.
I looked at him carefully.
“Are you apologizing because Vanessa lied to you?”
“No.”
“Because she slept with Lucas?”
“No.”
“Because the baby probably isn’t yours?”
His jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Then why?”
His eyes finally met mine.
“Because even if the baby had been mine, you deserved better than what I did.”
That answer silenced me.
For the first time since the divorce began, I had no sarcastic reply.
A sound came from the hallway.
Marcus entered.
“Sorry.”
Ethan stood immediately.
“What happened?”
“We found Vanessa.”
“Where?”
“At St. Catherine’s Hospital.”
“Why?”
“She was admitted twenty minutes ago.”
“For what?”
Marcus hesitated.
“Possible complications with the pregnancy.”
Ethan’s face changed.
Whatever Vanessa had done, the mention of the baby still affected him.
I noticed.
He noticed me noticing.
Neither of us commented.
We drove to the hospital.
Vanessa was in a private room under an assumed name.
Two men had dropped her at the emergency entrance and disappeared.
She was conscious.
When Ethan entered, she began crying.
“Ethan.”
He remained near the door.
“Where is Lucas?”
Her eyes moved toward me.
“What is she doing here?”
“I asked you a question.”
Vanessa touched her stomach.
“They’re trying to kill me.”
“Who?”
“Lucas.”
That stopped everyone.
She looked at Ethan desperately.
“The baby is his.”
Ethan’s expression did not change.
“I know.”
Vanessa began sobbing harder.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Before or after I died?”
Her face went white.
That was answer enough.
Ethan moved closer.
“Tell me everything.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“He’ll kill me.”
“Lucas is hiding.”
“It isn’t just Lucas.”
Silence.
I stepped forward.
“Who else?”
Vanessa looked directly at me.
For the first time, her arrogance was gone.
She looked terrified.
“Ethan’s uncle.”
Ethan went still.
“Victor?”
Vanessa nodded.
Victor Blackwood.
Richard’s younger brother.
A man Ethan trusted enough to sit on the board of nearly every legitimate Blackwood company.
A man who had hugged Ethan at his father’s funeral.
A man who had called me “the daughter Richard should have lived long enough to meet.”
Vanessa whispered, “Lucas never planned this alone.”
She reached beneath her blanket and pulled out a small flash drive.
“Everything is on here.”
Ethan reached for it.
Before his fingers touched Vanessa’s hand, the lights went out.
The hospital room fell into darkness.
A gunshot exploded in the hallway.
Marcus shoved Ethan down.
I hit the floor.
Vanessa screamed.
Another gunshot.
Then another.
Emergency lights flashed red.
A man appeared in the doorway.
His weapon lifted.
Ethan moved in front of me.
Marcus fired first.
The attacker collapsed.
For three seconds, nobody breathed.
Then Vanessa began screaming again.
Not from fear.
From pain.
She grabbed her stomach.
“Oh God.”
A nurse rushed in.
“She’s bleeding!”
Doctors pushed us into the hallway.
Ethan stood with blood on his shirt.
Not his blood.
Vanessa’s.
The flash drive was still clenched in his hand.
May you like
And while doctors fought to save Vanessa’s unborn child, Ethan finally understood that the pregnancy he had celebrated was never meant to create his family.
It had been designed to destroy it.
