Chapter 7 - The Woman They Tried to Blame
Victor's next move was aimed at me.
Three days after Michael was attacked, anonymous documents appeared online claiming I had secretly transferred money from the Blackwood Foundation into private accounts.
They were convincing.
Dates.
Signatures.
Bank records.
My name.
Within hours, reporters surrounded my office again.
One television network called me “the disgraced estranged wife of alleged crime boss Daniel Blackwood.”
Hannah entered my office and locked the door.
“Tell me that's fake.”
“It is.”
“Can you prove it?”
“I don't know.”
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
“Do not speak publicly,” she said immediately.
“I wasn't planning to.”
“The documents are sophisticated.”
“Meaning?”
“Whoever created them had access to authentic foundation records.”
Victor.
It had to be.
“Daniel?”
“He's already with forensic accountants.”
Of course he was.
An hour later, Daniel appeared.
I expected anger.
Instead, he looked calm.
That frightened me more.
“We found the source.”
“That quickly?”
“He made one mistake.”
“What?”
Daniel handed me a folder.
“The account number supposedly receiving the money did not exist until six months after the first alleged transfer.”
Relief nearly knocked me backward.
“So we can prove it's fake?”
“Yes.”
I sat down.
Daniel crouched in front of me.
He did not touch me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Fair.”
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate what your name does to my life.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“I hate that every time I start rebuilding, someone drags me back.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying—”
He smiled faintly.
I almost laughed.
Then I started crying.
I hated that too.
Daniel's expression changed.
He reached toward me.
Stopped.
“Can I?”
That broke something.
I nodded.
He wrapped his arms around me.
Not possessively.
Not desperately.
Carefully.
I buried my face against his shoulder.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
It was the first time he had held me since I left.
When I pulled away, his eyes were wet.
“You're crying.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
“Men can have allergies.”
“In February?”
“Very aggressive allergies.”
I laughed.
He smiled.
Then the moment passed.
We released each other.
I wiped my face.
“What happens now?”
“We publish the evidence.”
“Then?”
“We identify who fabricated it.”
“Victor.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
Daniel's expression darkened.
“He had help.”
From inside the foundation.
That mattered.
The investigation uncovered the person two days later.
Margaret Blackwood.
Daniel's mother.
When he told me, I thought I had misunderstood.
“Your mother?”
“Yes.”
Margaret had always been polite to me.
Cold, but polite.
Perfect posture.
Pearls.
A voice that could insult you while sounding concerned.
“Why?”
Daniel looked exhausted.
“She believes Victor should lead the family.”
My mouth fell open.
“Instead of her own son?”
“She believes I've become weak.”
“Because you won't kill people?”
His face went blank.
I realized how ridiculous and horrifying that sounded.
“She believes my father built something I have no right to dismantle.”
“And framing me helps?”
“She thinks losing you will make me return to who I was.”
My stomach twisted.
“She has hated me this entire time.”
“No.”
Daniel looked away.
“Worse.”
“What could be worse?”
“She liked you until she realized you changed me.”
That sentence hurt in a different way.
Daniel continued.
“She told me once that before you, I never questioned what the family required.”
“And after?”
“I started asking whether every tradition deserved survival.”
I thought about canceled investments.
Charities.
Employees.
Decisions Daniel had made after conversations with me.
I had assumed he barely listened.
Maybe he had listened more than he knew how to say.
“Where is Margaret now?”
“At the mansion.”
“You confronted her?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“She told me to choose.”
“Between?”
“The family and you.”
My heart stopped.
“What did you say?”
Daniel looked at me as though the answer should be obvious.
“You.”
“Daniel.”
“I didn't choose our marriage. I know I don't get to do that.”
His voice was steady.
“I chose the person she attempted to destroy.”
He took a breath.
“I told her she had twenty-four hours to leave the house.”
My mouth fell open.
“You threw your mother out?”
“I removed someone who committed a crime against you.”
There was no triumph in his voice.
Only grief.
“She raised me.”
I saw the boy again.
The boy beneath Blackwood.
“I am sorry.”
He nodded.
“Me too.”
Margaret did not leave quietly.
She called me that evening.
I almost didn't answer.
“Emily.”
Her voice remained elegant.
“You've caused enough damage.”
I laughed in disbelief.
“I caused it?”
“My son is dismantling generations of family power because you convinced him ordinary morality applies to extraordinary men.”
“Ordinary morality?”
“You know nothing about the world he survives in.”
“I know he deserves better than becoming his father.”
Silence.
Then:
“You always thought Vanessa was your competition.”
My skin chilled.
“What?”
“She never was.”
I gripped the phone.
“Then who was?”
“The Blackwoods.”
I said nothing.
Margaret continued.
“Daniel was raised to understand that family comes before everything. Before love. Before happiness. Before conscience.”
“And you think that's good?”
“I think it kept him alive.”
“It also made him miserable.”
“Men like Daniel are not raised for happiness.”
My heart broke for him.
“You're wrong.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Then watch what happens when Victor realizes Daniel truly intends to walk away.”
She disconnected.
I called Daniel.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
The old panic returned immediately.
Not Vanessa.
Not anger.
Fear.
Ten minutes later, Michael called.
“Emily.”
“Where is Daniel?”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
“Michael.”
“There was an incident at the south warehouse.”
I stood.
“Is he hurt?”
“He was shot.”
The world disappeared.
The hospital corridor looked exactly like the one where our marriage began ending.
That thought wouldn't leave me.
Four months earlier, I had sat in an emergency department waiting for Daniel to answer my calls.
Now I stood outside surgery waiting to learn whether he would survive.
Sarah found me.
She was on duty.
“Emily.”
Her face told me nothing.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is everyone looking at me like that?”
“The bullet caused significant bleeding, but surgeons are controlling it.”
I closed my eyes.
Michael sat nearby with his arm still bandaged from his own attack.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked down.
“Daniel went to meet one of the senior men who wanted out.”
“Victor knew?”
“Apparently.”
“Was it Victor?”
“We don't know.”
I paced.
Hours passed.
Vanessa came.
I almost laughed at the cruelty of the universe.
She stopped several feet away.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
She sat.
We waited together.
At two in the morning, a surgeon finally emerged.
“He's stable.”
My knees nearly gave out.
Sarah caught me.
“When can I see him?”
“Soon.”
I stopped.
Technically, I was still his wife.
For a little longer.
When I entered Daniel's room, he looked nothing like the man Chicago feared.
Pale.
Still.
Machines surrounding him.
I sat beside the bed.
His hand rested near mine.
I touched it.
“Idiot.”
His fingers moved.
I froze.
Daniel's eyes slowly opened.
“That's... rude.”
I burst into tears.
“You're awake.”
“Apparently.”
“Don't joke.”
“Trying not to die was exhausting. Let me have this.”
I laughed and cried at once.
He watched me.
Then his expression changed.
“You came.”
“Of course I came.”
“Why?”
The question hurt.
“Because I love you.”
His eyes filled.
I squeezed his hand.
“But don't misunderstand.”
His mouth twitched.
“Wouldn't dare.”
“I can love you and still divorce you.”
“I know.”
“I can love you and still refuse the marriage we had.”
“I know.”
“You can never threaten me with leaving again.”
“I won't.”
“You can never make me compete for you.”
“You won't.”
“And if we ever try again—”
His fingers tightened around mine.
“If.”
“Don't push it.”
“Sorry.”
I smiled through tears.
“If we ever try again, we start from the beginning.”
Daniel looked at me.
“No ring?”
“No ring.”
“No mansion?”
“No.”
“No guards?”
“Reasonable guards.”
He smiled.
“Therapy is working.”
“Don't ruin it.”
His eyes drifted closed.
Just before sleep took him, he whispered:
“I'd give up everything.”
I leaned closer.
“For what?”
May you like
His voice was barely audible.
“To deserve one first date.”
