Chapter 4 - The Men Ethan Didn't Send
The first man stepped from the SUV wearing a gray coat.
The second remained beside the vehicle.
Neither approached the house immediately.
That somehow made it worse.
People who came to frighten you quickly were predictable.
People who waited had a plan.
Natalie locked the door.
“Call the police.”
I did.
Then I called Lena Cross.
She answered immediately.
“Do not open the door.”
“I wasn't planning to invite them for coffee.”
“Are you upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Stay away from windows.”
Through a narrow gap in the curtain, I watched the man in gray finally cross the street.
He stopped at the bottom of Natalie's walkway.
My phone vibrated.
Ethan.
I answered.
“Did you send men to Seattle?”
“No.”
No hesitation.
“Two SUVs are outside.”
His breathing changed.
“Claire, call police.”
“Already done.”
“Are you inside?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Don't come here.”
Silence.
“Ethan.”
“I heard you.”
The man outside placed something beside the mailbox.
Then walked away.
The SUVs left thirty seconds before police arrived.
The object was an envelope.
Inside was a photograph of Dad entering the Seattle vault facility nine months earlier.
Written beneath it:
WE ONLY WANT WHAT JOSEPH STOLE.
I sat at Natalie's kitchen table while officers took statements.
Lena arrived forty minutes later.
She was fifty, maybe fifty-five, with dark hair threaded with gray and the calmest eyes I had ever seen.
She read the note.
“Victor?”
I asked.
“Possibly.”
“You don't sound convinced.”
“Threatening messages often work best when they encourage you to assume who's responsible.”
I hated competent people.
They made paranoia more complicated.
Margaret joined by video.
Ethan called twice.
I ignored him.
Then Leo called.
“Mrs. Blackwood?”
“What?”
“Mr. Blackwood is on his way.”
Anger shot through me.
“I told him not to come.”
“He isn't going to your residence.”
“Then why is he coming?”
Leo hesitated.
“Because Samuel Ross disappeared this morning.”
My anger vanished.
“What?”
“His car was found near O'Hare.”
“Is he dead?”
“We don't know.”
“Does Ethan?”
“That's why he's coming.”
“Why Seattle?”
Leo was silent.
I understood.
Samuel had been coming to me.
Lena booked me into a secure hotel under another name.
Natalie insisted on coming.
I refused.
“You have a business.”
“You have a Mafia war.”
“Exactly.”
“Claire—”
“If someone follows me, I don't want them following you.”
Natalie hated it.
She understood.
That evening I sat in a hotel room looking over Lake Union.
At 9:12, someone knocked.
I checked the hallway camera.
Ethan.
Alone.
I nearly didn't open.
Then I remembered Dad's letter.
Ethan is not his uncle.
Remember that before you decide what to do.
I opened the door but blocked the entrance.
“You said you wouldn't come unless I asked.”
“I came because Samuel vanished. I won't come inside.”
“Good.”
Ethan looked different.
No tie.
No bodyguards.
Dark coat.
Exhausted eyes.
For two years, I had watched rooms react when Ethan Blackwood entered.
Now he stood in a hotel hallway waiting for his wife to decide whether he was allowed three feet closer.
“What happened to Samuel?”
“He sent Leo an email at 5:20 this morning.”
“What did it say?”
“Only one sentence.”
“What?”
“If anything happens, tell Claire the truth about Thomas.”
Thomas.
Ethan's father.
“What truth?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
“Dad said your father's death wasn't as simple as a boating accident.”
Something moved across Ethan's face.
“Joseph told you that?”
“He wrote it.”
Ethan looked toward the floor.
“My father drowned when I was twenty-four.”
“I know.”
“His boat exploded after he fell overboard.”
I stared.
“Exploded?”
“The authorities ruled it an accident caused by fuel vapor.”
“Dad didn't believe that.”
“Neither did I.”
“Victor?”
Ethan's jaw tightened.
“I've suspected him for fifteen years.”
“Yet he's still part of your family.”
“Suspicion isn't proof.”
“You're a Mafia boss, Ethan. Since when do you require courtroom proof?”
His expression hardened.
Then softened again.
“When the man I'm accusing is my father's brother.”
I hated that answer because I understood it.
“What does this have to do with Dad?”
“Joseph showed me records proving Victor had been stealing from my father.”
“Before Thomas died?”
“After.”
Ethan looked down the hallway.
“Can we talk somewhere other than outside your room?”
I hesitated.
Then stepped aside.
He entered.
He did not remove his coat.
He sat in the chair farthest from me.
That was deliberate.
I noticed.
“After my father died, Victor expected to control everything until I was ready,” Ethan said.
“How old were you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“And you refused?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like you.”
A faint, humorless smile.
“I didn't trust him.”
“So you found Dad.”
“Your father had resigned years earlier, but I knew he kept records.”
“Why would he help you?”
“He respected my father.”
I remembered Dad speaking about Thomas Blackwood once.
Not by name.
He had said, “Some men inherit dirty businesses and spend their lives convincing themselves they can keep their hands clean.”
At the time, I thought he was talking about Ethan.
Maybe he had been talking about Thomas.
“Joseph found transfers Victor couldn't explain,” Ethan continued. “Contracts. Money routed through companies my father didn't control.”
“Did you confront him?”
“Not directly.”
“What did you do?”
“I removed him from several businesses.”
“But not the organization.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because removing Victor entirely would have started a war.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Your family conversations are exhausting.”
Ethan did not smile.
“For years I thought containing him was enough.”
“And Dad?”
“He walked away.”
“Until now.”
“Apparently.”
I retrieved the photograph from my bag.
Ethan stared at it.
“You were young.”
“I was stupid.”
“Were you already running everything?”
“Trying to.”
“Dad wrote that you were not your uncle.”
Ethan looked at me.
“I hope he was right.”
“So do I.”
The words slipped out.
We both heard them.
I looked away.
Ethan did not exploit the moment.
That mattered.
“Samuel worked for Victor first,” he said.
My attention snapped back.
“What?”
“Fifteen years ago.”
“Then why did you hire him?”
“Joseph recommended him.”
That made no sense.
“Dad recommended Victor's employee?”
“Samuel had been giving Joseph information.”
The anonymous records.
My pulse quickened.
“You think Samuel started sending Dad documents again this spring.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor has been stealing again.”
“From you?”
“From everyone.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
The Mafia boss in him returned slightly.
I didn't ask.
I did not need accounting numbers to understand danger.
“Vanessa?”
Ethan went still.
“What about her?”
“Dad said the person helping Victor was close enough to influence where you go and what warnings you ignore.”
Ethan's face closed.
I knew that expression.
“You think Vanessa.”
“I don't know.”
“But you've considered it.”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“Was Miami Victor's idea?”
“Vanessa proposed the property.”
“For business?”
“So she said.”
“Did Victor benefit?”
“Yes.”
I stared.
Ethan rubbed his jaw.
“I've been looking into it since I returned.”
“Without telling me.”
“You asked me to leave you alone.”
“That doesn't mean—”
I stopped.
He was right.
I had demanded distance.
He had respected it.
I hated how confusing boundaries became when somebody actually followed them.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“There is something else.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“Your father's medical accounts received an unusual payment six weeks ago.”
“From you?”
“No.”
“Who?”
“A company connected to Victor.”
My heart stopped.
“Why would Victor pay Dad's hospital bill?”
“I don't know.”
“How much?”
“Fifty thousand.”
I stared.
“Dad never mentioned it.”
“It was credited anonymously.”
“Could it have been charity?”
Ethan's expression answered.
No.
I paced.
“Maybe Victor was paying Dad.”
“For what?”
“Silence?”
“Possible.”
“Or buying something.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“Like the records.”
I thought about the men outside Natalie's house.
WE ONLY WANT WHAT JOSEPH STOLE.
Dad had not stolen anything.
He had kept evidence.
My phone rang.
Lena.
I answered.
“We found Samuel,” she said.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief hit me.
“Where?”
“Tacoma.”
Ethan stood.
Lena continued.
“He went there voluntarily.”
“Why?”
“He says he was trying to reach someone who could verify Joseph's documents.”
I looked at Ethan.
“Who?”
Lena hesitated.
“Thomas Blackwood's former boat mechanic.”
Ethan's face changed.
He heard.
“What does Samuel say happened to your father?”
I asked.
May you like
Lena's next sentence made Ethan grab the table.
“He says Thomas Blackwood's death was not an accident.”
