Chapter 6 - Isabella’s Last Drive
Victor did not return to the mansion that afternoon.
He went somewhere Lily had never seen.
A private warehouse beneath an abandoned printing company in Brooklyn.
No company name appeared outside.
No Blackwood vehicle parked near the entrance.
Marco drove.
Catherine followed separately.
Lily remained with Ethan until Victor asked her to join them after a replacement medical team had secured the child.
The warehouse contained shelves of archived files.
Victor walked directly toward a steel cabinet.
ISABELLA BLACKWOOD.
He opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Insurance records.
Police reports.
Mechanical inspections.
Phone records.
Victor had not looked at them in almost two years.
He had believed the pain was finished.
Now every page felt like evidence he had failed to see.
Lily stood quietly nearby.
Victor opened the accident report.
“Brake line failure.”
Marco nodded.
“That’s what the state investigator concluded.”
“Who hired the independent mechanic?”
Marco searched the file.
“Thomas.”
“Who paid him?”
“Reed Legal Services.”
Victor looked at Catherine.
“Find the mechanic.”
Marco called.
Five minutes later he returned.
“He’s dead.”
Victor’s expression did not change.
“When?”
“Eight months after Isabella.”
“How?”
“Apartment fire.”
Catherine whispered.
“Jesus.”
Victor opened another file.
Phone logs.
Isabella had made one call eight minutes before the crash.
The call lasted eleven seconds.
Recipient: Thomas Reed.
Victor stared.
“Nobody told me she called him.”
Marco frowned.
“It’s in the report.”
“Page eighty-six.”
Victor looked at him.
“You read this?”
“Two years ago.”
“And nothing looked wrong.”
“At the time?”
“No.”
That was the danger of conspiracies.
Every piece looked ordinary until the pieces were placed together.
Lily moved closer.
“What did Thomas say about the call?”
Victor found the interview summary.
“He said Isabella called about an appointment.”
Lily read it.
“At eleven twenty-three at night?”
Victor looked at her.
Exactly.
Catherine began searching Isabella’s laptop archive.
“There’s an email here.”
Victor turned.
“From whom?”
“Isabella to herself.”
“Draft folder.”
Victor walked over.
The unsent message was short.
If anything happens to me, check Ethan’s trust before you believe the accident.
Victor stopped breathing.
Lily looked at him.
The draft was dated six days before Isabella died.
Catherine covered her mouth.
“She knew.”
Victor read the line again.
If anything happens to me.
He had lived with grief for two years.
Now grief transformed into something else.
Guilt.
“She tried to warn me.”
Lily spoke softly.
“You didn’t see it.”
“I should have.”
“You weren’t meant to.”
Victor looked at her.
Lily continued.
“Whoever did this controlled what reached you.”
Victor stared at Thomas’s name in the files.
“Yes.”
Catherine opened another folder.
“There’s an audio file.”
Victor turned.
“Play it.”
Isabella’s voice filled the warehouse.
Victor closed his eyes.
He had not expected the sound of her.
“Victor, if you hear this, it means I was right to be afraid.”
Lily watched him.
He stood completely still.
Isabella continued.
“Thomas has been asking questions about the Voss inheritance.”
“He says they are routine.”
“They are not.”
“Helena contacted me last month.”
“She claims Grandfather’s original will was changed.”
“She wants Ethan removed from the trust.”
Catherine stared.
Isabella’s voice trembled.
“I think someone is inside your companies.”
“Someone close.”
“I don’t know who.”
“But Thomas has been moving documents without telling you.”
Victor’s eyes opened.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
“And Victor, do not trust the medical reports if something happens to me.”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Marco looked at Victor.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she tell you directly?”
Victor looked toward the floor.
“Maybe she tried.”
His phone rang.
An unknown number.
Marco motioned not to answer.
Victor answered anyway.
“Victor.”
Helena.
He recognized her now.
“What did you do to Isabella?”
Helena was silent.
Then she sighed.
“Still grieving.”
“Answer me.”
“I didn’t kill your wife.”
“Who did?”
“You’ve spent your entire life believing fear makes people truthful.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
“Sometimes fear makes them say exactly what you want.”
“Stop playing.”
Helena laughed.
“I told Isabella the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That Ethan’s trust was built on a forged will.”
Victor looked at Catherine.
“What?”
Helena continued.
“Your precious wife knew the inheritance was contested.”
“She knew millions of dollars belonged to other members of the family.”
“She refused to surrender it.”
“So you murdered her?”
“I said I didn’t kill her.”
“Then who did?”
Helena paused.
“I’ll trade.”
Victor’s voice became cold.
“For what?”
“Serena.”
Victor stared.
“You have her.”
“No.”
“You helped her escape.”
“Serena was useful.”
“She is no longer useful.”
Victor looked at Marco.
Trace.
Marco nodded.
Helena continued.
“Give me the trust originals.”
“I give you the name of Isabella’s killer.”
Victor almost laughed.
“You think I’ll believe you?”
“You’ll believe what I send next.”
The call ended.
A message arrived.
Photograph.
Victor opened it.
Isabella stood outside a restaurant six days before her death.
Beside her was Thomas Reed.
And Dr. Jonathan Ames.
Lily frowned.
“Why would Isabella meet Dr. Ames?”
Victor zoomed in.
A third person stood partly hidden behind the restaurant door.
Rachel Mercer.
The nurse.
Catherine whispered.
“They were all together.”
Another message arrived.
Audio.
Victor played it.
Isabella’s voice.
“Thomas, if anything happens to my son, I will expose all of you.”
Thomas answered.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Then another voice.
Dr. Ames.
“You don’t understand what you discovered.”
Then Isabella.
“I understand enough.”
The recording cut off.
Victor stared at the phone.
Lily suddenly remembered something.
“At St. Matthew’s.”
Victor looked at her.
“What?”
“The medication theft happened three months before Isabella died.”
Drugs had disappeared.
Clonazepam.
Digoxin.
Other medications.
The same categories now found in Ethan.
Lily’s face went pale.
“Maybe they weren’t stealing medication to sell.”
Victor understood.
“They were collecting it.”
“To use.”
Catherine whispered.
“On Isabella?”
Lily shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“But the person who framed me had access to those medications.”
Victor called the medical examiner who performed Isabella’s autopsy.
No answer.
Marco tried another number.
Then searched.
His expression darkened.
“He retired last year.”
“Where is he?”
“Costa Rica.”
Victor stared.
“That’s convenient.”
Catherine continued searching the file.
“Victor.”
He turned.
“There was no toxicology screen for digoxin.”
Victor frowned.
“Why?”
“Cause of death was trauma.”
Lily looked at the report.
“If someone gave Isabella something before the crash…”
“It might never have been tested.”
Victor finished the thought.
His face went cold.
“Exhume her.”
Catherine stared.
“What?”
“Get the court order.”
“Victor…”
“Do it.”
Silence filled the warehouse.
Victor looked at Isabella’s photograph.
“I buried her once because I believed a lie.”
“I will not leave her there because the truth is uncomfortable.”
Marco’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the message.
“We found Serena.”
Victor turned immediately.
“Where?”
“A hotel near JFK.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
“Damien?”
Marco shook his head.
“Dr. Ames.”
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
“Bring them both.”
“They’re moving.”
“To the airport?”
“No.”
Marco enlarged a traffic camera image.
“They’re headed toward Staten Island.”
Catherine frowned.
“What’s there?”
Victor knew.
One of Blackwood Maritime’s oldest warehouses.
The facility scheduled for demolition.
The same warehouse where Isabella had kept personal records from her family business.
Victor grabbed his coat.
Lily looked at him.
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
“Then I am too.”
“No.”
Lily held his gaze.
“Serena tried to frame me.”
“Rachel tried to poison Ethan in front of me.”
“Thomas arranged my job three years before I knew your name.”
“If they have records about me, I need to see them.”
Victor started to refuse.
Then he stopped.
“You stay behind me.”
Lily nodded.
They reached the Staten Island warehouse after dark.
The doors stood open.
No vehicles outside.
Marco entered first.
The interior smelled of oil and wet concrete.
Files were scattered across the floor.
A computer had been smashed.
Victor found a chair.
Rope lay beside it.
Fresh blood stained one armrest.
Lily whispered.
“Someone was held here.”
Marco followed the blood drops.
They led toward the rear loading bay.
There they found Dr. Ames.
Alive.
Barely conscious.
His hands were bound.
Victor cut the rope.
“Where is Serena?”
Ames coughed.
“They took her.”
“Who?”
“Damien.”
“And?”
Ames’s eyes struggled to focus.
“The woman.”
“Helena?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Victor froze.
“Then who?”
Ames looked terrified.
“The Widow isn’t Helena.”
Marco and Victor exchanged a look.
“Who is she?”
Ames whispered.
“I never saw her face.”
“She wore a veil whenever we met.”
“But Damien called her something once.”
“What?”
Ames swallowed.
“Mother.”
Victor stared.
Damien and Serena’s mother had supposedly died nineteen years earlier.
Everyone knew that.
Serena had told stories about growing up without her.
Victor looked at Lily.
“Serena’s mother is dead.”
Dr. Ames shook his head.
“No.”
“She isn’t.”
A gunshot exploded from the darkness.
Ames jerked.
Lily screamed.
Victor pulled her behind a steel column.
Marco fired toward the upper walkway.
Footsteps ran above them.
Ames collapsed.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Victor crouched beside him.
“Who is she?”
Ames struggled to breathe.
“Her name…”
Another shot struck the concrete.
Victor shielded him.
“Say it.”
Ames looked directly into Victor’s eyes.
“Evelyn.”
Then his body went still.
Victor froze.
He knew that name.
Every Blackwood did.
Evelyn Montigue had not simply been Serena’s mother.
She had once worked for Victor’s father.
And according to family legend, she had died after being accused of stealing from him.
Victor looked toward the dark walkway.
A woman’s silhouette stood above them.
Black coat.
Black veil.
She looked down.
Then she spoke.
“Your father destroyed my family.”
Victor stared upward.
The woman slowly lifted the veil.
Her face was older than the photographs he remembered.
But there was no mistake.
Evelyn Montigue was alive.
She smiled.
May you like
“So I decided to take yours.”
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