Sandra laughed and nodded. "You know… slick is polished and charming, knows how to work a room. Slimy is obviously dirty and makes your skin crawl." She shrugged. "I know a few attorneys who fall into both categories."
Terry found himself nodding. "I guess we encounter people like that in all kinds of jobs."
They headed into the living room, where Terry checked over the kids' homework. Then they settled in for an hour of television, followed by a heated card game that had Emma accusing Toby of cheating and Toby insisting he was just lucky.
When it came time for Sandra to leave, the goodbyes had become a familiar ritual that Terry found himself dreading more each time. She hugged both kids, reminding Emma about an upcoming school project and telling Toby to practice his multiplication tables.
He walked her to her car under the porch light, reluctant to let the evening end. "I really wanted you to stay tonight. These goodbyes are getting harder," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I hate them more every time."
Sandra smiled and nodded, her hands resting on his chest. "When the time is right for us to move forward, we'll know."
"What if I already know?" he asked quietly.
Her expression softened. "When I was here… that day when the kids came home early?—”
“God, don’t remind me of that fucked-up fuckup,” he groaned.
She chuckled. “It’s just that, honestly, all I was thinking about was having sex with the man I’d been falling for. It seemed like the next thing in our relationship progression.”
His gaze turned sharp, wondering where she was going with the conversation. “And now?”
“Now, your children aren’t just pictures on your phone that you proudly showed me. They’re real… they’re individuals who I know and care for. They… we… are a packaged deal. What we're building here, with the kids and with each other, is too important to rush."
Terry kissed her forehead, breathing deeply and memorizing every detail of this moment. She was right, of course. And that was one more reason he knew he wasn’t just falling in love, but had already lost his heart to her.
And that didn't make watching her drive away any easier.
30
Sandra spread contracts across her desk, staring at numbers that made her eyes cross. Sixty percent markup of subcontractor fees. Sixty-three percent markup of subcontractor fees. Fifty-seven percent of subcontractor fees. After an hour of analysis, the math still pointed to systematic fraud.
This wasn't standard markup. This was deliberate inflation. And while a builder could legally inflate their markup to whatever they wanted, the big question that ran through her mind waswhy? Blackwood Luxury Custom Homes made millions, and certainly was not hurting for money. Anytime a business handled a great deal of cash, there was always a question of their ability to hide money.
Sandra pulled up public records and found something she thought was curious. Blackwood's charitable contributions had nearly tripled over the past three years. Youth sports leagues, community centers, churches… all donations that generated positive press and community goodwill. Perfect cover for someone who needed to appear beyond reproach. She also learned they had an office in Baytown, even though the main office was in Virginia Beach.
An hour later, Sandra parked outside Blackwood's Baytown location. Harrison worked in the main office in Virginia Beach, but she hoped she could gather some information locally. She pressed her lips together.
The lobby featured warm pine flooring and fresh flowers. A young woman with perfectly styled blond hair looked up as Sandra approached.
"Hello, welcome to Blackwood Luxury Custom Homes. I'm Jessica."
"Hi, I'm Sandra O'Neill. I'm an attorney, and I was hoping to speak with someone about your contracting processes? I have a client interested in commissioning a home, but she's asked me to review your standard procedures first."
Jessica's smile brightened. "Of course! Let me see if Harry Blackwood is available."
A moment later, Sandra followed her down a hallway lined with photographs of stunning waterfront properties. The oak door opened into a corner office that overlooked Baytown’s Main Street and the bay just beyond.
Harry Blackwood rose from behind an enormous desk, almost comical in its size. She knew he was in his late twenties, and he was dressed in charcoal pants, a gray button-up shirt, and a gray tie.
"Ms. O'Neill," he said, extending a hand. "Harry Blackwood. Always a pleasure to work with legal counsel on our projects."
His handshake lingered slightly, eyes moving appreciatively over her figure. Sandra had encountered this type before… men who thought charm could distract from serious business.
"Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Blackwood."
"Please, call me Harry." He gestured to a leather chair, then leaned casually against his desk edge. "So you're representing a potential client?"
"I am. She's considering a significant investment in a home on the Shore and wants to understand your billing structure before moving forward." Sandra settled into the chair, crossing her legs and watching his gaze follow the movement. "She's particularly interested in how you handle subcontractor relationships."
