Thirty minutes later, Terry hung up the phone with a grim expression after talking to his counterpart with the VBDTF, Captain Morrison. Looking over at Jeremy and Pete, he said, "Virginia Beach says we're looking at the tip of the iceberg."
"How big an iceberg?"
"Captain Morrison over there estimates cartels are moving twenty to thirty million in drug money through the Hampton Roads area every quarter." Terry consulted his notes, his voice growing more serious with each detail. "But here's the thing… they're not just selling to street junkies anymore."
Pete’s brows lifted. "Let me guess… upscale clientele."
"Exactly. College kids, young professionals, people with disposable income who want high-quality product and can afford to pay premium prices." Terry leaned forward, his expression intense. "But more importantly, people with legitimate businesses who can help launder the profits."
"Like luxury home construction companies."
"Morrison says it's the perfect setup. Cartels supply high-end drugs to wealthy distributors, who then use their legitimate businesses to wash the money clean. Everyone wins. Cartels get their money laundered, distributors get rich, and the whole operation looks respectable from the outside."
Terry stood and walked to the whiteboard, adding new connections to their growing web of evidence. Harry Blackwood's name now sat at the center, connected to Robert Whitman, the party, Chesapeake Bay area drug busts, and inflated building contracts where a lot of money could be paid in cash.
"So Harry Blackwood isn't just Harrison's son learning the family business," Pete said, the picture becoming clearer. "He's a drug distributor using Daddy's construction company to launder cartel money."
"And when college kids like Robert Whitman throw parties that attract police attention, it threatens the entire operation," Terry added. “We need to move carefully, but fast.”
37
Terry stood at the head of the conference table in the North Heron County Sheriff's department, looking around at the faces of men and women who'd become more than colleagues over the years—they'd become family. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the assembled group of Eastern Shore law enforcement leaders.
"Thanks for coming on short notice," Terry began, his voice carrying the weight of what he was about to reveal. "I’ve talked with Colt, and we agree that we need all of you to know what we’re looking at. What I'm going to share with you doesn't leave this room until we decide how to proceed.”
Liam, the sheriff of Acawmacke County, leaned forward, his hands folded on the table. "You've got our attention."
"We've uncovered what appears to be a major money laundering operation using luxury home construction as a front."
Mitch’s eyebrows rose. "Money laundering? On the Shore?"
"Harrison Blackwood's son, Harry, has been identified at a home where high-grade designer drugs were found later. We're talking pharmaceutical-quality cocaine, MDMA that's 90 percent pure." Terry tapped the board with his marker. "Thisisn't street-level dealing. This is cartel-supplied product being moved through wealthy college networks."
Mitch shifted forward in his seat. "You're talking about the beach house party? That was Blackwood's rental property."
"Exactly. And here's where it gets interesting." He scrubbed his hand over his face, hating to bring Sandra into the conversation, but he trusted each of these professionals. “For full disclosure, he is also suspected by Sandra O’Neill of possible money laundering. Yes, we’re dating, and that’s why I’d like to keep her out of this as much as possible. She’s also gone to Lia McFarlane to check discreetly on the contract.”
Easton’s Police Chief Hannah Hunt's sharp gaze moved from the board to Terry's face. "How is he laundering?"
"She had a local contractor come to her with concerns when a woman using Blackwood as their builder accused him of overpricing. What the contractor is billing Blackwood is greatly inflated, way beyond the industry norm, on the purchaser’s contract. Some inflation is understandable, but double? And much is paid in cash.”
Wyatt Newman, another police chief on the Shore, whistled low. "That's not accounting errors."
"Fuck, you’re right about the possible money laundering," Dylan Hunt added grimly. "Clean the drug money through inflated contracts.”
Ryan Coates leaned forward, his marine patrol experience evident in his tactical thinking. "If they're moving product through the water, we could have easily missed interdiction opportunities. Designer drugs don't usually show up on our radar. We're looking for bulk shipments, not small high-value packages."
Terry nodded, appreciating Ryan's insight. "That's exactly what worries me. This operation has been flying under our radar because it doesn't look like traditional drug trafficking." Terrymoved away from the board, his expression troubled. "If that party hadn't happened in our jurisdiction, we might never have discovered that designer drugs were even on the Shore. This operation has been invisible."
“What about the charities Harrison Blackwood gives to?”
Mitch's expression grew thoughtful. "You said Harrison handles all the charitable procurement himself?"
"Insists on it. Always uses vendors in Norfolk, never local suppliers." Terry could see Mitch’s jaw tighten with what seemed to be a higher level of anger. "Why?"
A hefty sigh came from deep within Mitch’s chest. “We’re all part of the American Legion, and know about the new uniforms and equipment coming from Harrison Blackwood. Ginny McFarlane talked to me yesterday. As our treasurer, she would handle the ordering. Normally, if someone makes a donation, they give us the money, and we order what we need. But when she contacted Blackwood’s office, she was told that we needed to give a count of how many uniforms to order and that they had their own vendors for the donation.”
“What are you thinking?” Colt asked as they all turned toward Baytown’s police chief.
