As he ended the call, the office fell silent except for the distant sounds of the sheriff's department and the steady hum of Colt's computer. Terry stared at his notepad, where Sandra's name was written next to Harry Blackwood's in his investigation timeline.
"We need that surveillance operational today," Terry said to Colt, his voice carrying new urgency. "And we need to assume that Harry Blackwood has access to professional criminal resources."
"Agreed," Colt said. "I'll have my deputies in position within two hours. But Terry, if this is cartel-connected, we should consider bringing in federal backup."
Terry nodded, his mind already working through the implications. They'd uncovered a money-laundering operation that stretched from cartels to Eastern Shore luxury homes, with millions of dollars at stake. People had killed for far less.
Terry felt the familiar surge of adrenaline that came with a case reaching its critical phase, but this time it was mixed with something colder. Sandra had stumbled into the crosshairs of people who killed as easily as they laundered money, and time was running out faster than he'd anticipated.
"We'll coordinate with federal agencies," Terry said. "But we're moving on this today. Harry Blackwood doesn't get to walk away from this.”
“He’d be a flight risk. Let’s get a warrant to bring him in.”
Terry looked at Colt and saw his own determination reflected in the sheriff's eyes. They'd built careers on protecting their communities from people like the Blackwoods, and they weren't about to let cartel money corrupt the Eastern Shore.
43
Harry heard his father's booming voice greeting his receptionist at the Baytown office before Harrison appeared in the doorway, his imposing frame filling the space with the kind of authority that had made his business grow. His hair was perfectly styled despite the hour-long drive from Virginia Beach, his suit immaculate, but his eyes carried a cold fury that made Harry's stomach drop.
"Having some punk slash her tires was monumentally stupid," Harrison said without preamble, closing the door behind him with the soft click of a man who never needed to slam doors to make his point.
Harry stopped pacing, the weight of his father's disappointment pressing down on him like a physical force. Harrison moved to the window overlooking the small town, his back to Harry, hands clasped behind him in the pose of a general surveying a battlefield. "You've escalated this situation without thinking it through."
"I was trying to protect us?—"
"You were trying to solve a complex problem with a simple solution." Harrison turned, and Harry saw the same calculatingcoldness that had made Harrison Blackwood one of the most successful businessmen in the Chesapeake Bay area.
“It can’t be traced back to me.” Harry slumped into his leather chair, feeling like the college student who'd screwed up a drug deal and needed Daddy to fix everything. Again. "What do we do now?"
Harrison's lips pressed together in a thin line. "We? You're becoming a liability, Harry. You're emotional, and you're making mistakes. One day, you’ll make an error, and I won’t be able to pull your ass out of the fire."
The words hit Harry like physical blows. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're exactly what I was afraid you'd become when I pulled you out of that drug investigation and charge when you were in college." Harrison's voice carried the weight of old disappointments and failed expectations. "A weak link that threatens everything I've built."
Harry's blood ran cold. "Dad, I?—"
"I can't be directly involved in handling this attorney." Harrison paused, letting the implications sink in. "But there are others who will. People who don't share my constraints."
Harry felt the room grow colder despite the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "You're talking about?—"
"I'm talking about the reality of our situation. You opened this door when you had her tires slashed. You made it personal. Now it has to be finished properly."
The casual way his father discussed violence made Harry's hands shake. He'd known this day might come, had felt it building like storm pressure in his chest, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real in a way that terrified him.
"I never wanted anyone to get hurt," Harry whispered.
Harrison's laugh was harsh, devoid of any warmth. "You didn't mind the money rolling in. You didn't mind the lifestyle,the cars, the respect that came with being my son. It's too late for a conscience now."
Harry reached for the whiskey bottle he kept in his desk drawer, his hands trembling as he poured three fingers into a crystal glass. "What exactly are you planning? Whatever it is… it’ll come back to bite us in the ass!"
"Nothing that can be traced back to us. Nothing that can be connected to either of us." Harrison's tone had shifted to the same businesslike efficiency he used when discussing construction schedules. "But you need to distance yourself from any direct involvement. Make sure your alibis are solid. Be visible, be public, be completely above suspicion."
"And if it doesn't work? If she's already shared what she knows?"
Harrison's eyes went flat, emotionless. "Then we all have much bigger problems than one persistent attorney."
Harry downed half his whiskey in one burning gulp, feeling it scorch his throat. "She isn't our only problem. The police brought Robert back in for questioning."
