Back at the station, the two men were processed and taken down the hall for questioning. Harrison alternated between demands for his attorney and promises to destroy their careers,while Harry seemed to shrink into himself with each passing step, the reality of his situation finally penetrating his privileged bubble.
Terry positioned himself behind the one-way glass, watching as both Harrison and Harry sat in separate interview rooms, each flanked by high-priced attorneys who'd materialized within an hour of the arrests like expensive vultures drawn to fresh carrion.
The lawyers had immediately advised their clients to remain silent, turning what should have been straightforward interrogations into a careful dance of legal maneuvering and strategic silence.
Harry's expensive clothes were wrinkled now, his face pale and sweaty under the harsh fluorescent lights that made everyone look guilty. His lawyer was a sharp-suited man from Virginia Beach, sitting beside him with the practiced stillness of someone who billed by the hour.
"Look, Harry," Jeremy said, leaning back in his chair with a practiced casualness that belied the steel in his voice. "We've got multiple witnesses who identified you in the beach house room where the drugs were found during the party. Your best bet is to start talking."
At first, Harry remained silent.
“And we have evidence of you cooking the books for Blackwood Luxury Custom Homes, laundering money from the sale of drugs.”
Harry's composure was cracking, but he continued to follow his attorney's advice and remained quiet.
Adding to the pressure, Pete pushed. “And one of those witnesses has now told us you brought the drugs.”
Terry grinned, knowing Robert had made no such confession, but Harry didn’t know that. It was easy to see Harry begin to crumble under the weight of accumulated pressurewhich didn't surprise Terry. The younger Blackwood had always struck him as someone who'd inherited his father's arrogance without developing the backbone to match.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know about the party. I just went to give Robert something."
Terry leaned closer to the glass, recognizing the moment when a suspect started to break.
"Tell us about the contracts," Pete pressed, his voice deceptively gentle. "The inflated billing to your clients."
Harry shot a glance at his attorney, but even though the man shook his head, it was as though Harry could no longer maintain the pretense. He ran his hands through his hair, the gesture making him look younger and more vulnerable. "I pad the subcontractor costs. Take the actual cost of a job, we bill the client 50 to 75 percent higher. The extra money gets cleaned through our books."
"Where does the money come from that needs to be laundered?" Pete asked, his tone remaining conversational despite the question's significance.
Harry licked his lips nervously, barely sparing a glance at his attorney before answering. "I don't know. I mean, I don't know specifically."
"Whose idea was this system?"
Harry’s mouth opened and closed several times before Jeremy leaned closer. “Work with us, and we can make things easier on you.”
"It was my dad's," Harry said softly, throwing his father under the bus without hesitation, though his voice dropped to a whisper as though volume could lessen the betrayal. "He set up the whole system after I got into trouble in college. He was approached by an attorney who worked for someone who said it was the only way to keep me out of prison."
Terry felt cold satisfaction as Harry continued to talk, laying out the entire money-laundering operation in methodical detail. By this time, his attorney could see that his client was more concerned with saving his own skin than protecting his father and was clearly calculating the advantages of a plea deal.
An hour later, they moved to Harrison's interview room. The older Blackwood sat ramrod straight in his chair, his silver hair still perfectly styled despite the circumstances, his posture radiating years of buying his way out of problems.
"I don't know why I'm here," Harrison said, his voice carrying the same authority he'd used at the American Legion meeting when positioning himself as a pillar of the community.
"My client has no knowledge of any wrongdoing." Harrison's attorney, a sharp-dressed woman from Richmond with a reputation for defending white-collar criminals, stated firmly. "These charges are baseless harassment of a respected businessman."
Terry grinned. He’d heard that Harrison had put in a call to Marcus Webb, but that attorney was unable to come over to the Shore. Eyeing this attorney, he knew it was possible she could delay the process and create reasonable doubt, but she didn’t have the connections to make overwhelming evidence disappear. He watched as Jeremy and Pete settled into their chairs with the patient confidence of hunters who'd cornered their prey.
"Mr. Blackwood," Jeremy began, his voice carrying deliberate calm as he opened a thick folder of documents, "your son has been invaluable in explaining your business practices."
Harrison's attorney leaned forward with practiced aggression. "My client hasn't said anything yet."
"He doesn't need to," Pete replied smoothly, opening the folder to reveal pages of documentation. "Your son just told us everything. The money laundering. The drug connections. Howyou’ve cleaned cartel money through your construction business for years."
Terry studied Harrison's face as the information sank in, looking for the telltale signs of a man realizing his world was collapsing. The polished mask slipped for just a moment, revealing something cold and calculating underneath.
"He wouldn't dare," Harrison said, but Terry could hear the uncertainty creeping into his voice.
“Harry brought drugs to the rental house the afternoon before the party. We have witnesses, and he has confessed.”
