“Jack—”
“They marked your building while I stood fifty feet away. They attacked Eric in broad daylight. That tells me they’re testing boundaries. And escalation only moves one direction.”
“This is my home.”
“And it’s exposed,” he replied. “Too many access points. Too many windows. No perimeter control.”
“I’m not running.”
“I’m not asking you to.” His tone stayed even. “I’m adjusting the environment.”
She studied him, conflict tightening her mouth.
“Then I stay,” he said. “Storage room. I can monitor the front and the alley, and the stairs give me a choke point to your apartment.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is.” He met her gaze. “They hurt Eric because of what you found. That means they won’t stop at intimidation.”
Her phone vibrated.
Jack’s followed a second later.
Martinez: Found something. Sarah Mitchell’s great-grandfather was Richard Mitchell. County records confirm he inherited the Blackwood businesses in 1928. Everything.
Jack turned his screen toward Annie.
Her breath caught. “1928. One year after Eleanor disappeared.”
“And five days after Richard’s eighteenth birthday,” Jack said. “Which means Eleanor vanished just in time.”
The shop felt suddenly smaller.
“What if her death wasn’t just about inheritance,” Annie said. “What if it was about preventing exposure?”
Jack nodded slowly. “Then the locket may contain something the family never recovered. And someone alive today believes it can still destroy them.”
She drew the locket out again. “Then we open it. Tonight.”
“Tonight,” he agreed. “But we do it controlled.”
He stepped aside to make another call, arranging for a patrol unit to pass hourly, requesting a fire inspection of the building’s access points, and quietly flagging the alley for unmarked observation.
When he finished, Annie stood watching him, arms wrapped around herself.
“You’re thinking this is bigger than one family,” she said.
“I’m thinking the Blackwood name didn’t survive this long by accident.” He scanned the storefront windows. “Power networks don’t dissolve. They go dormant.”
Silence stretched between them, weighted with what that implied.
Outside, the sun angled lower, throwing amber light across the shop floor, illuminating floating dust that refused to settle.
“Pack essentials,” he said. “Clothes. Documents. Anything you can’t afford to lose.”
Her jaw tightened. “You think they’ll try again.”
“I think they already are.”
