“Yes,” Agent Chen said.
He exhaled, long and steady. “Joy used to tell me her mother believed the truth could outlive fear. That even if evil won in the moment, it couldn’t win forever unless people stopped fighting it.” He looked at Annie, eyes bright. “Your great-great-grandmother trusted that someday, someone in her family would be stubborn enough to keep digging.”
Annie felt tears gather. “She trusted the right people.”
Eric reached for her hand. “So did I.”
They sat in quiet for a moment, the hospital sounds drifting faintly through the walls, the enormity of what had been uncovered settling into something that felt less like shock and more like direction.
“What happens next?” he asked.
“Next,” Agent Chen said, “we formalize the estate transfer, pursue restitution claims, and continue expanding the criminal case. And if you’re willing, Mr. Whitaker, we would like your cooperation in establishing a foundation tied to the Blackwood name—one that supports victims of violent crime and funds cold-case investigations.”
Eric considered it for only a moment. “Eleanor waited nearly a century for someone to speak for her,” he said. “If I’ve been given this, then that’s what it’s for.”
As Agent Chen excused herself to finalize paperwork, Annie remained beside her uncle, watching the man who had raised her sit under the weight of a legacy that had once been stolen and was now, finally, being returned.
Eleanor Blackwood had hidden the truth, believing that someday, someone would be strong enough to carry it.
Annie could see now that she had been right.
***
Jack stood near the window of Uncle Eric’s hospital room, one hand resting lightly against the glass as he watched Annie explain what they had uncovered. The late-afternoon sun spilled across the floor in warm, slanted light, softening the sterile edges of the room and catching in her hair as she spoke.
She looked exhausted in a way that went deeper than lack of sleep—a bone-deep weariness that came from days of fear, adrenaline, and responsibility—but beneath it was something steadier now. Relief. Purpose. The quiet certainty of someone who had carried a truth through darkness and finally seen it brought into the open.
But it was Uncle Eric’s reaction that held Jack’s attention the most.
The older man sat propped against his pillows, hands folded loosely in his lap, listening as Agent Chen laid out the legal and financial implications of the Blackwood inheritance. Sixty to seventy million dollars. Generational assets. Corporate holdings. The dismantling of a criminal empire. It was the kind of revelation that had unmade people Jack had interviewed before—men who grew euphoric or panicked or suddenly ravenous for control.
Uncle Eric did none of that.
Instead, he asked about the victims. About foundations. About how Eleanor’s story would be told. About how to make sure what had been stolen was used to repair what had been broken.
This is where Annie gets her strength, Jack realized. This is where she learned that justice matters more than comfort. That truth matters more than profit.
He stepped closer to the bed, drawn into the gravity of the moment. “Mr. Whitaker,” he said quietly, “there’s something I think you need to be prepared for. This doesn’t end with paperwork. There’s going to be media attention. Court proceedings. People who come forward claiming family connections or business interests. Some of them honest. Some of them very much not.”
Eric regarded him with clear, untroubled eyes. “Detective, I spent nearly forty years managing classrooms full of teenagers. I’ve handled rumors, manipulation, entitlement, and emotional meltdowns over broken pencils. I think I can survive a few lawyers and reporters.”
Agent Chen laughed softly, and Jack felt the tension in the room ease by a degree. There was something profoundly stabilizing about Uncle Eric—his quiet humor, his refusal to be overwhelmed, his instinctive centering of people over assets. It was exactly the temperament this inheritance needed.
“There’s another layer,” Jack continued, his voice turning more serious. “Sarah Mitchell’s organization was larger than we initially believed. While we’ve arrested the primary figures, there are still financial beneficiaries out there. Business partners. Corrupt officials. People who profited from the Mitchell operations without ever getting their hands dirty.”
Annie turned toward him, concern shadowing her eyes. “You think there’s still danger?”
“I think there are people who won’t be happy to see this money change hands,” Jack said carefully. “And people who won’t want Eleanor’s evidence fully exposed in court. Uncle Eric inheriting this fortune threatens some very powerful interests.”
Agent Chen nodded. “We’re already seeing indications of that. Several of Sarah Mitchell’s financial associates have disappeared since her arrest. We’ve intercepted communications suggesting there are individuals who would prefer the Blackwood claim… not exist.”
Eric’s mouth tightened. “What does that mean for Annie?”
“It means continued federal protection,” Agent Chen replied. “And private security, once the estate transfer is formalized. This kind of inheritance attracts attention. Not all of it benign.”
Jack watched Annie absorb that information, saw the conflict in her expression—the relief that Eleanor’s truth had survived, and the sorrow that it would continue to carry danger with it. He knew that look well. It was the look of someone who accepted the cost of justice without ever resenting it.
“Uncle Eric,” Jack said, then paused, aware that what he was about to say didn’t belong to the investigation. It belonged to the future. “There’s something else you should know. Annie and I… we’re not just partners anymore.”
