Chapter 2 - THE SHADOW OF VICTORIA BLACKWOOD
By six o'clock in the evening, the Blackwood estate was under absolute isolation. Electromagnetic jammers installed in the attic towers had severed all cellular and satellite communications. Heavily armed guards in plain clothes patrolled the perimeter walls, while technical specialists swept every square inch of the mansion with non-linear junction detectors.
Emma stood in the private study on the second floor, holding an ice pack against her swollen cheek. The room was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves made of dark mahogany, filled with leather-bound volumes on maritime law, corporate finance, and rare 19th-century architecture. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting long, dancing shadows across the oriental rug.
Victor sat behind a massive desk carved from a single slab of black oak. On the leather blotter in front of him lay the small listening device, now disassembled into three components: a miniature lithium-thionyl chloride battery, an encrypted circuit board, and a tiny microphone capsule.
Standing across from the desk was Marcus Vance, holding a tablet displaying technical diagnostics.
"The unit is custom-built, boss," Marcus reported, his voice low and gruff. "Not something you buy off the dark web or from an army surplus vendor. The circuit board uses proprietary chips manufactured by a defense contractor in Switzerland. The range on the burst transmitter is limited—roughly five hundred yards."
"Which means," Victor said, his eyes fixed on the disassembled parts, "the receiver had to be located on the grounds of this estate. Or just outside the main gates."
"Exactly," Marcus agreed. "We checked Harold’s quarters. He had thirty thousand dollars in cash tucked inside an old leather trunk, along with three unlisted burner phones."
Emma raised her eyebrow. "So Harold was involved?"
"Harold was taking bribes," Victor corrected, looking up at Emma. "But not for espionage. Marcus traced those cash deposits to a tabloid journalist in London. Harold was selling gossip about my brother's gambling debts and my stepmother's shopping sprees. He's a greedy old coward, but he lacks the technical sophistication to handle a Swiss-made military bug."
Marcus nodded in agreement. "We ran Harold through an intensive interrogation before tossing him out the gates. He's clean on the bugging incident. He genuinely thought the chair was just a sacred relic of your mother's memory."
"And what about the bug's operational lifetime?" Victor asked.
"Based on the battery decay rate, it’s been active for roughly eight to ten months," Marcus replied. "Meaning whoever put it there has listened to every single private conversation you’ve held in that dining room since late last autumn."
Victor leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers. The dining room was where the Blackwood family held their most confidential discussions—where acquisitions were planned, where corporate rivalries were dismantled, and where the family discussed the ongoing legal inquiries regarding the mysterious sinking of the Victoria's Pride, the luxury yacht on which Victor's mother had lost her life twelve years ago.
"Eight months," Victor whispered. "That covers the entire negotiation for the Port Royal expansion contract."
"And the restructuring of the family trust," a voice spoke from the doorway.
Julian Blackwood stepped into the study. At thirty-two, Julian was the younger, more flamboyant brother. He wore a tailored velvet smoking jacket, his dark hair carefully styled, though the strain around his eyes revealed his anxiety. Behind him walked Eleanor Blackwood, their stepmother, a tall, regal woman in her late fifties, draped in pearls and holding a crystal glass of sherry.
"Victor," Julian said, pacing toward the desk. "The guards at the gate refused to let my driver leave. What is the meaning of this lockdown? The guests for the charity gala will be arriving in two hours!"
"The gala is canceled," Victor said without looking up.
Eleanor gasped, her glass tilting slightly. "Canceled? Victor, half the city's political elite is currently en route to this estate! You cannot simply lock the gates and turn them away! The press will have a field day!"
"The press can print whatever they like," Victor said coolly. "Someone placed an encrypted listening device beneath our mother’s chair in the dining room."
The room went dead silent.
Julian stopped pacing. His face flushed pale. "A... a bug? In the main dining room?"
"Under Victoria’s chair," Victor specified, his eyes locking onto his stepmother’s face. "The one chair no one was allowed to touch."
Eleanor set her sherry glass down on a side table with a sharp clink. Her hands were steady, but her voice carried a distinct chill. "Are you implying one of us put it there, Victor?"
"I am stating a fact," Victor said. "The bug was placed beneath a chair that the domestic staff was instructed never to disturb. The servants obeyed that rule out of fear of dismissal. Only a member of this family—or someone with complete knowledge of our internal dynamics—could have placed it there knowing it would remain undetected for months."
Julian laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is absurd, Victor! Why would Eleanor or I bug our own dining room? We already attend the meetings! We already know what happens to the business!"
"You know what I choose to tell you during meetings," Victor countered softly. "You don't know what I discuss privately with our attorneys, or what documents I read when the table is cleared."
Julian opened his mouth to argue, but his gaze fell on Emma, who was standing quietly near the fireplace holding her notebook.
"And who is she?" Julian demanded, pointing a finger at her. "The maid who caused this entire mess? Why is she in your private study while family business is being discussed?"
"Miss Lawson is the only person in this house who actually opened her eyes today," Victor said. "She is now my personal assistant. Any questions you have regarding estate security can be routed through her."
Eleanor took a step toward the desk, her posture stiff and unyielding. "Victor, you are letting your long-standing paranoia ruin this family. Ever since Victoria died, you have viewed everyone in this house as a traitor or an enemy. You suspect your own brother? You suspect me? I raised you after your mother’s accident!"
"My mother’s death was not an accident, Eleanor," Victor said, his tone dropping into a deadly register. "And the fact that someone chose her chair to hide a transmitter tells me that whoever is listening is still playing the same game that began twelve years ago."
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "You are insane."
She turned on her heel and swept out of the room, her silk gown rustling against the hardwood floor. Julian lingered for a moment, looking between his brother and the disassembled electronic parts on the desk, before shaking his head and following his stepmother out.
When the heavy oak door clicked shut, Victor turned to Emma.
"What did you notice?" he asked.
Emma set the ice pack down on the table. "Your brother became nervous the moment you mentioned the eight-month timeframe. His breathing quickened, and he unconsciously touched his inner left pocket twice."
Victor’s eyes glinted with interest. "And my stepmother?"
"She wasn't surprised by the bug," Emma said calmly. "She was surprised that you canceled the gala. Her concern wasn't about being spied on; her concern was about controlling the public narrative outside those gates."
Victor leaned back, a dark appreciation in his eyes. "You have a sharp mind, Miss Lawson. Better than most investigators I've hired."
"I grew up in an orphanage with forty other children, Mr. Blackwood," Emma said quietly. "If you don't learn to read people's subtle cues early on, you don't survive."
Victor reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a leather-bound file. He slid it across the desk toward her.
"Inside that file are the floor plans of the mansion, the security codes for the lower vaults, and the personal histories of every family member," Victor said. "Tonight, we aren't just hosting a lockdown. We are going to set a trap."
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Emma looked at the file, then back at Victor. "What kind of trap?"
"The kind that forces a traitor to reveal their hand," Victor replied. "Because whoever planted that device thinks the battery simply died. They don't know we've found it."
