Chapter 5
1130 Words
The gates were bigger than she expected.
Stacy stood on the pavement outside Blackwood Estate and tilted her head back and still couldn't see the top of them properly. Black iron. Tall. The kind of gates that weren't just for security. They were a message. A reminder of exactly what kind of world existed on the other side and exactly what kind of world didn't.
She was very clearly from the kind that didn't.
A guard stepped forward before she could reach the intercom.
"Name?"
"Stacy Mills." Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "Victor Mills' daughter."
He looked her over once. The worn jacket. The bag that had seen better days. Her shoes that were clean but not expensive. Then he spoke into a small radio and waited.
Stacy kept her hands loose at her sides. She would not let him see them shake.
The gates opened.
She walked through.
The inside was worse than the outside.
If worse was even the right word. It was more. More space. More quiet. More of everything money could buy arranged perfectly and deliberately so you understood without being told that you were somewhere that operated by completely different rules.
Three black cars were parked near the entrance. Security cameras watched from every angle. Manicured hedges lined a path that led to a front door that probably cost more than six months of her father's rent.
A woman in a black uniform met her at the entrance without smiling.
"This way."
Stacy followed.
Her heart was loud in her ears. Fear for her father. Anger at the situation. Pride that refused to let either of those things show on her face.
She had come here for one reason.
She was not going to forget it.
The office was on the second floor.
Tall ceilings. Dark wood. Books that looked like they had actually been read. A desk at the far end that was large enough to be its own statement.
Gerard was seated behind it.
He didn't look up immediately when she walked in. He finished what he was writing first. Then he set the pen down and looked at her with an expression that gave absolutely nothing away.
"Miss Mills."
"Mr. Blackwood."
He gestured at the chair across from his desk. She sat. Straight back. Hands in her lap.
He studied her the way someone studies a document they haven't decided to trust yet. Eyes moving. Taking in details. She could feel the assessment even though his face didn't change.
She did the same to him.
He was younger than she had expected him to feel. That was the strange thing. In the lobby he had felt massive. Here, behind his desk in the morning light, he was just a man. A cold, controlled, expensive man. But a man.
That didn't make him less dangerous. It just made him more real.
"You came," he said.
"You said I couldn't leave the building." She held his gaze. "This is the building."
Something shifted almost invisibly at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. Something that had considered becoming one and decided against it.
"Your father's situation is being looked into," he said.
"By who?"
"By people who are better at it than the police would be."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting right now." He leaned back slightly. "You're going to have to learn that in this house, Miss Mills, questions get answered on my timeline. Not yours."
Stacy felt the irritation move through her chest like something with edges.
"Your timeline," she said. "While my father is out there somewhere."
"Yes."
She held the word between them for a moment. Let it sit there.
"You're asking me to trust you," she said.
"I'm not asking you anything. I'm telling you how things work here."
He stood up.
She hadn't expected that. She stayed seated but her body went alert immediately.
He moved around the desk slowly. Not toward her directly. More like around the room.
"You have no idea what you've stepped into," he said.
Stacy stood up.
She was not going to be talked down to while sitting.
"Then teach me," she said. "Or step aside and let me find out myself."
He stopped.
Turned to look at her properly.
"You say things like that," he said, "like they don't have consequences."
"Everything has consequences. I'm still standing here."
His jaw tightened. His hands clasped behind his back. He walked toward her slowly. One step. Then another. Giving her time to move back.
She didn't move.
"Leave the room," he said quietly. "Wait downstairs."
"No."
The word landed flat between them.
"Miss Mills…"
"You brought me here," Stacy said. "Your family did this. So whatever conversation needs to happen about my father… I'm in it. I'm not waiting downstairs."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Something moved behind his eyes. Not anger exactly. Something that looked almost like reluctant respect.
"Fine," he said. "Then listen carefully."
The terms came out in clean, precise sentences.
She would stay at the estate under his supervision. She would attend events when required. She would follow estate rules. She would not speak to the press. She would not contact certain individuals he would name later.
"And my father?" she asked.
"Will be found faster if you cooperate."
"That sounds like a threat."
"It's a fact."
She breathed slowly. Her father's face moved through her mind. His slippers by the bed. His phone on the table.
"Fine," she said quietly. "But I have one condition."
He raised an eyebrow.
"You tell me everything you find out. Every detail. I don't get managed or handled or kept in the dark. I find out when you find out."
He studied her.
Then gave one short nod.
Stacy let out a slow breath.
She turned toward the window. The estate grounds spread out below. Gardens. Security walking the perimeter. Everything controlled and contained.
Something caught her eye.
A figure near the far hedge.
Standing completely still.
Not a guard. The posture was wrong. Too casual. Too deliberate.
As if they wanted to be seen just enough.
Her breath stopped.
Then a hand pressed the curtain from behind her.
Gerard.
He had moved without her hearing him. He stood just behind her shoulder looking through the glass.
"You see it," he said quietly. Not a question.
"Who is that?" she whispered.
He didn't answer immediately.
The figure turned.
And even from that distance, across the garden, through the glass, Stacy felt it.
Whoever that was, they were looking directly at her.
A voice came from just behind the hedge. Low. Carried on the wind just far enough.
"You shouldn't be here."
Stacy gasped.
Gerard's eyes narrowed.
And neither of them moved.
- Writer
