Blackwood

The Phone Call from Vincent

George pressed the phone to his ear.

"Vincent."

"Little brother." Vincent's voice was smooth. Relaxed. Like he was calling to chat about the weather. "I was starting to think you wouldn't pick up."

"What do you want?"

"I want what I've always wanted. What I deserve. But first, I want you to listen."

"I'm listening."

"Good. Because what I'm about to tell you is going to change your mind about a lot of things. Starting with Mom."

George's grip tightened on the phone. "What about Mom?"

"Did she ever tell you about the night Dad almost died? About ten years ago? Before the pills?"

George's mind raced. Ten years ago. He'd been in college. His mother had been healthy then. Still sharp. Still herself.

"No."

"Of course she didn't. Because she's been lying to you. To all of us." Vincent paused. "Mom tried to kill Dad, George. She poisoned his drink. A lot of pills ground up into fine powder. Dad got sick, but he didn't die. The doctors said it was food poisoning."

"You're lying."

"I wish I was. But I have proof. Hospital records. Lab tests. A confession Mom wrote in her journal before she burned it. I found the ashes. I had them analyzed."

George felt sick. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand something. Mom isn't a victim. She's a woman who tried to murder her husband and got caught. Dad didn't poison her. He protected her. He kept her in that room to keep her from going to prison."

"That's not true."

"It's absolutely true. And I have the evidence to prove it." Vincent's voice hardened. "So when you're sitting there with Detective Reid, thinking you're the hero of this story, remember that your mother is a would-be killer. And your father is the man who saved her from herself."

George closed his eyes. His head was spinning.

"What do you want, Vincent?"

"I want you to stop. Stop helping Elizabeth. Stop talking to the police. Stop pretending you're better than the rest of us."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I release the evidence. Mom goes to prison. Elizabeth goes down as an accomplice. Christopher goes into foster care." Vincent paused. "And you? You go down as the man who destroyed his family for nothing."

George looked at Christopher. The boy was watching him, his eyes wide.

"I need time to think," George said.

"You have twenty-four hours. After that, I go public. And everyone suffers."

The line went dead.

George lowered the phone.

Christopher stood up. "What did he say?"

George didn't answer. He walked to the door and opened it. Evelyn was in the hallway, talking to another officer.

"Detective Reid. We need to talk."

Evelyn followed him into the interview room. George closed the door.

"Vincent says he has evidence that my mother tried to kill my father ten years ago."

Evelyn's face didn't change. "Do you believe him?"

"I don't know. But if it's true, everything changes."

"Not everything." Evelyn sat down. "Your mother's past doesn't excuse what your father did to her. Or what Arthur did. Or what Vincent is doing now."

"It changes how this looks. To a jury. To the public."

"Maybe. But it doesn't change the truth." Evelyn leaned forward. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"Tell me."

"I think your family has been lying to each other for so long that no one remembers what the truth is anymore. I think your mother was desperate. I think your father was scared. I think Arthur was trying to hold everything together and broke in the process. And I think Vincent is a predator who's been waiting for this moment his whole life."

George sat down across from her. "So what do I do?"

"You do what you came here to do. You find the truth. Even if it hurts."

Evelyn stood up. "I'm going to check on Elizabeth. She's been giving her statement for two hours. I want to make sure she's okay."

She left.

George sat alone with Christopher.

The boy was quiet for a long time. Then: "My mom tried to kill someone?"

George shook his head. "No. Not your mom. My mom. Your grandmother."

"Is she a bad person?"

George thought about it. His mother. The woman who'd read him stories when he was young. Who'd tucked him into bed. Who'd smiled at him across the dinner table.

And the woman who'd spent eight years in a room, drugged and helpless.

"I don't know," George said. "I don't know what she is anymore."

Christopher nodded. Like he understood.

George's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*The hospital. Room 412. Come alone.*

He stared at the message. Who sent it? Vincent? Someone else?

He showed it to Christopher. "Do you recognize this number?"

Christopher shook his head. "No."

George stood up. "I need to go."

"Where?"

"To the hospital. Someone wants to see me."

"Is it Vincent?"

"It might be. Or it might be someone else." George walked to the door. "Stay here. Don't leave with anyone except your mother or Detective Reid."

Christopher nodded.

George left.

---

The hospital was ten minutes from the police station.

George drove in a patrol car, with an officer named Davis behind the wheel. Evelyn had insisted on an escort. George didn't argue.

They parked in the emergency bay and walked inside. The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.

Room 412 was on the fourth floor. Intensive care.

George walked to the door. A nurse stopped him.

"Are you family?"

"His name is George Blackwood. The patient is my brother. Arthur Blackwood."

The nurse checked her clipboard. "He's not awake. He's in a medically induced coma."

"Can I see him?"

"Five minutes."

George walked into the room.

Arthur was lying in the bed, surrounded by machines. Tubes ran from his arms and nose. A ventilator breathed for him. His face was swollen. Pale.

He looked dead.

George pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down.

"Hey, Arthur," he said quietly.

No response.

"I don't know if you can hear me. Probably not. But I need to say some things anyway."

George leaned forward.

"I'm sorry. For not being here. For leaving you to deal with all of this alone. That wasn't fair."

He paused.

"But I'm also angry at you. For lying to me. For using me. For shooting Maya."

Arthur's chest rose and fell. The machines beeped.

"I don't know if I forgive you. I don't know if I ever will. But I'm here. And I'm not going to let Vincent win."

George stood up.

"I'll come back. When you wake up. If you wake up."

He walked to the door.

A voice stopped him.

"George."

George turned.

Arthur's eyes were open. Just barely.

"Arthur?"

"Don't... trust... Evelyn."

George walked back to the bed. "What?"

"Evelyn... works for... Vincent." Arthur's voice was barely a whisper. "She's not... a detective. She's... his partner."

George's blood ran cold. "That's not possible. She's been investigating the family for months."

"She's been... collecting evidence... for Vincent. To use... against us."

"How do you know?"

"I found out... two days ago. That's why... I called you. Not because... I wanted help. Because... I wanted to warn you."

Arthur's eyes closed.

"Arthur. Stay with me."

But Arthur was gone. Asleep. Or unconscious. George couldn't tell.

He stood there for a long moment.

Then he walked out of the room.

Davis was waiting in the hallway.

"Is he okay?" the officer asked.

"He's alive." George walked toward the elevator. "We need to get back to the station. Now."

"Why? What's wrong?"

George didn't answer.

He was thinking about Evelyn. About everything she'd said. Everything she'd done.

She'd been there when Elizabeth arrived. She'd been there when Christopher was brought in. She'd been there when George gave his statement.

She knew everything.

And if she was working for Vincent, then Vincent knew everything too.

George's phone buzzed.

Another text.

*Told you. Twenty-four hours. Don't waste them.*

Vincent.

George deleted the message.

The elevator doors opened. George stepped inside.

Davis followed. "Mr. Blackwood. You need to tell me what's going on."

George looked at the officer. Young. Maybe twenty-five. Clean-shaven. Earnest eyes.

"Who do you report to?" George asked.

"Sergeant Miller. Why?"

"Is Miller clean?"

Davis's face went blank. "Clean?"

"Has he been compromised? By my family? By anyone?"

Davis was quiet for a moment. Then: "I don't know. I hope so."

"You hope he's compromised?"

"I hope he's clean." Davis shook his head. "I don't know anything anymore."

The elevator stopped at the ground floor. The doors opened.

George walked out.

The hospital lobby was crowded. Patients. Visitors. Doctors in white coats.

And in the corner, sitting in a plastic chair, was Abigail Vale.

Elizabeth's sister.

She stood up when she saw George.

"George Blackwood?" She walked toward him. "I'm Abigail. Elizabeth's sister. We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About Vincent. About what he's planning." Abigail looked around nervously. "Not here. Somewhere private."

George led her outside. The parking lot was busy. Cars came and went.

Abigail stopped next to a blue sedan.

"Vincent came to see me this morning. At my apartment. He said he wanted to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"He said if I helped him get custody of Christopher, he'd give me money. A lot of money. Enough to pay off my student loans. Buy a house. Start over."

"And what did you say?"

"I said no." Abigail's voice was firm. "I love my sister. I love my nephew. I would never betray them."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because Vincent said if I didn't help him, he'd hurt them. He said he has people everywhere. Police. Lawyers. Even judges." Abigail's eyes were wet. "I don't know what to do."

George put a hand on her shoulder. "You did the right thing. Coming to me."

"But can you stop him?"

"I don't know. But I'm going to try."

Abigail nodded. She wiped her eyes.

"There's something else," she said. "Vincent mentioned a woman. Someone named Samantha. He said she's in danger."

George's heart stopped.

Sam. His partner in Chicago.

"What did he say about her?"

"He said if you don't cooperate, she'll have an accident. Something that looks like a robbery gone wrong." Abigail's voice shook. "He said he's done it before."

George pulled out his phone. He dialed Sam's number.

No answer.

He tried again.

Still no answer.

He called the office.

"Keller and Associates."

"It's George. Is Sam there?"

"She left early today. Said she wasn't feeling well. Why? What's wrong?"

George hung up.

He looked at Abigail. "I need to get to Chicago."

"Now?"

"Now. Vincent knows where she lives. If he's going to hurt her, he'll do it soon."

Davis stepped forward. "Mr. Blackwood, I can't let you leave. Detective Reid said—"

"Detective Reid is working for Vincent." George's voice was hard. "Your boss is compromised. The whole department might be compromised."

Davis's face went pale. "How do you know?"

"Because my brother told me. The one who's lying in the ICU with a bullet in his chest."

Davis was quiet for a moment. Then: "What do you need?"

"A car. A phone. And a promise that you won't tell anyone where I'm going."

Davis handed over his keys. His personal phone.

"The car is in the staff lot. Blue Honda. Take it."

George took the keys. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just find out the truth. And when you do, bring it back."

George turned to Abigail. "Go back to the police station. Find your sister. Tell her what Vincent said. Tell her to stay there until I come back."

"What about Christopher?"

"Keep him safe. Don't let him out of your sight."

Abigail nodded.

George ran to the staff lot.

---

The drive to Chicago was fourteen hours.

George drove straight through. He didn't stop for food. Didn't stop for coffee. Didn't stop for anything.

He called Sam's number every hour. Each time, it went straight to voicemail.

By hour twelve, he was running on adrenaline and fear.

The sun went down. The highway stretched ahead, dark and empty.

George's phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*You're making a mistake, George. Turn around.*

He ignored it.

Another text.

*Sam is safe. For now. But that can change.*

George's hands tightened on the wheel.

Another text.

*Come home. We can work this out. Family should stick together.*

George threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

He drove faster.

---

Chicago appeared on the horizon at 3:00 AM.

The city was dark. Most people were asleep.

George drove to Sam's apartment building. A four-story walk-up on the north side. He parked on the street and ran to the door.

The buzzer was broken. He pushed the door open. It wasn't locked.

He climbed the stairs to the third floor.

Sam's apartment was at the end of the hall.

The door was open.

George's blood ran cold.

He walked inside.

The apartment was destroyed. Furniture overturned. Drawers pulled out. Glass shattered on the floor.

And in the middle of the living room, sitting on the couch with her hands tied behind her back, was Sam.

She was alive.

Her eyes were wide. A gag was tied around her mouth.

George ran to her.

"Sam. It's George. I'm going to get you out of here."

He untied the gag first. Sam gasped for air.

"George." Her voice was hoarse. "They're still here."

"Who?"

"Two men. They went to the kitchen. They said they were waiting for you."

George spun around.

Two men walked out of the kitchen. Both were big. Both were holding guns.

One of them smiled.

"Mr. Blackwood. We've been expecting you."