Chapter 18: The Devil You Know
1558 Words
Lawrence Blackwood’s estate sat at the end of a private road in Greenwich, hidden behind stone walls and century-old oaks. The kind of place where secrets went to die—or, apparently, to fester.
The Rolls-Royce glided through iron gates that opened without a sound. Alexander’s hand rested on my knee, a steady pressure I hadn’t realized I needed. He hadn’t spoken since we left the penthouse. Neither had I.
Some silences don’t need filling.
Lawrence waited on the front steps of the Georgian manor. Tall, silver-haired, sharp-boned—a leaner, hungrier version of Harold. Where Harold’s eyes held cold calculation, Lawrence’s held something more dangerous.
Desperation.
“Alexander. Elena.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you for coming. I know the timing is… inconvenient.”
“Your message said you had information about Willa Vance.” Alexander’s voice was ice. “Start talking.”
Lawrence gestured inside. “Breakfast first. Trust requires caffeine.”
The dining room smelled like coffee and old money. Mahogany table. Silver service. A fire crackling despite the mild morning. A servant poured our cups and disappeared.
Lawrence sat at the head of the table. He didn’t waste time.
“Willa Vance isn’t Victoria’s sister,” he said. “The real Willa died in a yacht accident off Monaco in 2018. The woman living in Harold’s estate, calling herself Willa, is a professional. Former SVR. Her real name is Anya Volkova.”
My left eye twitched. There it was.
Alexander’s grip on his coffee cup tightened. “Proof?”
Lawrence slid a folder across the polished wood.
I opened it. Photos. Surveillance stills. A passport with cold grey eyes staring out from a face that was almost Willa Vance but not quite. Almost, but not. The kind of difference you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it.
“She was recruited by the Vance family three years ago,” Lawrence continued. “They’d lost their fortune—bad investments, worse gambling. Victoria’s engagement to Alexander was supposed to save them. When that fell through, they activated their backup plan.”
“Anya Volkova,” I said. The name tasted foreign on my tongue. Wrong.
“She specializes in corporate infiltration. Wealthy families. Inheritance manipulation. She’s done this three times before—different names, different countries, same pattern. She identifies a vulnerable patriarch, isolates him, and redirects assets to her client.”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. “Harold.”
“Harold thinks he’s using her. He thinks she’s helping him consolidate power against you. In reality, she’s been siphoning money through Blackwood accounts for eighteen months. Small amounts. Easy to miss. Total so far: $4.7 million.”
My stomach dropped. Theo had found the same number in the documents he’d burned.
“Why are you telling us this?” I asked. “Harold is your brother.”
Lawrence’s grey eyes went cold. Dead.
“Harold destroyed my life. In 2019, I tried to expose his offshore accounts—the same ones your son found. He crushed me. Stripped my voting rights. Left me with nothing but this estate and an allowance he can revoke at any moment. My wife left. My daughter won’t speak to me.” He leaned forward. “I’ve spent five years in this house, rotting, while my brother parades his power. I want him to know what that feels like.”
“Revenge,” Alexander said.
“Justice.” Lawrence smiled thinly. “Call it what you will.”
I closed the folder. “What do you want from us?”
“Two things. First: I need you to lose today’s board meeting.”
Alexander went very still. “Explain.”
“Harold is moving to strip your voting rights. He’s citing the media scandal, the Vance investigation, your relationship with Elena. The board will side with him—they always do. If you fight, you’ll lose anyway. If you don’t fight, Harold will think he’s won. He’ll get complacent. He’ll name himself interim CEO. He’ll announce a strategic partnership with ‘Willa Vance.’ And when he’s at his highest, we strike.”
“And the second thing?”
Lawrence met my eyes. “I need you to trust me. I know how that sounds, given my family’s history. But I’m not Harold. I’m not interested in power for its own sake. I want my brother to fall. And I’m willing to give you everything I have to make that happen.”
Silence stretched across the mahogany table.
Alexander looked at me. A question in his grey eyes. Do we do this?
I thought of Theo. Of the tablet in my office drawer. Of Anya Volkova’s cold eyes watching our son through a camera we hadn’t known existed.
The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend. But sometimes, they’re the only weapon you have.
“We’re in,” I said.
Lawrence exhaled slowly. “Good.”
“But if you betray us,” Alexander added, his voice soft and lethal, “I will destroy you. Not through lawyers. Not through boards. Personally. Do you understand?”
Lawrence smiled. It was the first genuine expression I’d seen on his face. “I’d expect nothing less from Harold’s son.”
The Blackwood Tower boardroom was all glass and steel and old men in expensive suits.
Harold sat at the head of the table, grey eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The moment we walked in, I knew Lawrence had been right. This was already decided.
“Alexander. So glad you could join us.” Harold’s voice carried through the room. “We were just discussing your… future with the company.”
The vote took seven minutes.
Motion to suspend Alexander Blackwood’s voting rights, pending review of reputational impact: passed unanimously.
Motion to name Harold Blackwood as interim CEO: passed.
Motion to approve a strategic partnership with Vance Industries, represented by Willa Vance: passed.
I watched Alexander’s face remain perfectly blank. The Ice King mask I remembered from four years ago. The mask he’d worn the night he’d looked at me like I was nothing.
But his hand found mine beneath the table. Gripping tight.
This is different, I told myself. This time, he’s pretending for us. Not against me.
Afterward, in the elevator, he exhaled slowly. “It’s done.”
“Lawrence better be right.”
“He is.” Alexander’s jaw tightened. “I had my people verify everything while we were in there. Anya Volkova exists. She’s SVR-trained. She’s been inside our home, Elena. Inside Harold’s estate. Inside Blackwood Group.”
The elevator doors opened onto the lobby. Cameras flashed.
“Mr. Blackwood! Is it true you’ve been removed—”
“Ms. Sterling! What does this mean for your relationship—”
I didn’t answer. Neither did Alexander.
We walked through the chaos like we were untouchable. Because for the first time in weeks, I felt like we might actually win.
Theo was waiting in the penthouse, surrounded by screens.
“I found something,” he said before we’d even taken off our coats. His voice was steady, but Mr. Bubbles was clutched under his arm. That shark only appeared when Theo was scared.
“Show us,” Alexander said.
Theo pulled up a file. “Anya Volkova isn’t just former SVR. She was part of a unit called ’Nasledie’—Russian for ‘Inheritance.’ They specialized in infiltrating wealthy families, isolating the patriarch, and redirecting assets to their clients.”
My blood chilled. “She’s done this before.”
“Three times that I can confirm. Different countries. Different names. Same pattern.” Theo’s small fingers flew across the keyboard. Faces appeared on the screen—different women, different hair colors, same cold grey eyes. “She always works with someone inside the family. Always lets them think they’re in control. And always—always—eliminates them once the assets are secured.”
Alexander’s face went pale. “Harold thinks he’s her partner. He’s actually her next victim.”
“And after Harold?” I asked.
Theo’s grey eyes met mine. “After Harold, she has full access to Blackwood Group. Which means she has access to us. To this penthouse. To everything Dad owns. To me.”
The wolf wasn’t at the door. She was already inside, and she’d been hunting Harold longer than she’d been hunting us.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Lawrence: “Harold just announced the Vance partnership. Willa will be at the estate tonight for a ‘celebration dinner.’ I’ll have everything recorded. Be ready tomorrow.”
I showed it to Alexander.
“Tomorrow,” he said quietly, “we end this.”
Theo climbed onto the couch between us, Mr. Bubbles tucked under one arm. “Can we have pizza first? I’m tired of sushi.”
Despite everything—the board meeting, the cameras, the ghost of Anya Volkova watching us through hidden lenses—I laughed.
“Yeah, baby. We can have pizza.”
We ate sitting on the floor of the penthouse, surrounded by screens and secrets and the quiet hum of a war not yet won. Alexander’s shoulder pressed against mine. Theo’s small body warm between us.
One more night.
Tomorrow, we hunted wolves.
End of Chapter 18
- Writer
