Chapter 3 - The Threat in the Dark
Over the next week, the Blackwood mansion became a golden prison.
Maxwell refused to let me leave, insisting that the streets were too dangerous, especially now that the media was obsessed with the "Miracle of Central Park." The papers called me the "Guardian Angel of the Upper East Side." But to me, the attention felt like a target on my back.
Ethan was getting stronger. With me there, he began to eat more and even started his physical therapy again. He laughed for the first time in a year, a bright, bubbly sound that seemed to chase the gloom out of the massive mansion. Maxwell watched us play from the doorway, a soft, rare smile on his face. He treated me like a daughter, buying me clothes, books, and ensuring I had everything I could ever want.
But peace in the Blackwood house was an illusion.
It was Tuesday night, around 2:00 AM. I couldn't sleep. The bed was too soft, the room too quiet. On the streets, you get used to the constant hum of sirens, the dripping of water, the wind. Here, the silence was heavy, almost suffocating.
I decided to go down to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
The mansion was dark, illuminated only by the pale moonlight streaming through the high arched windows. As I padded silently down the grand staircase in my bare feet, I heard voices coming from Maxwell’s private study. The door was cracked open, a sliver of warm light spilling onto the hardwood floor.
"She’s talking to the prosecutors, Arthur," Maxwell’s voice was tense, filled with a cold fury. "Jennifer is trying to cut a deal. She’s claiming she was coerced."
"Coerced by whom?" Arthur’s voice replied, sounding nervous, pacing the floor. "She’s a lunatic, Max. She tried to kill your son because she's greedy. You can't believe anything she says!"
"She has bank records, Arthur," Maxwell said, and I heard the sound of papers slamming onto a desk. "Someone wired two million dollars to an offshore account in her name three days before she took Ethan to the park. The wire transfer came from a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands. A company that leads straight back to you."
My breath hitched. I pressed my back against the cold wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"That's a lie!" Arthur shouted. "I would never hurt Ethan! He’s my nephew!"
"You've been skimming from the charity fund for years, Arthur. I found the discrepancies last month. You knew I was going to audit you. You knew if Ethan was gone, and I was broken by grief, you would take control of the company. You used Jennifer. You promised her the world if she got rid of the boy, making it look like a tragic accident."
"You can't prove any of this," Arthur whispered, his voice suddenly dropping its defensive tone, turning dark and menacing. "Even if you do... you think the board will let you ruin the company's reputation? If this goes public, Blackwood Enterprises is finished. We will lose everything."
"I don't care about the money," Maxwell growled. "I care about my son."
"Then you should have kept your mouth shut, big brother."
A loud scuffle echoed from the room. The sound of a glass breaking.
"What are you—" Maxwell’s voice was cut off, followed by a heavy thud.
I gasped, covering my mouth with my hands. Through the crack in the door, I saw Maxwell lying on the floor, unconscious. Arthur stood over him, holding a heavy crystal decanter, his face twisted in a desperate, frenzied rage.
Arthur pulled a small vial from his pocket. He knelt beside Maxwell, opening his mouth, preparing to pour a clear liquid down his throat.
Poison.
If Maxwell died of an apparent heart attack or overdose brought on by the "stress of the scandal," Arthur would inherit everything. And Ethan and I would be entirely at his mercy.
I didn't think. The street kid in me took over.
I grabbed a heavy bronze bust of a historical figure from a nearby pedestal on the hallway table. It was incredibly heavy, but adrenaline gave me strength. I pushed the door open, stepped into the room, and with all my might, I threw the heavy bronze bust at Arthur’s head.
CRACK.
It hit him squarely in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. The vial of poison flew from his hand, shattering on the marble hearth of the fireplace.
May you like
Arthur screamed in pain, clutching his shoulder, and whipped his head around. When he saw me, his eyes turned murderous.
"You little street rat," he hissed, rising to his feet. "You just made the biggest mistake of your life."
