Chapter 3 - The Audit of Aunt Karen
By midnight, Victor placed a thick manila folder on my mahogany desk in the study. The ambient lamplight cast long shadows across the room, illuminating the dark, polished wood and the leather chairs where my captains usually sat to report on territories, shipments, and blood debts. Tonight, the meeting was far more personal.
“Aunt Karen—legal name Karen Vance—fled to a motel near O’Hare,” Victor reported, standing at rigid attention. “She has a history of financial fraud and CPS complaints in three different states. She took custody of Emma two years ago after Claire passed away from an extended illness.”
I opened the folder. Inside were school photographs, medical intake forms, and housing receipts. Every single page documented systemic neglect.
“Where is Karen now?” I asked quietly.
“Being brought here, sir. My men intercepted her before she could board a flight to Miami.”
“Good.” I stood up, buttoning my suit jacket. “Bring her to the lower cellar. The one with the soundproofing.”
The underground level of the estate was where we dealt with corporate rivals and traitors who threatened our supply lines. Tonight, it would serve a different kind of justice.
Ten minutes later, Karen Vance—a gaunt woman with dyed blonde hair and cheap perfume—was shoved into the center of the concrete room. She stumbled, catching herself on a metal chair, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at the armed guards standing by the reinforced door.
“What is this?!” she screeched, her voice echoing off the damp walls. “You can’t just kidnap people! I’m going to call the police!”
I stepped out from the shadows, walking slowly toward her until the overhead light caught my face. Recognition flickered in her eyes, followed by sheer, unadulterated panic.
“Marcus... Marcus Blackwell?” she whispered, her knees buckling slightly.
“You had a choice, Karen,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “When Claire passed away, you could have contacted me. You could have turned her over to the authorities, or given her to a foster system with a paper trail. Instead, you took a monthly state care stipend, pocketed the money, starved my daughter, and left her to freeze in a public park.”
“I—I didn't know!” she lied frantically, shaking her head. “Claire never told me who the father was! She said he was a monster, a criminal who would kill us both!”
“She was right about what I am,” I replied, stepping closer until I towered over her chair. “But you miscalculated one thing. You thought Emma was nobody. You thought she was just an orphan you could discard when she became inconvenient.”
Karen trembled, tears spilling over her mascara-stained cheeks. “Please... please don't hurt me. Take whatever I have! Take the apartment, take the money!”
“I don't want your money, Karen,” I said softly. “I want you to sign these documents.”
Victor stepped forward, placing a thick stack of papers and a pen on the metal table.
“What... what are these?” she stammered.
“A full, permanent relinquishment of all guardianship rights, accompanied by a confession of child neglect and financial fraud,” I explained smoothly. “You will sign them. Then, my men will put you on a bus to a state far away from Illinois. If you ever come within five hundred miles of my daughters again, you won't make it to a courtroom. Do we understand each other?”
May you like
She grabbed the pen with shaking hands and scribbled her signature across every line, eager to escape with her breath.
When she was dragged away, weeping into the empty corridor, I looked down at the signed papers. One battle was won. But a much larger war was coming. Because if Karen knew about me, and Claire had hidden from me... someone had helped Claire disappear all those years ago. And they were still watching.
