Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE OF CARDS COLLAPSES
The arrest of Daniel Blackwood was just the first domino.
By 6:00 AM, as the first light of dawn began to paint the Seattle sky in shades of cold blue and pale orange, three police cruisers and a state forensic van pulled up the long driveway of the Blackwood estate.
Patricia and Richard Blackwood were still asleep when the officers knocked on the heavy oak front door.
I stood on the wet grass near the driveway, watching as the front door was opened by Patricia, who was wearing a silk robe and a look of profound, aristocratic annoyance.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, looking at the police officers. "Do you have any idea who lives here? My husband is Richard Blackwood!"
"We know exactly who lives here, Mrs. Blackwood," the lead officer said, holding up a search warrant signed by a superior court judge. "We are here to search the premises for financial records related to Blackwood Manufacturing and to execute an eviction notice on behalf of the Clara Vance Trust."
"Eviction?" Patricia gasped, her face turning pale as she saw me standing near the driveway. "You! What did you do? Richard! Richard, get down here!"
Richard appeared in the doorway, his face pale and wrinkled without his usual tailored suit. "Vivienne... what is this? Why are these people here?"
"The house is registered to the Clara Vance Trust, Richard," I said, walking up the stone steps where Daniel had thrown me just twelve hours earlier. "The trust agreement specifically states that if any member of the Blackwood family commits a felony involving corporate assets, the lease agreement for this property is immediately nullified. Daniel was arrested three hours ago. The trust is reclaiming the property. You have two hours to pack your personal belongings."
"You can't do this!" Patricia shrieked, her voice cracking with a high-pitched, desperate terror. "This is our home! We’ve lived here for twenty years!"
"It was Aunt Clara’s home," I said coldly. "The home you took from her when she was too sick to fight you. Well, I’m not sick, Patricia. And I’m not quiet anymore."
As the officers began to escort the elder Blackwoods out of the house, Richard looked at me, his eyes filled with a sudden, horrifying realization.
"The company," he whispered. "What happens to Blackwood Manufacturing?"
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"The company is undergoing a restructuring," I replied. "I’ve already contacted the board of directors. As the majority shareholder through the trust, I am calling an emergency meeting for noon today. Your son is going to prison, Richard. And you’re going to have to find a very good lawyer of your own to explain why you signed those pension authorizations."
For the first time in three years, Patricia didn't have a snide remark. She sat on the stone steps, her silk robe covered in wet leaves, weeping silently as the police carried boxes of her husband’s files out to the waiting vans.
