Chapter 3 - The First Rule Was Never Trust a Blackwood“When do we start?”
Ezra Blackwood looked at Nessa’s hand inside his.
“Now.”
He released her.
Then he turned toward the men surrounding Vance Orley.
“Take his phone.”
Vance finally found his voice.
“Ezra, wait.”
Nobody did.
Pavl removed the phone from Vance’s inside pocket.
Another man took his wallet.
A third collected the key card clipped behind his belt.
The efficiency of it disturbed Nessa more than violence would have.
Nobody shouted.
Nobody threatened.
Nobody asked what came next.
They simply moved because Ezra had spoken.
Vance looked at Nessa.
Whatever softness had once lived behind his wire-rimmed glasses was gone.
“You have no idea what you’ve walked into.”
Nessa picked up her bag.
“That makes 2 of us.”
Ezra almost smiled.
Almost.
“Office.”
He led her upstairs.
Iron Works looked different above the training floor.
The basement had exposed brick, steel beams, sweat, and old blood.
The second floor had polished concrete, smoked glass, and the kind of security equipment corporations pretended not to own.
Ezra entered a room overlooking the ring.
Nessa followed.
Pavl started through the door.
Ezra stopped him.
“Not you.”
Pavl’s face hardened.
“Boss.”
“I said not you.”
The door closed between them.
Nessa noticed.
Ezra noticed her noticing.
“You have something to say?”
“You excluded the man who has worked for your family longer than almost anyone downstairs.”
“He spilled champagne on your cello.”
“That isn’t why.”
Ezra leaned against the edge of the desk carefully.
His ribs were already beginning to stiffen.
“No.”
Nessa placed her bag beside the chair.
“Then why?”
“Because Vance wasn’t the only leak.”
Silence.
Ezra opened a drawer and removed a thin laptop.
He placed it between them.
“There have been 4 compromised transactions in 8 months.”
Nessa sat.
“Vance had access?”
“To 3.”
“And the 4th?”
“He didn’t.”
There it was.
The real problem.
Vance had not been the disease.
He had merely been a symptom.
Ezra entered a password.
A map of Toronto appeared.
Colored lines marked shipping routes, warehouse properties, municipal projects, and waterfront parcels.
Nessa leaned closer.
The Blackwood organization did not resemble the criminal empire she had imagined.
It resembled an investment company.
That was probably the point.
“Where does the legal business end?”
Ezra looked at her.
“You don’t need to know.”
“Then you don’t need me.”
He remained still.
Nessa continued.
“You said you need someone who notices what doesn’t belong. I can’t identify irregularities if you decide which facts I’m allowed to see.”
“You’re asking for access to information people have killed to obtain.”
“I didn’t ask you to hire me.”
“You took my hand.”
“I agreed to help you expose Draos.”
She leaned back.
“I didn’t swear allegiance.”
Ezra studied her.
“You negotiate everything?”
“Only things that affect my life.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It keeps me alive.”
For the first time that evening, Ezra smiled.
It lasted less than a second.
But Nessa saw it.
“Fine.”
He rotated the laptop.
“Blackwood Holdings owns legitimate logistics, construction, security, and commercial-property companies. Some of those companies have relationships with people who operate outside legitimate channels.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you don’t need me to insult your intelligence.”
Fair enough.
He opened 4 files.
Each contained a transaction Draos had anticipated.
A warehouse acquisition.
A municipal security contract.
A freight partnership.
The harbor renewal.
Nessa read without speaking.
Numbers behaved like music when enough of them appeared together.
Patterns repeated.
Intervals mattered.
Absence mattered even more.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then 40.
Ezra made 2 phone calls.
Nessa ignored both.
At 1:18 a.m., she stopped scrolling.
“Who is Daniel Mercer?”
Ezra looked over.
“My attorney.”
“How long?”
“9 years.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Access?”
“Almost everything.”
She pointed toward the screen.
“Three days before each compromised transaction, Mercer’s office billed you for document review.”
“He reviews hundreds of documents.”
“Yes.”
Nessa opened another file.
“But he billed exactly 0.7 hours each time.”
Ezra’s expression changed.
“That means nothing.”
“It means something.”
She aligned the entries.
“Same billing code. Same duration. Different matters.”
She looked at him.
“If he were actually reviewing the files, the time would vary.”
“You’re accusing my attorney of espionage because he bills consistently?”
“No.”
Nessa enlarged another column.
“I’m saying someone uses his credentials.”
Ezra stepped closer.
There were 4 login records.
Each occurred within 12 minutes of the billing entries.
Different terminals.
Same authorization token.
Ezra stopped breathing for half a second.
Nessa saw it.
“Where are those terminals?”
“One is at Meridian Tower.”
“Another?”
“My house.”
“And the last 2?”
Ezra’s jaw tightened.
“My father’s old office.”
Nessa looked at him.
“Who can enter all 3 locations?”
He did not answer.
That was an answer.
A knock came at the door.
Ezra closed the laptop.
Pavl entered without waiting.
“Vance is talking.”
“What did he say?”
“That he was paid through consulting transfers.”
“By Draos?”
“He claims he never spoke directly to them.”
“Who recruited him?”
Pavl looked toward Nessa.
Ezra did not.
“Say it.”
Pavl’s mouth tightened.
“Someone calling himself Shepherd.”
Nessa felt something cold move through her.
“Do you know the name?”
Ezra asked.
“No.”
She did not like it anyway.
Pavl continued.
“Vance says Shepherd knew internal schedules. Family movements. Security rotations.”
Ezra stood.
Pain crossed his face when his ribs protested.
He ignored it.
“Which means Shepherd isn’t an outside handler.”
Nessa said it quietly.
“He’s inside.”
Pavl looked at her.
For the first time since the gala, there was no contempt in his expression.
Only reluctant attention.
Ezra closed the laptop.
“Where is Vance?”
“Downstairs.”
“I want everything he remembers.”
Pavl nodded.
Then:
“Your father wants to see you.”
Ezra went still.
“At 2 in the morning?”
“He heard about Vance.”
“How?”
Pavl said nothing.
Nessa looked from one man to the other.
That silence was different.
Not tactical.
Personal.
Ezra’s father had suffered 2 strokes.
According to public reports, Gabriel Blackwood lived under private medical supervision at the family estate north of the city.
Apparently strokes had not removed him from the information chain.
Ezra picked up his jacket.
“You’re coming.”
Nessa blinked.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“It wasn’t a request.”
“That sentence probably works on people who receive salaries from you.”
“You agreed to start tonight.”
“I agreed to investigate.”
“And we’re investigating.”
“At your father’s house?”
“Someone with access to his office is feeding Draos.”
Nessa stood.
“I’m going to the hospital.”
Ezra’s expression hardened.
“It’s 2 a.m.”
“My grandfather wakes around 3 because his medication makes him disoriented. I sit with him when I can.”
Something changed.
Small.
Almost invisible.
Ezra looked away first.
“I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“Nessa.”
“I know how cars work.”
“Draos knows who you are.”
That stopped her.
Ezra continued.
“If Vance knew you found the shell companies, whoever recruited him may know too.”
“I’ve been researching them for 14 months.”
“You became relevant tonight.”
Nessa held his gaze.
“And that changes what?”
“It changes everything.”
He stepped closer.
Not threatening.
Not quite.
“You humiliated the head of a rival organization in front of 20 men, exposed his financial officer, and handed him evidence capable of triggering an investigation into Draos.”
“You humiliated yourself. I merely assisted.”
His mouth twitched.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I’m aware.”
“You don’t walk home alone anymore.”
Nessa’s expression cooled.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“No.”
Ezra surprised her.
“I don’t.”
He took his phone from his pocket.
“But you should understand the risk before you decide.”
That mattered.
More than Nessa wanted it to.
She thought of her grandfather asleep beneath hospital lights.
Then of Draos purchasing his building.
Of Vance running.
Of Shepherd.
“Hospital first.”
Ezra nodded.
“Hospital first.”
They left Iron Works at 2:21.
Ezra drove himself.
That surprised her.
The car was black, expensive, and almost aggressively unremarkable.
Nessa sat in the passenger seat with her cello between her knees.
“You’re really bringing that?”
Ezra asked.
“It’s safer with me.”
“After tonight?”
“Especially after tonight.”
Toronto moved around them in wet reflections.
Traffic lights changed for empty intersections.
Streetcars slept at terminals.
The lake disappeared behind industrial buildings.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Ezra said:
“Why cello?”
Nessa looked at him.
“That question seems late.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You were getting punched.”
“Exactly.”
She looked through the windshield.
“My mother played.”
“Professionally?”
“Almost.”
“What stopped her?”
“Life.”
Ezra waited.
Nessa did not continue.
He accepted the boundary.
That surprised her too.
At Royal Victoria, Ezra remained in the corridor while Nessa entered her grandfather’s room.
Arthur Caldwell looked smaller every week.
That was the part nobody explained about illness.
People did not simply become weaker.
They became physically less themselves.
His shoulders had narrowed.
His hands, once thick enough to wrap both of hers inside one palm, rested lightly against the blanket.
His eyes opened when Nessa sat beside him.
“Kid.”
“Hey.”
“What time?”
“Late.”
“Bad habit.”
“You taught me.”
His mouth moved toward a smile.
Then he saw the faint redness across her cheekbone.
“What happened?”
“Training.”
“At midnight?”
“Approximately.”
Arthur stared.
“You fought.”
Nessa said nothing.
His eyes sharpened despite the medication.
“Who?”
She glanced toward the corridor.
Arthur followed her gaze.
Ezra stood beyond the glass.
Still.
Waiting.
Arthur looked back at Nessa.
“That him?”
“Yes.”
“The Blackwood boy?”
“Yes.”
“You win?”
Nessa smiled.
“Obviously.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Good.”
She laughed softly.
For 20 minutes, she told him almost nothing.
Then Arthur’s breathing deepened.
Nessa stood.
His hand closed weakly around her wrist.
“Don’t trade your freedom for my bills.”
Her chest tightened.
“I didn’t.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
His grip loosened.
Nessa stepped into the corridor.
Ezra had moved farther away to give them privacy.
She noticed that.
She hated noticing things about him that made him more complicated.
“How is he?”
“Alive.”
Ezra nodded.
They started toward the elevators.
Halfway there, Nessa stopped.
A man stood beside the vending machines.
Blue scrubs.
Hospital badge.
Coffee cup.
Nothing unusual.
Except his shoes.
Black tactical boots.
Not hospital shoes.
And his badge hung backward.
Nessa’s body recognized the problem before her mind finished naming it.
“Ezra.”
He looked at her.
The man dropped the coffee.
His hand went inside his jacket.
Ezra moved.
Fast.
He shoved Nessa behind a concrete pillar as the first shot cracked through the corridor.
The sound was enormous.
Glass exploded.
People screamed.
Ezra reached beneath his jacket.
Nessa grabbed his wrist.
“Stairwell.”
“What?”
“Second man.”
Ezra looked.
At the far end of the corridor, another figure appeared.
They were being boxed in.
Nessa kicked open the service door.
They ran.
A bullet struck metal behind them.
The stairwell amplified everything.
Footsteps.
Breathing.
Alarms.
Ezra pushed Nessa downward.
“Go.”
She stopped at the landing.
“What are you doing?”
“Buying time.”
“With broken ribs?”
“They’re bruised.”
“You’re an idiot.”
The door above opened.
Nessa did not think.
She moved.
The first attacker came through with his weapon raised.
Nessa stepped inside the arm.
Caught the wrist.
Rotated.
The gun struck the railing.
Ezra hit the man once.
Hard.
The attacker collapsed.
The second man appeared above.
Ezra retrieved the fallen weapon.
“Down.”
Nessa dropped.
Two shots.
One from above.
One from Ezra.
The second attacker disappeared behind the door.
Silence.
Then running footsteps retreating upward.
Ezra grabbed Nessa’s arm.
“Move.”
They descended 5 floors before hospital security converged.
Police arrived 4 minutes later.
By then, the first attacker was unconscious.
The second was gone.
Nessa stood in a service hallway while Ezra spoke quietly to a detective who seemed to know him already.
Her hands began shaking.
Not during the attack.
After.
Always after.
Ezra noticed.
He removed his coat.
Nessa looked at it.
“No.”
“You’re cold.”
“I’m angry.”
“That too.”
She took the coat anyway.
At 4:03 a.m., Ezra’s phone rang.
He listened.
His face changed.
“What?”
Nessa asked.
Ezra ended the call.
“My father’s security team was attacked 20 minutes ago.”
Nessa stared at him.
“Was he hurt?”
“No.”
“Coincidence?”
“No.”
Ezra looked toward the hospital corridor.
Then toward the unconscious attacker being loaded onto a stretcher.
“Someone knew exactly where both of us would be tonight.”
Nessa’s stomach tightened.
“Vance?”
“He’s been locked inside Iron Works since before we left.”
“Pavl?”
“Stayed with him.”
“Then who?”
Ezra looked at her.
The answer existed between them.
Someone had watched them leave.
Someone had known where they were going.
Someone close enough to Ezra to know the hospital visit and his father’s location.
Shepherd.
Ezra’s voice became quiet.
“Welcome to the investigation.”
Nessa handed his coat back.
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She looked at the bullet hole in the stairwell door.
“This isn’t an investigation anymore.”
Her eyes met his.
May you like
“It’s a war.”
And for the first time since they had met, Ezra Blackwood did not correct her.
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