Chapter 33 - The Forensic AuditThe next morning, the mansion was quiet, but Emily’s mind was racing.
She sat in Eleanor’s old office, the morning sunlight spilling across the heavy oak desk. Arthur sat opposite her, his briefcase open, legal documents scattered across the wood.
“Josephine Blackwood is not just an overbearing mother-in-law,” Arthur said, adjusting his glasses. “She is a highly dangerous political operator. Her family has been embedded in the city’s elite social circles for a century.”
“She wants the foundation’s money,” Emily said flatly. “She made that perfectly clear last night.”
“But why?” Arthur frowned, tapping his pen against a legal pad. “The Blackwoods are supposedly worth hundreds of millions. Alexander is a partner at a top-tier law firm. They don't need charity money.”
“Margaret didn't need the money either,” Emily reminded him, her eyes dark with the memory of the past. “But she killed Eleanor for it anyway. Greed doesn't have a ceiling, Arthur.”
“Alexander is entirely unaware of his mother’s intentions,” Arthur noted. “He genuinely loves you, Emily. He looked horrified at the dinner table.”
“I know he does,” Emily sighed, rubbing her temples. “But Alexander has a blind spot when it comes to Josephine. He thinks she’s just protective of the family legacy. He doesn't see the venom.”
Evelyn walked into the office, carrying a tray of fresh coffee.
“Then you have to show him,” Evelyn said, setting the tray down. “You cannot fight a war in the shadows, Emily. That was Margaret’s game. If Josephine wants to play, you drag her into the light.”
Emily looked at her mother. The years of freedom had made Evelyn incredibly strong.
“Arthur,” Emily commanded, her voice hardening into the tone of a true protector. “I want a full, discreet forensic audit of the Blackwood family’s private holdings. I want to know exactly what Josephine is hiding behind those designer suits.”
Arthur nodded, quickly packing his briefcase.
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“I’ll have my best investigators on it by noon. But be careful, Emily. Women like Josephine do not take kindly to being investigated by people they consider the help.”
“I’m not the help anymore,” Emily smiled coldly. “I’m the landlord.”
