Chapter 254: Closing In
Fitzgerald looked at Timothy. "You’ve been making friends lately."
Timothy almost laughed. "And if I didn’t know you," he said, "I’d think you were jealous."
A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Fitzgerald.
Jealousy... What an oddly human emotion.
"I met Sebastian Remington at Maximilian’s funeral," Timothy said matter-of-factly. "We’ve had a drink together a few times since then. We went to school together, remember? Unlike you, I have friends, and I wish to meet them often."
He shrugged.
"I do have a life outside this family and you."
There was a pause, as if Fitzgerald was taking in every syllable and etching it somewhere.
"You make it sound," Fitzgerald observed, "as though I’ve been responsible for the absence of one."
There was no accusation in his voice. Only curiosity.
He tilted his head slightly, watching Timothy with the same detached fascination one might reserve for a laboratory specimen.
"Do you resent me?"
Timothy stared at him for a long moment before letting out a tired sigh. "What is this?" he asked as he rose from his chair. "A counselling session?"
He walked toward the liquor cabinet and poured himself a measure of whiskey. "Speaking of which..." He glanced over his shoulder.
"When was your last appointment with the psychiatrist? You should make one sooner or later."
The amber liquid settled quietly in the glass.
Fitzgerald watched his brother’s back without answering. Instead, he asked, "What are all of you planning?"
Timothy took a slow sip.
"The downfall of the Blackwood empire?"
His hand froze.
Only for a heartbeat.
His fingers tightened imperceptibly around the crystal glass before he forced himself to take another drink.
A cold knot settled in his stomach.
Damn it.
This was what made Fitzgerald dangerous. His instinct. He noticed the smallest shifts, connected the faintest threads, and somehow arrived at conclusions no ordinary person should have been able to reach.
Timothy slowly lowered the glass, careful not to betray the storm rising beneath his composed exterior.
"What makes you think that?" he asked, injecting just enough amusement into his voice to make the question sound casual.
Inside, however, every instinct screamed at him to be careful.
"You answered before looking at me," Fitzgerald observed.
Timothy let out a slow breath before turning around. His jaw was set so tightly it ached.
"You tire me, brother," he said. Meeting Fitzgerald’s gaze head-on, he spread his hands slightly. "There. You can see my face now. Satisfied?"
Fitzgerald studied him in silence.
There was anger.
Real anger.
His younger brother had never looked at him like this before. The realization caught him off guard.
"What are you hiding?" Fitzgerald asked quietly.
Timothy set his whiskey glass down with more force than necessary.
"My God, Fitzgerald." He laughed without humor and shook his head. "What is this fixation you have with Dorian Blackwood? You’re acting exactly the way you did back then." He narrowed his eyes, feigning thought. "What was her name again... the woman you became obsessed with?"
Fitzgerald ignored the jab as though he hadn’t heard it.
"Sebastian Remington was Maximilian’s closest friend," he said evenly. "There’s a reason he approached you after Maximilian’s death. Catherine Preston abandoned her fiancé’s funeral and moved into Blackwood Manor the same day. Now the Prestons are behaving as though nothing has happened."
His gaze sharpened.
"So I’ll ask again."
"What are all of you planning?"
Timothy held his stare for a long moment before walking to the office door and pulling it open.
"Find out yourself."
His voice was calm again.
"But do it somewhere outside my office. I have an acquisition to finish, and unlike you, I actually work for a living."
He gave his brother a pointed look.
"You should mind your own business."
Fitzgerald remained seated for another second before rising without another word.
Timothy watched him disappear down the hallway, only allowing himself to exhale once the footsteps had faded into the distance.
Unfortunately, he knew his brother well enough to realize that dismissal would never end Fitzgerald’s curiosity.
It would only redirect it.
-----
Instead of leaving the building, Fitzgerald took the elevator to Timothy’s private floor. He had no destination in mind. He simply followed instinct.
The moment he stepped into Timothy’s suite, something caught his attention. Not a sight but a smell. His nose twitched almost imperceptibly as he turned toward the laundry hamper tucked discreetly into the dressing room.
He frowned.
That scent...
Picking up a clothes hanger from the wardrobe, he used it to sift through the pile of laundry without touching any of it.
A moment later, the corner of a charcoal suit jacket emerged. Fitzgerald hooked it with the hanger and lifted it into the light.
There... Near the shoulder... A pale, dried stain.
His thumb hovered above it without making contact.
Baby vomit.
A slow smile spread across his lips.
Interesting.
This had stopped being about Dorian Blackwood some time ago. Truthfully, it had never been entirely about helping him.
Life had become painfully predictable over the years. Companies rose and fell. Politicians lied. Investors schemed. Every puzzle unraveled the same way in the end.
But this... This was different.
People were lying. Families were protecting secrets. Patterns refused to align. For the first time in a long while, Fitzgerald found himself genuinely entertained.
He pulled out his phone.
"Any response from Samantha Preston?" he asked the moment his assistant answered.
"No, sir. She declined the position we offered."
"The others?"
"We sent interview invitations through several of our affiliated companies as well. She declined every one of them."
Fitzgerald listened quietly.
"And now?"
"She’s stopped looking for employment altogether."
His smile deepened.
"Weird..."
He ended the call and opened another report his assistant had forwarded earlier that morning.
The Preston family.
Their businesses continued operating normally. Their investments continued as scheduled. More curious still, they had recently begun increasing their stake in BioQuant Pharmaceuticals.
Nothing about their behavior resembled that of a family mourning the violent death of the fiancé of the sister they cherished above all else.
There was no frantic retaliation. no emotional collapse, and no grief. Only quiet preparation.
Everything about it felt... Wrong.
Fitzgerald closed the report and leaned back in his chair. The answer wasn’t here. It was somewhere else.
"Book me a flight to Stonehaven," he instructed his assistant when he called again.
"Private jet, sir?"
"No."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I’m flying commercial."
He intended to arrive without anyone knowing he was coming.
And if his instincts were right... Laurel Hollows was hiding far more than a grieving family.
-----
In the middle of the night, Catherine’s eyes opened.
Something felt... wrong.
The unease had settled into her chest long before she became fully awake, refusing to loosen its grip. Dorian had returned home unusually early that evening, yet she had deliberately stayed in her room and skipped dinner altogether.
Earlier, the housekeeper had cheerfully informed her that Dorian had contacted Harry Winston and was searching for the perfect engagement ring.
She had expected as much.
It was exactly the sort of thing Dorian would do.
He would never spend days studying gemstones or sketching designs with her in mind. He would never wonder whether she preferred a sapphire over a diamond, or whether she’d favor a delicate band over an elaborate one.
He would simply purchase whatever the world’s most prestigious jeweler recommended for a man of his wealth and status. To Dorian, the ring was another symbol of possession, another statement of power.
Her thoughts drifted, against her will, to Maximilian.
He had designed her ring himself.
Every curve, every engraving, every tiny detail had carried a piece of her within it. He had chosen the stone after the color of their eyes. Even the setting had been crafted so it wouldn’t catch on the gloves she wore while working in the laboratory. He had noticed things she herself had never realized she cared about.
The memory warmed her heart even as it hollowed it out.
She missed him.
The ache became so unbearable that she considered reaching for her hidden phone. She needed to know whether Sebastian’s side of the operation was progressing as planned. A single message would settle the anxiety clawing at her thoughts.
Her fingers tightened beneath the blanket.
No.
Not tonight.
She had already become more cautious after Dorian searched her phone earlier. Using the hidden one now, while he was unexpectedly home, would be reckless.
She slowly gathered the courage to slip out of bed, deciding she would at least, have a quick look.
Before she could even throw back the duvet...
The bedroom door clicked open.
Every muscle in her body froze.
She remained perfectly still, forcing her breathing into the slow, even rhythm of sleep as footsteps crossed the room.
They stopped beside her bed.
The mattress dipped.
Dorian climbed in behind her without a word.
Catherine clenched her jaw so tightly that pain shot through her temples. Beneath the blanket, her fingers curled into the sheets until her knuckles ached, every instinct urging her to move away while every ounce of reason warned her to remain exactly where she was.
Her heartbeat pounded so violently she feared he might hear it in the silence between them.
What does he want?
The question echoed through her mind, each possibility more dreadful than the last.
Is he here because he’s suspicious...?
Or...
A colder thought settled over her, making her entire body tense beneath the covers.
Is he here for me...?