Chapter 18 - The Purge of Blackwood
By three o'clock that morning, the clean-up was nearly complete.
Blackwood Manor stood silent under the stars. The rain had washed the driveway clean of the mud and shattered glass from the night before. Inside, the grand ballroom was empty, the crystal chandeliers dimmed to a soft, golden hum.
Nora stood in the master bedroom on the second floor.
The room had already been stripped of everything that belonged to Cole Maddox. His custom Italian suits had been packed into cardboard boxes to be burned. His watches had been seized for asset liquidation. Even the mattress he had slept on had been removed and replaced with fresh linen.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
Dennis Crowley entered, carrying a leather dispatch case. "Miss Bellamy."
"Yes, Dennis?"
"The Southern District has officially processed Cole’s confession. He was transferred to the Metropolitan Correctional Center thirty minutes ago under federal seal. He will not be granted bail. His trial is scheduled for February, but Arthur Hayes believes he will accept a plea agreement by Friday."
Nora walked to the vanity table, where a single, unlit candle stood beside a framed photograph of her father, Samuel.
"And Serena Pike?" Nora asked.
"Julian escorted her to JFK Airport," Dennis reported. "She was given the bus ticket to Ohio and the cash you promised. She boarded a flight to Cleveland an hour ago. Julian made sure she had no phones, no copies of the ledger, and no contacts remaining in New York."
Nora touched the silver frame of her father’s photograph. "Did she say anything before she left?"
Dennis permitted himself a rare, faint smile. "She asked Julian if you were a witch."
Nora’s lips twitched with amusement. "And what did Julian say?"
"He told her that you were simply a Bellamy."
Dennis set the dispatch case on the table. "The regional captains have all returned to their districts. Boston has pledged forty percent of its monthly container fees directly to North Harbor. Philadelphia has surrendered its offshore routing keys. The Atlantic Coalition is dead, Miss Bellamy. The Bellamy Compact has been fully restored."
"Not fully, Dennis," Nora said, looking out through the tall bedroom window toward the distant glow of Manhattan. "Victor’s final words were not entirely a lie. The politicians who protected him for twelve years are still sitting in committee rooms in Washington. The shipping routes through Rotterdam are still being held by his associates."
Dennis’s face hardened into absolute resolve. "Then what are your orders, Miss Bellamy?"
Nora turned to face him, the blue of her gown catching the faint moonlight, her mother’s sapphire ring glittering on her hand.
May you like
"Tomorrow morning, we open the international archives," Nora said. "We have spent three years cleaning our house. Now, it is time to show the world who owns the street."
***