Chapter 85: The mirrors edge
The early morning light in the northern suburbs was a bruised lavender, cold and thin. Vane pulled his car over a few blocks away from the main Blackwood estate, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. The image of the silver sedan from the funeral the professional, high-speed ghost that had outrun him after the funeral was burned into his retinas.
Last night, when he had swung by to drop off some internal security reports for Marcus, he had seen it. A flash of silver-grey tucked deep into the auxiliary garage of the Blackwood manor. He hadn't said anything then; he couldn't believe his own eyes. He had convinced himself it was a trick of the shadows, a side-effect of the sleepless weeks spent guarding Victor.
But this morning, he had to know.
Vane stepped out of his car, the gravel crunching under his boots like breaking bone. He walked toward the perimeter gate of the Blackwood estate, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He reached the spot where the car had been parked.
It was gone.
The auxiliary garage was closed, the driveway swept clean as if nothing had ever occupied the space. Vane stood there for a long minute, his breath hitching in the cold air. The shock was a physical weight. If that car was here, it meant the man in the black suit wasn't a stranger. It meant the "warning" at the cemetery had come from inside the house.
"Vane?"
The voice was like a bucket of ice water. Vane spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the pocket where he kept his tactical folder, before he realized who was standing there.
Eleanor Blackwood stood a few feet away, wrapped in a cream-colored cashmere coat that made her look like an angel of mercy. Beside her, Marcus was adjusting his cufflinks, his face a mask of impenetrable granite. They looked like the perfect portrait of power and poise.
"Vane, hey," Eleanor said, her eyes narrowing as she took in his disheveled appearance. A flicker of genuine shock crossed her face to see him at the gate so early. "What are you doing here at this hour?"
Vane swallowed hard, his mind racing to find a lie that would survive Marcus Blackwood’s scrutiny. He reached into the backseat of his car and pulled out a stack of courier boxes—packages he had intentionally kept as an excuse.
"Umm... umm, I’m actually here to drop off these few packages," Vane said, his voice slightly higher than usual. He stepped forward, handing the boxes over to the waiting guard near the gate. "Internal logistics from the Sandton office. I didn't want to leave them at the front desk."
Marcus looked at him, his gaze traveling from Vane’s tired eyes down to his scuffed boots. It was a look that felt like a surgical probe, searching for the truth beneath the skin.
"Rushing somewhere?" Marcus asked, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't look at the packages. He looked straight into Vane’s eyes, pinning him in place.
"Um... I’m going to Victor now," Vane answered, his throat feeling like it was filled with sand. "Elena called. She was feeling some discomfort, so I was going to check on the penthouse security before the morning shift."
A strange, dark energy seemed to pass between Marcus and Eleanor. It was a silent communication Vane had seen a thousand times, but this time, it felt like the closing of a trap.
"That’s great," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with a forced, sugary warmth. "We were just about to head over there ourselves. We’ve been so worried about Elena and the baby during this final stretch. Glad you came, Vane. We will go with you."
Vane felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. "Oh... I don't want to trouble you. I can just—"
"It’s no trouble at all," Marcus interrupted, his hand landing on Vane’s shoulder. The grip was heavy, firm, and entirely non-negotiable. "In fact, I’d prefer it. We can discuss the new security protocols for the move on the way. Let’s take your car, Vane. It’s more... discreet."
Before Vane could protest, Marcus and Eleanor were moving toward his vehicle. Vane stood by the driver's side door for a split second, looking back at the auxiliary garage. The silence of the estate was deafening. He knew, with a terrifying certainty, that he had just invited the wolves into the nursery.
The drive to Sandton was the longest thirty minutes of Vane’s life.
He sat behind the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road, but his focus was entirely on the rearview mirror. Marcus was seated directly behind him, his presence a dark cloud in the small space of the car. Eleanor sat in the passenger seat, her hands folded neatly in her lap, looking out at the city as if she were a tourist and not a woman who had potentially just ordered a man’s death.
Vane kept catching Marcus’s eyes in the mirror. Every time their gazes met, Marcus didn't look away. He stared back with a cold, predatory curiosity, as if he were waiting for Vane to break.
They know, Vane thought, his grip on the steering wheel slick with sweat. They saw me looking for the car. They know I’m starting to mix the puzzle.
"You’ve been very loyal to Victor, Vane," Eleanor said, her voice cutting through the hum of the engine. "We appreciate how you’ve handled the Mhlaba family. It hasn't been an easy month."
"I do what’s necessary for Victor's safety, ma'am," Vane replied, his eyes flickering back to the mirror.
"Safety is a relative term, isn't it?" Marcus added from the back. "Sometimes, the greatest danger to a man is the things he chooses to believe. Or the things his friends choose to hide from him."
Vane didn't answer. He couldn't. He felt like he was walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. He kept thinking about the silver sedan. If the Blackwoods were behind James, then they were behind the "relapse" that killed Elias. And if they were behind that, then Elena was currently asleep in a penthouse with the very people who had murdered her father.
He checked the mirror again. Marcus was leaning back, his face half-hidden in the shadows, but that single, piercing eye was still fixed on him.
"You look tense, Vane," Eleanor noted, her hand reaching out to adjust the air conditioning vent. "Is the pressure getting to you?"
"Just a long night, Mrs. Blackwood," Vane lied, his heart hammering so hard he was sure they could hear it.
As they pulled into the underground parking of the Sandton tower, Vane felt a sudden, desperate urge to turn the car around and drive as far as he could. But he couldn't leave Elena. He couldn't leave Victor.
The elevator ride to the penthouse was silent. The golden doors reflected the three of them—a bodyguard who knew too much, and a couple who had everything to lose.
When the doors opened, the penthouse was quiet, the early morning light flooding through the glass walls. Victor was sitting at the kitchen island, his crutches leaning against the marble, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up, surprised to see the three of them together.
"Vane? Mom? Dad?" Victor said, standing up with a wince. "What’s going on? Is everything okay?"
"We just wanted to check on you, son," Eleanor said, walking over to embrace him with a smile that was so perfect it was terrifying. "And on Elena. Is she still asleep?"
"Yeah, she had a rough night," Victor said, gesturing toward the bedroom. "Lots of kicking. She’s finally resting."
Vane stood by the door, his eyes darting between the Blackwoods and the bedroom door. He looked at Victor, wanting to scream, wanting to tell him about the silver sedan and the man in the black suit. But Marcus was standing right behind him, his hand resting casually on the counter, his eyes never leaving Vane’s face.
"That’s good," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a low, soothing tone that made the hair on Vane’s neck stand up. "She needs her rest. Today is going to be a very important day for the family."
Vane caught Victor’s eye and gave him a look—a sharp, desperate warning through the mirror of the hallway. Victor’s brow furrowed, his smile faltering as he sensed the shift in the room.
The puzzle was nearly complete, and as the Blackwoods moved toward the kitchen to start the "visit," Vane realized that the danger wasn't outside the gates anymore. It was sitting in the living room, pouring coffee, and planning a tragedy that would leave them all in the dark.