Chapter 87 The P.I
Timothy
I left the house like a thief.
The sun hadn’t even risen properly when I slipped out the front doors of Blackwood Estate, coat half-buttoned and my mind still tangled in the events of the night before. The air outside was cold enough to sting my lungs, but it was nothing compared to the tight, shaky feeling sitting in my chest.
Coward.
The word followed me all the way to the car.
I started the engine and drove without looking back.
Because if I looked back, if I saw one of the windows glowing softly in the early morning light, I might imagine Hannah standing there. Watching me leave.
And I didn’t think I could handle that.
\---
The drive to the office was quiet.
Too quiet.
My mind kept replaying the moment in my bedroom the night before.
Hannah’s arms around me.
Her hand scratching gently at my scalp.
Her soft voice saying, “I know.”
I gripped the steering wheel harder.
God.
I hadn’t meant to hold onto her like that.
Hadn’t meant to feel like something inside me was breaking open.
And I definitely hadn’t meant to look at her the way I did when she tried to leave.
I had almost said something.
Something dangerous.
Something that would have changed everything.
Which was exactly why I ran.
\---
By the time I reached my office building downtown, the city had properly woken up.
Glass towers gleamed in the morning sun, traffic hummed through the streets, and the familiar controlled chaos of business life settled over me like armor.
Work.
Work was safe.
Work was predictable.
Work didn’t look at you with warm brown eyes and make your chest feel like it might split open.
I stepped into the elevator and rode up to the top floor.
The moment I entered my office suite, my assistant, Claire, stood from her desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Morning,” I said, already loosening my tie.
She studied my face briefly. Claire had worked for me long enough to notice things.
“You left home early today,” she said carefully.
I gave a noncommittal grunt and walked into my office.
She followed a moment later carrying a tray.
“I had breakfast brought up,” she said. “You didn’t eat before leaving, did you?”
I paused mid-step.
Had I really been that obvious?
“Just set it there,” I muttered.
She placed the tray on the desk, some coffee, toast, eggs, fruit.
“You have the Henderson meeting in thirty minutes,” she said. “Then the quarterly strategy review after that.”
“Fine.”
“And Mr. Hayes…”
I looked up.
Rowan.
“What about him?”
Claire frowned slightly.
“He sent a message this morning. Said he’d be unavoidably absent today.”
My brow creased.
“Did he say why?”
“No, sir.”
A strange feeling crept up the back of my neck.
“He didn’t contact me,” I said.
Claire hesitated.
“I assumed he would have.”
“So did I.”
She gave a polite nod and left the office.
I stared at the closed door for a moment.
Rowan missing work wasn’t exactly unheard of. He traveled often, handled investments personally sometimes.
But usually he told me first.
I shook the thought away.
You’re overthinking.
Still, something about the timing bothered me.
Especially after last night.
\---
The morning passed in a blur of work.
Meetings.
Calls.
Presentations.
Numbers and strategies and negotiations.
I forced myself to focus.
And for the most part, it worked.
Except every now and then my mind wandered back to the estate.
To Hannah.
To the look on her face when she realized next year’s birthday wouldn’t happen because our marriage would be over.
The memory made my stomach twist.
By late afternoon I was rubbing my temples when Claire knocked on the door.
“Sir?”
“Yes.”
“Two people are here to see you.”
I frowned.
“I don’t have any appointments.”
“They said the meetings were scheduled privately with you.”
That made me sit up straighter.
“Who?”
She checked her tablet.
“Mr. Calder.”
The PI.
“And Dr. Mendel.”
My top tech scientist.
Interesting.
“Send them in.”
A minute later they entered.
Calder first who was tall, gray-haired, sharp-eyed. The man had been handling discreet investigations for my family for years.
Behind him came Dr. Mendel, clutching a tablet and looking slightly nervous as usual.
“Mr. Blackwood,” Calder said with a nod.
“Timothy,” I corrected. “Sit.”
They did.
I leaned back in my chair.
“Which one of you wants to start?”
Dr. Mendel glanced at Calder, then cleared his throat.
“I suppose I should.”
“Go on.”
He tapped his tablet nervously.
“This morning our system flagged an attempted file access.”
My brow furrowed.
“From inside the company?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not unusual.”
“Well…” he hesitated. “This one was.”
Something in his tone made my stomach tighten.
“Explain.”
He turned the tablet around so I could see the screen.
A name was displayed in the access log.
Rowan Hayes.
For a moment, the room went very quiet.
I stared at it.
“That’s not possible,” I said slowly.
Dr. Mendel shifted.
“The system logged his credentials.”
My jaw tightened.
“When?”
“A few hours ago.”
“Was he successful?”
“No,” Mendel said quickly. “The system blocked the attempt.”
A small thread of relief loosened in my chest.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The file he attempted to access.”
I looked up.
“What file?”
Dr. Mendel hesitated.
“The archive pertaining to the Kingston incident.”
The name hit like a hammer.
My spine went rigid.
“That file is sealed.”
“Yes.”
“Encrypted.”
“Yes.”
“And buried three levels deep in our system.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched across the room.
Then I said very quietly,
“Why would Rowan try to access that?”
Dr. Mendel swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
Calder leaned forward slightly.
“The attempt was also… well hidden.”
My gaze snapped to him.
“Meaning?”
“Whoever tried it covered their tracks well. If your system wasn’t as advanced as it is, we might never have noticed.”
Cold unease settled into my bones.
Last night Rowan had asked about my father.
About one of his biggest secrets.
And now this.
I looked back at the tablet.
Rowan Hayes.
My best friend.
My closest ally.
Trying to access the one file in existence connected to the darkest secret my father ever buried.
“What time exactly?” I asked.
Dr. Mendel told me.
My jaw clenched.
A few hours ago.
Right around when Rowan would have known I’d be busy in meetings.
My fingers drummed slowly on the desk.
The room felt smaller suddenly.
“Leave the tablet,” I said.
Dr. Mendel obeyed.
I studied the information again.
Attempted access.
Blocked.
Hidden.
Kingston file.
And Rowan.
My chest tightened.
Rowan had been my friend for nearly fifteen years.
We’d built the company together.
Trusted each other with everything.
So why the hell was he digging into something my father had gone to measures to keep buried for everyone’s safety?
I leaned back slowly.
Calder watched me carefully.
“You want me to look into it,” he said quietly.
Not a question.
A statement.
My jaw tightened.
For a long moment I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was ugly.
If I told Calder yes…I would be putting my best friend under surveillance. That felt like betrayal. But ignoring it might be worse.
Finally I exhaled through my teeth.
“Trail him.”
Calder nodded once.
“Closely?”
“Yes.”
“Contact?”
“None.”
“Just observation.”
“Exactly.”
I leaned forward, my voice hard.
“Follow him. Watch where he goes. Who he talks to. Anything unusual.”
Calder stood. “You’ll have a report soon.”
He left without another word.
Dr. Mendel lingered nervously.
“Anything else you’d like me to do about the system?”
“Yes.”
I slid the tablet back to him.
“Strengthen the encryption on that file.”
“Understood.”
“And if anyone, I mean anyone, tries accessing it again…”
“Yes?”
“You inform me immediately.”
He nodded quickly and hurried out.
The office fell silent.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling.
Rowan.
What are you doing?
A knot formed in my stomach.
I hated this.
Hated the suspicion crawling into my thoughts.
Rowan had always been loyal.
Always had my back.
But last night he’d asked a question no one outside my family should even know existed.
And today he’d tried accessing the exact file connected to it.
I scrubbed a hand down my face.
Am I betraying him?
Maybe.
But if Rowan was in trouble…
If someone was forcing him…
If something bigger was happening…
Then I needed to know.
I straightened slowly in my chair.
“If you’re in trouble,” I muttered to the empty room, “I’ll help you.”
My jaw tightened.
“But if you’re not…”
I didn’t finish the sentence.
Because I didn’t want to imagine the alternative.