CHAPTER 145 - INTELLIGENCE GATHERING

CHAPTER 145 - INTELLIGENCE GATHERING
Alex's POV

The conference room smelled like coffee gone cold. Papers lay in small neat stacks. Paul had his phone open like a window onto the world. Charlotte stood with her arms folded, a line between her brows I didn't like to see.

"She hired someone," Paul said. He did not sound surprised. He sounded tired, as if he'd been expecting bad news to wear him down slowly.

"Who?" I asked.

"Marcos Rios," Paul said. "Private investigator. Former federal. Works discreet. High pay. Retained by a law firm that represents—" He checked his screen. "—Mrs. Victoria Blackwood."

Charlotte made a small noise. "He is very good," she said. "Quiet, thorough. He doesn't leave tracks people notice."

"Of course she did." The words scraped out of me. I could feel the old pattern of Victoria's moves like a bruise under my ribs. "She couldn't come herself, so she sent someone."

Paul slid a file across the table. "We have a timestamped report. Surveillance. A photographer. Long lens. Hotel lobby footage, gallery footage. He's been in the city three days."

I opened the folder. The photos were clinical. Long-distance shots, edges soft from zoom. A woman with a dark bag—Bella—walking to a car. The camera had captured her silhouette like a study in light. Another shot showed a man in a dark coat near the gallery door. He pocketed something. The angle matched what Bella had described.

"She didn't hire a florist," Charlotte said. "This is deliberate."

"She will say she wants closure," I said. The word tasted like gravel. "Closure by watching us."

Paul's jaw worked. "He has resources. He rented a car with out-of-state plates, used cash for a few things. He isn't sloppy."

"Then neither will we be sloppy," I said. My voice did something odd—calm on the surface and hot underneath. "We keep this quiet. No press. No alarms that could spook him into hiding."

Charlotte tapped a pen. "Legally, we can issue a cease and desist and demand records of surveillance if it's invasive. But that can also signal that you've noticed and then he'll change tactics."

"Then we do both," I said. "We start by protecting Bella."

Paul looked at me. "She has no bodyguard."

"Not publicly," I said. "Sandra will discreetly increase escort coverage. Two people. Plainclothes. Rotate shifts. Track her commute. Check cameras near her car."

Paul nodded. "I'll assign team. Keep it subtle—no black SUVs in the neighborhood."

I felt weak for a second—small, funny thing that happened when you suddenly felt very responsible for strangers who were not strangers anymore. Bella. Roberto's daughter. The red folder under her care. Elena's name in my mouth.

"Have you identified the man in the photo?" I asked.

Paul shook his head. "Not yet. Marcos is good at faces. He will run it through channels. He has a contact list."

"Contact list," Charlotte repeated. "That implies money, reach."

"It does," I said. "Victoria has deep pockets still. She never stopped having options."

She leaned in then, quicker than I expected. "Alex, this could be an intelligence play. She is probing. She's seeing what we do when we notice. If she finds a gap, she will exploit it."

"Then we close every gap," I said.

Paul slid another paper across. "Marcos sent a note with the photos. He wrote: 'Subject appears to have a pattern. I will continue surveillance at Bella Martinez's usual locations. If instructed, I can open a file on Bella's associates.'"

The sentence sat there like a small threat spelled out politely. "Open a file on Bella's associates," I echoed.

Charlotte's eyes were flat. "He offers services. He will gather what he is paid to gather. If Victoria's paying, she will get more than just photographs."

"How much more?" I asked.

"Depends on instructions," Paul said. "He will find relationships, lovers, routines. He will find people who can be pushed."

The room felt smaller. I could hear the air conditioning hum, the city outside, the distant click of a door. I wanted to stand and go to the house and sit with Bella and tell her she was safe under my roof. I wanted to tell her it's okay to be angry. I wanted all the simple things.

Instead I made calls.

"Sandra," I said when she answered, "quietly increase Bella's escort. Two plainclothes, rotating. No show. Make it look like courier work. Ask security to sweep parking lots on her route."

"Yes, Mr. Blackwood," she said. Her voice was immediate, precise. "I will send details to Paul."

I called Charlotte next. "File options with legal. Cease and desist. Demand any surveillance records if they are available through formal channels."

"Will do," she said. "But this is a dance. If we push too hard publicly, we hand her the narrative."

"Then we don't push publicly," I said. "We act. Quietly."

Paul tried to smile. "If it's any peace, Mr. Blackwood, Marcos left a note that he likes to be thorough."

"Great," I said, which was not great at all. I felt the old, private anger bloom—less about Victoria and more about the idea that someone would make my family a target for observation. That was a level they had not crossed before. It felt clinical and personal at the same time.

"Get me everything Marcos turns up," I said. "Signs, names, cars, plates. And find out who paid him. There are always receipts."

Paul nodded. "On it."

Charlotte hesitated. "Alex, be careful. If she is escalating, there may be more—records, legal threats, attempts to force a meeting under false pretenses."

"Then we will be ready for a false meeting," I said. My hands were shaking in a way that embarrassed me. "We will control the room. Counsel, security, witnesses. No surprises."

We sat in silence and the folder felt heavier on the table than it had a moment ago. Then Paul's phone buzzed. He glanced down. His face changed.

"What is it?" I asked.

He did not answer right away. He scrolled and then looked up. "Marcos sent another picture," he said. "Timestamp: thirty minutes ago. Taken from a distance. A telephoto lens on a tripod aimed at a parked car—"

"Which car?" I cut in.

"Unmarked sedan in front of a cafe on Chestnut. License plate partially obscured."

My throat closed. "Who was in the car?"

Paul's mouth was a hard line. "You should see this."

He turned the tablet. The image loaded. A blurred figure at a distance, a tripod, the gleam of glass. My stomach dropped in a way I didn't like. I recognized the angle, the intent. I recognized the danger.

"Leave everything else," I said. "This is for Bella."

Paul looked up. "We will move now."

I kissed the back of my hand like a private, ridiculous ritual and then we all moved because there was no time to wait. The folder stayed open on the table, Marcos's printouts like breadcrumbs leading somewhere I did not want to go.