THE HEIR'S REVENGE

Chapter 11: The Investigation Begins

The rain hit the window of the old coffee shop on Maple Street like tiny bullets. I sat in the back corner, watching the door. Henry had arranged this meeting with Maxwell Cross, supposedly the best private investigator money could buy. The shop was nearly empty—just an old man reading a newspaper and a college student typing on her laptop. Perfect for a meeting that needed to stay secret.

At exactly three o'clock, a man walked in. He wasn't what I expected. Maxwell Cross looked like a professor, not a detective. Gray beard, wire-rimmed glasses, and a brown jacket that had seen better days. He ordered black coffee and walked straight to my table like he'd known where I'd be sitting all along. His eyes scanned the room once before he sat down. Those eyes were sharp, missing nothing.

"Mr. Blackwell," he said quietly, setting a leather briefcase beside his chair. "Henry Abbott speaks highly of you. Says you need answers about Victoria Pierce."

I nodded, pulling out the envelope Dr. Chen had given me. "This proves she poisoned my mother nineteen years ago. But I need more. I need to know everything she's done." I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. "I want twenty years of her life examined. Every transaction, every meeting, every phone call she made."

Maxwell opened his briefcase and pulled out a tablet. His fingers moved across the screen with practiced ease. "I've already started preliminary research. Victoria Pierce, born Victoria Ashford, married Marcus Pierce twenty-three years ago. Came from old money that dried up. The Pierce fortune saved her family from bankruptcy." He turned the tablet toward me, showing bank records. "These are interesting. Large cash withdrawals every month for the past five years. Always the same amount—fifty thousand dollars."

"Blackmail?" I asked, studying the numbers. The withdrawals happened like clockwork, always on the fifteenth of each month.

"Or payment for services," Maxwell said, his voice thoughtful. "The timing is curious. They started three years ago, right around when your cousin Lily's parents died in that car accident." He swiped to another screen. "Speaking of which, I pulled the police report from that accident. The brake lines were supposedly faulty, but the mechanic who inspected the car died two weeks later. Heart attack, they said."

My stomach turned cold. A mechanic dying right after inspecting a suspicious accident? That wasn't coincidence. "Can you prove it wasn't natural causes?"

"Give me forty-eight hours," Maxwell said, closing the tablet. "I have contacts at the coroner's office who owe me favors. If that mechanic was murdered, I'll find evidence." He pulled out a small notebook, the kind detectives used in old movies. "I'll need access to your family's resources. Financial records, security footage from Blackwell properties, employee records—everything."

"You'll have it all," I promised. "Henry will give you whatever you need. I don't care what it costs."

Maxwell studied me for a long moment, his gray eyes calculating. "You're young to be dealing with this level of corruption. Most men twice your age would have walked away by now."

"Most men didn't watch their mother die broken and forgotten," I said, my voice harder than I intended. "Most men didn't spend nineteen years being told they were worthless by the woman who destroyed their family."

The bell above the door chimed, and I tensed. Brandon walked in, water dripping from his expensive coat. He spotted me immediately and hurried over, his face tight with concern. The transformation in Brandon still surprised me—from arrogant bully to loyal protector in just days. Maybe losing to me had taught him something about respect.

"We have a problem," Brandon said, not bothering with greetings. He nodded at Maxwell but kept his attention on me. "Daniel's been asking around campus about where you're staying. He's got three guys watching the Blackwell Tower entrance, and two more at the university dormitories."

"How do you know this?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.

"Because one of them used to be my friend," Brandon admitted, pulling out his phone. "Jason called me an hour ago, trying to get information. Said Daniel would pay five thousand dollars to anyone who could tell him where you sleep at night." He showed me a text message thread. "I told him I didn't know, but Daniel's getting desperate. He needs that necklace."

I touched the chain around my neck instinctively. My mother's necklace felt warm against my chest, like it always did when danger was near. "Let him watch empty buildings. I'm not staying at any of them."

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "If I may suggest, Mr. Blackwell, you need a secure location. Desperate people do dangerous things."

"My grandfather had a penthouse," I said, remembering Henry mentioning it this morning. "Top floor of the Regency Building, private elevator, security system. Even Henry doesn't have the access codes—only the family heir does."

"The Regency?" Brandon looked impressed. "That's the most exclusive building in the city. Even my father couldn't get an apartment there."

Maxwell made a note in his book. "Good choice. Thirty floors up, bulletproof windows, and only one way in or out. I'll have my team sweep it for bugs before you move in." He stood, picking up his briefcase with practiced ease. "I'll start with the financial records tonight. The Pierce family has accounts in twelve different banks—that's suspicious for a real estate company their size."

"Why twelve banks?" I asked, standing as well.

"To hide money trails," Maxwell explained, adjusting his glasses. "When you're moving money illegally, you spread it around so no single bank sees the full picture. But with the right resources, we can piece it together." He handed me a business card—plain white with just a phone number. "This is a secure line. Call if you need anything. Otherwise, I'll contact you in forty-eight hours with my initial findings."

After Maxwell left, Brandon and I sat back down. The rain had gotten heavier, turning the windows into sheets of moving water. The coffee shop felt smaller somehow, like the walls were closing in.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked Brandon directly. "A week ago, you were trying to humiliate me. Now you're acting like my bodyguard."