40. Knox
KNOX
How do you know you’ve rattled someone’s cage?
When she’s fled to Aspen for the next three weeks.
I’m not sure what freaked my stepmother out more.
Within hours of word getting out about Sebastian’s “mugging” and subsequent injuries, Lillian was on the next available flight.
But that also may have been fueled by the security footage from inside Westfall Jewelers circulating online.
The whole of the internet bore witness to the first robbery, or more specifically, to my half-brother throwing Anna to the lions when we started taking hostages.
Comments immediately flooded every video, demanding that, “ This girl needs to sue!”
And that’s precisely what she did.
Local media and even larger city affiliates returned to the scene of the crime, demanding a statement from Westfall, or more specifically its owner and son.
Lillian has gotten so used to people kissing her ass that her skin may as well be made of tissue paper by now. Paparazzi and reporters immediately began hounding the streets outside the manor and jewelry store, leaving her no choice but to escape.
And it’s a good thing, too. Real estate fraud, especially the complexity of her case, took a while for the police to sort through after the evidence was anonymously submitted to the department. A few weeks, in fact.
Even better, my stepmother took virtually all of her security with her.
Can’t say I blame her. If the news caught wind of where she was hiding, she would need the added protection just to move about.
Then there’s that pesky little situation involving us.
If my crew could get to Sebastian, we could just as easily get to her.
Unfortunately for Lillian, that left some vulnerabilities at the manor in the meantime.
Who knows what kind of shenanigans some miscreants could get up to?
Anna and I are at the crafts table when the text message comes in, and despite the fun we’re having, this is a can’t-miss event. I let the guys know, and we all hurry back to Dominic’s place, settling in for our private screening.
Moretti has his own connections with PCPD, and not only did his guy inform us that the police would be moving in as soon as Lillian got back to town, but he’s also managed to be one of the officers visiting her homestead.
Meaning we have access to his additional body cam, exclusively for our viewing pleasure.
When the police informed my stepmother that they needed to interview her, she likely assumed it had to do with either the robbery or the lawsuit, claiming her “delicate constitution” wouldn’t allow her to travel outside of the manor.
She’s been too stressed over the media mob, and she “can’t begin to imagine the frenzy that would take place” if they saw her at the police station.
And because she’s Lillian Blackwood, they oblige.
We’ve all taken our seats on the couches or armchairs, except for Jax, who comes bolting in through the front door just as the footage shows the squad cars pull up to the front of Blackwood Manor. My best friend looks like he might pass out from how heavily he’s breathing, damn near doubled over.
“Did you run here?” Michael asks.
Anna has to pull her lips in to prevent laughing when we all get a better look at him, but Dominic doesn’t miss the opportunity, pointing at his lips and cheek. “That’s not really your color.”
Jax rubs his skin, finding lipstick now smeared to his palm. The buttons on his shirt are also misaligned, and his hair is messy as shit.
“Should we even ask?” Dominic and Michael say in unison.
“No.” Jax perches himself on the armrest beside me and only murmurs, “I fell asleep at her place,” under his breath when he sees the look I’m still giving him.
I shake my head but keep the rest of my thoughts to myself. We’ve got more immediate things to focus on.
In the footage, four police officers, including Detective Nash, exit the two squad cars.
I was initially surprised to see him participating in this case, but it’s made clear when everybody approaches the front door that Nash’s presence is more about keeping Lillian’s guard down.
Seeing a familiar face she knows is investigating the robbery will reassure her that this visit is simply an update.
Lillian invites everyone into the great room and offers the staff to fetch them some drinks before theatrically collapsing back onto the settee.
She sips her tea and fans herself, despite it being in the low forties outside, rattling on and on about how difficult these robberies have been for her.
“Between dealing with the insurance and the publicity, it’s been a nightmare.
And now that little tart is smearing my family’s good name all over social media.
I hope Miss Evans enjoys my countersuit—”
Anna rolls her eyes, not looking remotely concerned about the prospect. And she shouldn’t.
Lillian is in a room of people she assumes are allies, her attention entirely focused on making herself as sympathetic as possible. Needless to say, when Detective Austin asks her about her relationship with Donald Sears, Lillian’s woe-is-me theatrics quickly die. “I’m sorry, what?”
“How do you know Donald Sears?” Austin repeats pointedly.
“He’s a real estate assessor I’ve worked with over the past few years. Why? Do you think he has something to do with the robberies? Because I can assure you—”
Nobody’s in the mood for her “assurances,” and the line of questioning makes that perfectly clear.
Detective Austin demands to know if she bothered to consult with an attorney before conducting the sales on twelve different properties. He wants to know if she knowingly made any false or purposely misleading statements when each of the properties was assessed.
“Have you or any of your associates ever given Mr. Sears gifts or special favors?”
“Were any improvements or repairs made to 812 Cherokee Road, 486 Lancaster Street, and 2073 Joy Lane? And if so, do you have the documentation to prove it?”
“Did you willfully hide any potential foundational issues with the property on Clover’s Way?”
“How did you come into possession of the property?
“Where did Mr. Bauer and you get the source of the funds used to buy the property on 557 Sterling Road?”
And so on.
To say my stepmother is reeling is the understatement of the fucking century, and I’m loving every second of it. Her expression phases through confusion, shock, and horror before she settles on anger.
Sorry not sorry, Lillian.
She’s been living well above her means these past four years, and in that time she’s accrued nearly $750,000 in what should be debt. The only reason she’s been able to pay all of it off is because of her “savvy” real estate dealings.
A.k.a. She’s been committing tax fraud, overestimating the value of the property to get larger loans, and so much more.
In fact, her form of business was actually turning a profit, putting a few extra zeros into her bank account.
That is, until her assessor became suspicious that the FBI may have been investigating his business.
He stopped working with Lillian and any of her associates four months ago, and all of that additional income shriveled up.
Detective Austin runs through a long list of supposed repairs that were made to another property, wanting to know if she can provide the necessary receipts.
Which she doesn’t have.
Not legitimate ones, anyway.
Still, she’s ever so confident she can smooth things over, rising to her feet.
“Let me go get that for you.” When she heads out into the hallway and sees our officer following her all the way to the office, the muscle in her jaw ticks. “May I have a moment? There’s very private and very personal documentation in there—”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s procedure. We can’t take that risk.”
“Of what? That I’ll run away?” She scoffs, like this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “Young man, do you have any idea who I am? I’m not some common street thug. I know better.”
“Then you’ll also know that we take protocol very seriously. Nobody is the exception.”
He motions her forward, and gritting her teeth hard enough to crack half the porcelain veneers in her mouth, Lillian pushes the office door open and heads inside.
Seeing as how there’s a balcony door at the far end of the room, the officer has every reason to step inside as well.
He keeps a respectful distance so as to not appear like he’s looming over her, but she clearly doesn’t appreciate his presence.
Lillian yanks open and slams several drawers on the large mahogany desk, pulling out multiple folders, but she notices they’re suspiciously light. I would know.
My stepmother opens them to see only the cover page inside each. “What the—?”
Frustrated, she throws the folders onto the desk and, without hesitation, goes to the portrait behind her. Pulling it out from the side, the frame swings outward like a door to reveal the safe hidden behind it.
“I promise, there aren’t any weapons in there,” she says, dialing in the combination.
Just to be safe, the officer orders Lillian to step aside once she’s released the handle to open it. Before she can move away, however, something tumbles out of the safe through the gap, landing right at her feet.
A sapphire necklace.
She recognizes the design, too. She should. It’s from her shop.
“Wait—” Lillian’s obviously in a state of shock, because she blurts it more out of confusion than anything else when the officer goes to pull open the door the rest of the way. But it sounds bad. It’s like she’s got something to hide.
And she does.
Anna looks at me in the same state of shock as my stepmother, save for the fact that she’s grinning. “What the hell did you do?”
Okay, so I kind of, maybe, sort of didn’t clue Anna in on everything, but can you blame me? Earning the expression on her face was too good to pass up.
She punches me in the arm but quickly follows it up with a kiss just as we hear the officer call over his radio for the others to join him in the office.
Seeing as how Detective Nash has been combing through the records of every stolen piece of jewelry from Westfall, it takes him about thirty seconds to spot several very recognizable pieces piled up inside the safe, the mound so high that they’re literally spilling out.
It also doesn’t escape his attention that they’re all from the three separate robberies.
Sure, it’s only a third of the stash (we already fenced the rest), but it’s clear what this looks like.
Detective Nash begins reading my stepmother her rights, and that’s when the panic truly sets in.
“I swear, I have no idea how those got there,” Lillian insists, looking around the room for an ally. She doesn’t find one. “Damon! This had to be Damon. You know he’s the one behind the robberies. He must have gotten in here somehow. Check my surveillance! We have a camera in every room.”
Oh, Lillian, you do, but they won’t be showing anything.
That’s the one little downside to having wired security cameras.
They run entirely on the electricity running through the manor, so when a rather nasty storm (and not Dominic) knocked out the power for everyone in your section of the neighborhood a couple of weeks ago, not a single camera recorded my comings and goings.
Lillian isn’t heeding her “right to remain silent” that Nash just read. And because she’s far more focused on pinning this to me, she doesn’t catch her slip-up when the detective asks when these cameras were installed. “They’ve been here since we moved in.”
“Have they always worked?”
“Yes.” She’s pointing to the camera concealed in the corner of the room, but Nash isn’t looking at it.
Nope, his eyes are solely on her. “I take it you’re not aware that the original charges made against your stepson are currently being reinvestigated?”
Lillian stops rambling at that, now looking bowled over. “What?”
“There were inconsistencies initially overlooked about the surveillance footage you submitted outside your property. And upon further investigation, we discovered some rather troubling facts about one of our own. You’re familiar with Officer Benedict Holt, yes?
” It’s phrased to sound like a question, but he doesn’t wait for her response.
“You failed to disclose your relationship with him upon your original interview, but several eyewitnesses have come forward to corroborate the accusation that you two have been engaging in an affair on and off for the past six years. Not only that, but further delving into his financial records shows that he’s periodically deposited over a hundred thousand dollars into his accounts during this time, whose source can’t be verified.
Now, that in and of itself isn’t what concerns me.
What does is the fact that Benedict Holt specifically requested to carry out the search warrant made against your stepson.
A witness testified to him punching himself in the face to frame Damon Knox for assault against an officer, and upon reevaluation of your security footage, Mr. Holt far better resembles your thief than Damon, particularly the knee that Holt himself admitted has damaged cartilage from a football injury.
Oh, and Holt’s employment history also confirms that he worked part-time at Westfall Jewelers six years ago.
You were engaging in a sexual relationship with the arresting officer who supposedly obtained evidence, and lack thereof, in which you would benefit greatly to the tune of tens of millions of dollars.
That’s what we in the business like to call means and motive. ”
Lillian looks like she’s going to be sick, and my heart may be on the verge of exploding from my chest.
Holy shit.
Even I didn’t know about my case being looked at again, and neither did any of the guys if their stunned expressions are anything to go by.
But Nash isn’t finished. “You can imagine how alarming it is to hear about these interior cameras,” he says, pointing where she previously indicated, “especially when you’ve been on the record twice claiming that no such things exist. Once for your husband’s fall and the other that led to your stepson’s arrest. Your best case scenario, you’re looking at obstruction of justice.
If things pan out the way I believe, you’ll be looking at criminal charges, as well as a civil lawsuit.
And you can bet your ass that Damon Knox will have every right to contest the ruling for his portion of Mr. Blackwood’s inheritance. ”