Chapter 268: The Blackwells

Theo shook his head. "There aren’t many records from that time. We still haven’t found the exact reason. What we do know is the Whites came from Snowville. Their ancestors started in herbs, then after the reforms they shifted into medical equipment and drug development."He handed me a thick stack of documents. "A few of the biggest medical equipment, vaccine, and healthcare companies today are owned by the Whites."

I flipped through the pages. The names jumped out at me brands I’d seen in news headlines and hospital reports. These weren’t small companies. This was power with a clean public face.

I looked up. "What about the Blackwells?"

If the Whites’ missing daughter ended up with the Blackwells, then how did two families like that collide?

Theo replied, "The Blackwells were also a Snowville family. They moved overseas years ago."

"Are the two families close?"

"On the surface, no," Theo said. "The Whites built their roots from herbs. The Blackwells were known for carving stone and wood. Over time, they expanded abroad and moved into different industries."

Carving.

My mind snapped to the wooden dog sculpture Yael had given me. Back then, I thought it was just a thoughtful gift. Now it felt like a calling card.

And then another memory hit too clear, too sharp.

The sculpture at the bonding home.

My stomach tightened. Was that really just coincidence?

Lewis caught the shift in my face immediately. His hand found my shoulder, warm and steady. "Don’t worry, darling," he murmured, like he could press calm into my skin through touch.

Theo added, "By the way, Yael is passionate about stone sculptures. He’s been preparing for an exhibition."

"When does it open?" I asked.

"We don’t know yet. The approval went through, but the display is still being set up. It hasn’t opened to the public."

Lewis’s voice turned businesslike. "Keep digging. And put eyes on the Blackwells. Quietly. See if anything surfaces."

"Got it," Theo said.

I hadn’t been to school for days. My mind had been buried in names, dates, and family histories. When I felt like I had enough to push with, I went back to the Morrigans this time with leads, not guesses.

Malcom was outside, lounging in a chair like a man who had already made peace with dying.

Sunlight washed over him, making his silver hair gleam. He looked frail. Pitiful, even. No one would guess he was only in his fifties.

Not far from him, Vivian was in the yard planting hydrangeas.

She was mumbling to herself, voice thin and broken. "Elena loved them the most. I’ve filled the yard with them. When they bloom... she’ll come home."

She was digging with her bare hands.

Her fingers were smeared with soil and streaked with blood. She didn’t seem to notice the pain. Her mind looked like it was stuck between reality and a dream she refused to wake from.

Malcom didn’t stop her. He just watched, cold and quiet.

Vivian used to be beautiful. Now her face looked older, drawn tight with grief. Her hair was messy. Even her nightgown was stained and wrinkled. But she kept digging like the dirt could undo the past.

"Elena," she whispered, voice shaking. "I was wrong. Why don’t you visit me in my dreams? Are you still angry? Is that why you won’t come?"

Then she slapped herself hard across the face.

"Yes, I deserved it," she cried, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I brought monsters into my home. I destroyed my own children. You shouldn’t have died. I should’ve been the one "

I stepped closer. She didn’t even see me at first.

I pulled out a wet wipe and gently cleaned the dirt and blood from her cheeks. My hands moved carefully, the way you approach someone who might shatter if you touch them wrong.

Vivian turned.

For one painful second, her eyes lit up like she truly saw Elena standing in front of her.

She threw herself into my arms and held on like she was drowning. "Elena... you came home. Have you forgiven me?"

Forgiven?

My chest tightened. I couldn’t forget what that month taught me. The coldness. The way people could switch their love on and off like a light. Regret now didn’t erase what I’d suffered.

All I could do was not strike her while she was already on her knees.

"Mrs. Morrigan," I said softly, steadying her, "I’m not Elena. I’m Riley. Your daughter is gone. Don’t you remember?"

"Riley?" Her gaze dropped to my forehead, like she was searching for something familiar. Then the light in her eyes faded.

"Yes," she whispered, voice breaking. "You’re not my daughter. I’m sorry. I mistook you for her."

"It’s okay," I said gently. "Why are you planting these flowers?"

She nodded, wiping her face with shaky hands. "My daughter loved hydrangeas. But no matter how beautiful they bloom... she won’t see them anymore."

"She will," I said quietly. The words came out before I could stop them.

Malcom’s voice snapped like a whip. "What do you want now?"

I turned to him, forcing myself to stay calm. "There’s new progress, Mr. Morrigan. If you know anything, you need to tell me. Are the Whites and the Blackwells connected to your family?"

The second I said Blackwell, his face changed.

His eyes sharpened. His jaw tightened. And his scent sharp and sour spiked like a warning.

"I don’t know any Blackwells," he said quickly.

I pushed. "What about Abe Blackwell? Does that name ring a bell?"

"No."

But I knew his habits. When he wanted to dodge the truth, he rubbed his left thumb against his right, over and over. His hands were doing it now.

"Mr. Morrigan," I said, keeping my voice low, "both the Morrigans and the Hales have been hurt. Badly. Let me be blunt someone is targeting families. Helping me is helping yourself."

He leaned back like I bored him. "Mrs. Hale, I really don’t know that person. Sorry. I can’t help you."

Then he called for the butler. "I’m not feeling well. Arnold, take Mrs. Hale out."

A moment later, I was escorted out like I was nothing.

But the way his face changed... the way he shut down...

He knew something.

If he refused to talk, there was only one reason. Whatever happened between the Morrigans and those two families was damaging. Shameful. Dangerous. The kind of truth that could collapse a name and weaken a pack.

As I walked to the car, my thoughts churned.

Did Grandma do something back then?

And if my gut was right... Camilla’s real identity might connect to the Blackwells or the Whites.

On the drive back, I stared out the window until an idea hit me.

"Take Copper Avenue," I told the driver.

They lost track of Camilla around that area. If she disappeared there, maybe she had lived nearby. Maybe she still had roots there.

"Yes, Mrs. Riley."

The driver looped through Copper Avenue, turning slowly through quiet streets and neat buildings.

Then I saw it.

"Stop," I said sharply. "Stop the car."

Across the road was a gallery. Through the wide glass windows, I could see stone sculptures tall shapes, sharp edges, polished surfaces catching the light.

My pulse kicked.

I got out and walked closer, peering inside. There were different pieces displayed, each one carefully lit, each one placed like it mattered.

Theo said Yael was preparing an exhibition.

Was this it?

I moved along the window until I reached a glass display holding something massive at least nine feet tall. It was hidden under a black cloth, like a secret waiting to be revealed.

The memory of that sculpture at the bonding home flashed in my mind again.

My skin went cold.

Before I could think further, a voice came from behind me.

"Riley. What a coincidence."

I jumped so hard my whole body jerked. My instincts reacted before my brain did. Fear rolled through me fast and hot.

I turned.

Yael stood there smiling, like we were old friends.

"Did I scare you?" he asked lightly.

He still looked warm. Still sounded kind. But now that I knew there might be old blood between the Blackwells and the Morrigans, I couldn’t look at him the same way.

A man could wear kindness like a clean shirt.

And still be dangerous underneath.

I forced myself to breathe. I forced my face to stay calm.

"I was passing by," I said evenly. "I saw the gallery. It looked beautiful, so I wanted to take a closer look. Yael... what are you doing here?"

He answered openly, like he had nothing to hide. "I’m organizing the exhibition. I didn’t expect you to be so interested."

Then he tilted his head slightly, polite and inviting.

"Would you like to come in and take a look?"