Chapter 2 - The Art of the Quiet HuntBy 6:00 a.m., Claire was finally asleep, her breathing deep and heavy under the influence of warm broth and the safety of my home. I stood at my kitchen counter, a steaming mug of black coffee beside me, staring at the old leather-bound ledger from my past life.
The first rule of any investigation is simple: never let the target know you are watching. If Beckett realized I was coming for him, he would use his father’s influence to bury the evidence, clean his accounts, and construct a narrative that painted Claire as a runaway wife suffering from a psychotic break. I needed to move fast, but I had to move in the shadows.
I picked up my secure phone and dialed a number I hadn’t used in fifteen years. The line rang three times before a deep, authoritative voice answered.
"Richard Vance," the voice said.
"Richard," I replied, my voice steady. "It’s Margaret Vale."
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end of the line. Richard Vance, the current Attorney General of the state, had once been a young, ambitious deputy under my wing when I was the lead investigator for the State Bureau of Financial Crimes.
"Margaret?" he gasped, his voice instantly losing its professional edge. "My god, it’s been over a decade. Where are you?"
"I’m in Blackwood," I said. "And I need a favor. A quiet one."
"For you? Anything. What's going on?"
"I need a forensic audit on Hale Enterprises," I said, my eyes narrowing as I stared out the frost-covered kitchen window. "And I need a quiet background check on Beckett Hale. I want every offshore account, every property transfer, and every local business contract linked to his name flagged by noon."
"Hale Enterprises?" Richard sounded concerned. "Margaret, that family has deep roots in that county. The father, Charles Hale, is a major donor to the governor's campaign. The local authorities are in their pocket."
"I know," I replied coldly. "That’s why I’m calling you. If I go to the local sheriff, the evidence will disappear before the ink is dry on the report. Beckett assaulted my daughter last night. He threw her out into a blizzard barefoot. I’m going to dismantle his life, Richard. And I need you to hold the door open while I do it."
Another pause, followed by the sound of Richard shifting papers on his desk. "I'll have my best financial analysts on it within the hour. I’ll send the files to your secure email. But Margaret... be careful. If Charles Hale gets wind of this, he’ll use every resource he has to stop you."
"Let him try," I said softly, hanging up.
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I walked into my study, pulling out a hidden digital camera and a set of professional lockpicks from my old field kit. If Beckett had locked Claire out, her personal laptop, her diary, and her bank statements were still inside their high-security estate. I needed that physical evidence to secure a conviction that his father’s corrupt friends couldn’t touch.
I looked out the window. The snow had stopped falling, leaving the forest outside draped in a silent, blinding white sheet. The hunt had officially begun.
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