The cold dawn seeped through the cracked blinds of Frost's office, casting long shadows across the disorganized desk. Frost and Blake sat across from each other, their faces illuminated by the dim light of the early morning. The weariness of sleepless nights was evident in their expressions, yet their minds raced with the new revelations surrounding Theodore Blackwood.
As much as they were certain now that Blackwood was at the center of this vast conspiracy, they were still grasping at straws, trying to connect the dots. The web was intricate, with layers of misdirection and false leads. Thorne might have been the face, but Blackwood was clearly the puppetmaster.
Frost took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against the edge of a photograph of Blackwood that lay among the papers on his desk. Blackwood's image seemed to radiate cold, calculated control—a man who had long mastered the art of operating behind a facade of wealth and respectability.
"We need more than suspicion," Blake said, breaking the silence. He stood up and began pacing the room. "If we go after Blackwood without solid evidence, we risk exposing ourselves. And if we're wrong—"
"We're not wrong," Frost interjected, his voice firm but not dismissive. He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in thought. "We just need to find a crack in his armor. Something that ties him directly to Thorne, or to any of the operations we've been tracking. If we can find that, we can start pulling at the thread."
Blake stopped pacing and turned to Frost, a look of cautious hope in his eyes. "What's our next move, then? We've combed through everything we have on Blackwood, but there's no direct connection."
Frost tapped his fingers against the photograph thoughtfully. "There's always a connection, Blake. No one like Blackwood operates in isolation. He has to communicate with his people somehow—whether through proxies, intermediaries, or coded messages. We need to find the person he trusts the most, the one who does his dirty work. If we can flip them, we can get to Blackwood."
Blake nodded slowly. "Alright. But where do we start? We've already looked into his known associates, and none of them seem to be connected to anything illegal."
Frost stood up, his eyes locked on the cityscape outside the window. "There's someone we haven't considered yet—someone who's always in the background, always close to Blackwood, but never in the spotlight."
Blake frowned. "Who?"
"Charlotte Alderidge," Frost replied, turning to face Blake. "Blackwood's personal assistant. She's been with him for years, handling everything from his business meetings to his personal schedule. If anyone knows Blackwood's secrets, it's her."
Blake's eyes widened. "You think she's involved?"
Frost shrugged. "It's possible. But even if she's not, she could be our way in. If we can get her to talk, we might finally get the break we need."
Blake considered this for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Alright. Let's see what we can find on her."
They spent the next few hours digging into Charlotte Alderidge's background. She was an enigma, much like her employer—highly competent, well-connected, but always in the shadows. There were no obvious red flags in her history, no signs of criminal activity or shady dealings. But there was something about her that set Frost on edge—an instinct, a gut feeling that she was more than she appeared to be.
As they delved deeper into her life, they found little cracks—small inconsistencies that suggested she wasn't just a loyal assistant. There were payments made to accounts that didn't match her salary, unexplained absences from Blackwood's estate during critical times in their investigation, and connections to people who had been involved in illegal activities in the past.
"She's not clean," Blake muttered, scrolling through the information on his laptop. "But she's careful. Too careful. It's like she's been covering her tracks for years."
Frost nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. "That means she's important. If she's been involved in Blackwood's operations, she's not going to give him up easily. We'll need to approach this carefully."
Blake raised an eyebrow. "Carefully? Or aggressively?"
Frost smirked. "A bit of both, I think."
---
Later that day, they found themselves standing outside a luxurious townhouse in one of London's more exclusive neighborhoods. The building was elegant, with tall windows and ivy climbing the stone facade. This was where Charlotte Alderidge lived—a far cry from the modest lifestyle one might expect of a personal assistant.
Blake glanced at Frost. "You ready for this?"
Frost nodded. "Let's see what she has to say."
They approached the front door, and Blake rang the doorbell. There was a brief pause before the door opened, revealing Charlotte Alderidge herself. She was a striking woman in her mid-thirties, with sharp features and an air of calm professionalism. Her eyes flickered with curiosity as she took in the two men standing on her doorstep.
"Detectives," she said smoothly, her voice betraying no surprise. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Frost stepped forward, his expression neutral. "Miss Alderidge, we'd like to ask you a few questions about your employer, Theodore Blackwood."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she maintained her composure. "I'm afraid I don't see how that's relevant to me. I'm just his assistant."
Blake's voice was calm but firm. "We think you know more than that, Miss Alderidge. We're investigating a series of crimes connected to Mr. Blackwood, and we believe you may have information that could help us."
For a moment, Charlotte remained silent, her gaze fixed on Frost's. Then she sighed softly and stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. "Very well, Detectives. I'll answer your questions. But I assure you, there's nothing I can tell you that will be of any use."
They followed her inside, the door closing behind them with a soft click. The interior of the townhouse was as elegant as the exterior—tastefully decorated, with an air of understated luxury. Charlotte led them to a sitting room and gestured for them to take a seat.
As they sat down, Frost studied her carefully. There was something in her eyes, a flicker of nervousness that she was trying to hide. She was more involved than she was letting on—he was sure of it.
"We're aware of your connection to Mr. Blackwood," Frost began, his tone measured. "We know you've been his assistant for several years, and that you've been handling much of his business. What we want to know is whether you're aware of any illegal activities he may be involved in."
Charlotte smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Mr. Blackwood is a respected businessman, Detective. He's never been involved in anything illegal, as far as I'm aware."
Blake leaned forward, his voice low. "Miss Alderidge, we've been investigating Blackwood for months. We know he's connected to Thorne, and we know there's more going on than meets the eye. If you're protecting him, now is the time to stop. We can offer you protection, but you need to cooperate."
Charlotte's smile faltered, and for a brief moment, Frost saw a flash of fear in her eyes. But she quickly regained her composure, shaking her head.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said softly. "I'm just an assistant. I handle his schedule, his appointments. That's all."
Frost leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her. "You're lying, Miss Alderidge. You're in this deeper than you're willing to admit. We've seen the payments, the connections. You're not just an assistant—you're part of his operation. And if you don't start talking, you're going to go down with him."
Charlotte's expression tightened, and for a moment, Frost thought she might finally crack. But then she shook her head again, more resolutely this time.
"You're wrong," she said quietly. "I'm not involved in anything illegal. And I'm not going to betray Mr. Blackwood. He's done nothing wrong."
Frost sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had been so sure that she would be the key to unlocking Blackwood's secrets, but she was holding out—whether out of fear, loyalty, or something else entirely, he couldn't be sure.
Blake stood up, clearly done with the conversation. "Alright, Miss Alderidge. If that's how you want to play it. But don't think for a second that we're done here. We'll be watching you, and when this all comes crashing down, you'll wish you'd cooperated."
Charlotte said nothing, her expression unreadable as they turned to leave.
As they stepped back out into the cold London air, Blake let out an exasperated sigh. "That was a waste of time. She's not going to talk."
Frost remained silent for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice calm but determined.
"She will," he said quietly. "We just need to give her a reason."
Blake frowned. "What do you mean?"
Frost glanced back at the townhouse, a plan forming in his mind. "She's protecting Blackwood because she believes he can protect her. We need to make her realize that he can't—that she's just as much a pawn in this game as anyone else. Once she sees that, she'll talk."
Blake considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. What's the plan?"
Frost's eyes gleamed with determination. "We're going to turn the pressure up on Blackwood. Make him nervous, make him desperate. And when he starts to slip, we'll be there to catch him—and Charlotte, too."
Blake grinned. "I like the sound of that. Let's do it."
As they walked away from the townhouse, Frost couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the verge of a breakthrough. Charlotte Alderidge was the key—he was sure of it. And once they had her, Blackwood's empire would begin to crumble.
But the game was far from over, and the stakes were higher than ever. One wrong move, and everything they had worked for could come crashing down.
To be continued…