Page 25 of A Cobbled Conspiracy

The memory of that conversation made my chest tight with longing. Soon, I hoped, we wouldn’t have to worry about visiting schedules and guard protocols and being chaperoned like two untrustworthy teenagers.

“Good news or bad news?” I called out, my voice still rough with sleep.

“Hurry and come find out,” Blake replied, something in his tone suggesting I’d really want to hear this particular bit of news.

When I shuffled into Blake’s living room a few minutes later, Penny and Jake were already there. My best friend bounced on his toes with barely contained energy, his scent bright with anticipation as he bustled about the kitchen. Jake sat at the bar, nibbling at a plate of toast and eggs.

“Coffee? Or would you prefer some ginger tea?” Penny asked, gesturing toward Blake’s new coffee machine—a sleek Italian model that looked expensive enough to require its own insurance policy. Blake had taken our complaints about his pod system seriously, especially after Penny’s dramatic declaration that “real investigators needed real coffee, not the swill this thing produces!” in his best—though inadequate—impersonation of a noir-ish, hard-broiled detective.

“Tea, please,” I said, grateful for Penny’s thoughtfulness. The ginger had been helping with the persistent nausea.

As Penny prepared my tea, Blake pulled a manila folder from his briefcase, his expression carefully controlled. “Katharine got the results an hour ago.”

My heart stuttered. “And?”

“Forgeries. All of them.” Blake’s smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “We had plenty of evidence to show it wasn’t Dominic’s writing. I’ve got samples of his handwriting dating back to primary school. The expert had no trouble proving the documents were faked.”

Relief flooded through me so suddenly that I had to grip the edge of the table to stay upright. The persistent nausea that had been bothering me for days suddenly intensified, and I pressed my hand against my stomach while trying to process what Blake was telling me.

“Whoa, there,” Blake said, grabbing my arm to steady me. “Sit down.”

I found myself smiling despite everything, imagining a young Dominic carefully writing his name on school assignments, probably with the same determined precision he brought to everything else. What had he been like as a child?

“So Dominic can come home for now?” I managed. “At least until the trial?”

“Better than that.” Blake opened the folder, revealing photographs of documents covered in forensic markings. “Katherine thinks we can get all charges dismissed based onthis evidence alone. The prosecution’s entire case is built on documents that we can now prove are fraudulent.”

The mating mark on my neck pulsed with sudden warmth, as if responding to the possibility of reunion. Through the bond, I could feel something that might have been hope—the first positive emotion I’d sensed from Dominic in two weeks.

Penny handed me the steaming cup of ginger tea, the familiar scent helping to settle my roiling stomach slightly.

“There’s more,” Blake continued, his expression shifting to something harder. “My private investigator has been tracking Brian Collins since Dominic’s arrest.”

Jake looked up from his toast and eggs. “Any luck finding him?”

“Brian’s disappeared, but we’ve tracked his financial activity.” Blake’s tone carried the kind of cold anger I’d never heard from him before. “He emptied three separate bank accounts two days before Dominic’s arrest. Offshore accounts we didn’t even know existed, all funded by payments from shell companies.”

“How much money are we talking about?” Penny asked, settling into his chair with his own cup of coffee.

“Enough to live very comfortably for a long time,” Blake said grimly. “Expensive apartment lease paid in advance, luxury car purchased outright, even what looks like travel expenses for international destinations. Brian’s probably living it up somewhere that doesn’t have extradition treaties.”

The scope of Brian’s betrayal hit me like a physical blow. This wasn’t just corporate espionage—this was a carefully planned operation that had been done with the intent to destroy Dominic’s life.

“The investigator managed to get surveillance photos of Brian meeting with known organized crime associates before he disappeared,” Blake continued. “We have him accepting payments, exchanging documents, even coordinating timing. It’s all premeditated conspiracy.”

As Blake spoke, another wave of nausea built in my stomach, stronger than before. The ginger tea wasn’t helping anymore, and I could feel cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

“Abigail’s been helpful analyzing the financial patterns,” Blake was saying, but his voice seemed to be coming from very far away.

I couldn’t hold it back anymore. “Excuse me,” I managed, before rushing toward Blake’s private bathroom.

I barely made it in time, retching into the pristine porcelain while trying to muffle the sound. My hands shook as I gripped the marble countertop, waiting for the wave to pass. When it finally did, I splashed cold water on my face and tried to compose myself, but I could see in the mirror that I looked pale and shaky.

When I returned to the living room, three pairs of concerned eyes were watching me.

“You need to keep that follow-up appointment with Dr. Westfield,” Penny said with the kind of firm authority I rarely heard from him. He gave me a pointed look, his mouth set in a knowing line. “I’ll go with you.”

I recalled my last visit for the persistent nausea, back when I'd dismissed it as just the bond stress. Now the drugstore pregnancy test sat hidden away in my bathroom drawer. Pennywas right. I needed to see Dr. Westfield again, to hear the confirmation from her lips.