Chapter 6 - THE LAPTOP IN CELESTE’S ATTIC
Daniel called the police while I drove toward Celeste’s house.
He told me not to go.
I went anyway.
Some instincts survive betrayal.
Protecting Sophie was one of mine.
Celeste lived twenty minutes away in a brick Colonial with white shutters and a basketball hoop above the garage.
When I arrived, the front door stood open.
Beatrice’s car blocked the driveway.
Mia’s borrowed sedan sat at the curb.
I entered through the foyer.
A lamp had been knocked over.
Celeste and Beatrice stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“You are not searching my house,” Celeste said.
“This concerns Julian’s freedom,” Beatrice replied.
“It concerns the crimes you helped him commit.”
“You ungrateful little fool.”
Mia stood near the kitchen, one hand on her stomach.
She wore a pale coat and no makeup.
Without cosmetics and carefully arranged tears, she looked younger.
But not innocent.
Sophie appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Aunt Harper.”
Beatrice spun around.
“What are you doing here?”
“Protecting a child from adults who mistake desperation for authority.”
“This is a family matter.”
“I was family when you needed handbags.”
Celeste nearly smiled.
Mia moved toward the back door.
I blocked her path.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t feel well.”
“Sit down. The police are coming.”
Her face drained.
Beatrice grabbed my arm.
“You had no right.”
I looked at her hand.
She released me.
Sirens approached.
Two officers entered moments later.
Celeste explained that Beatrice and Mia had arrived uninvited and demanded access to boxes stored in the attic.
They had not physically attacked anyone.
But they had refused to leave.
The officers escorted them outside.
Before Mia crossed the threshold, she looked back at me.
“You don’t understand what’s on that computer.”
“Then tell me.”
She shook her head.
“If Julian thinks I gave it to you, I’m dead.”
Beatrice pulled her away.
The officers heard the statement.
One of them followed Mia.
The other remained to take a report.
Celeste sat on the stairs.
“I didn’t know there was a laptop.”
Sophie came down carrying a dusty black computer.
“I did.”
Her mother stared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Grandpa gave it to me last Christmas.”
Thomas.
Sophie explained that the computer had belonged to Julian during college.
Thomas had found it while clearing old boxes from the Caldwell family garage.
He gave it to Sophie because she liked repairing electronics.
“I couldn’t get past the password,” she said. “I put it in the attic.”
Daniel arrived with a digital forensic specialist.
The laptop was sealed as evidence before anyone touched it.
Celeste watched the specialist carry it away.
“What could be on something that old?”
I remembered Julian at twenty-eight, standing in the rain with an umbrella.
Promises began somewhere.
So did plans.
Thomas arrived an hour later.
He looked shaken when he learned what had happened.
“Why did you give Sophie that computer?” Celeste asked.
“I thought it was empty.”
“Beatrice knew about it.”
Thomas sat down.
“She has been looking for it for years.”
“Why?”
He stared at the floor.
“When Julian became engaged to Harper, Beatrice found emails on that laptop.”
My chest tightened.
“What emails?”
“I never read all of them.”
“But you read some.”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“I should have told you.”
The sentence had become the Caldwell family motto.
I should have told you.
Celeste folded her arms.
“What did Julian write?”
Thomas rubbed his wedding ring.
“He and his college roommate used to talk about women.”
“What kind of talk?”
“Money. Families. Careers.”
“Be specific,” I said.
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Julian called relationships investments.”
The room went silent.
“He made lists,” Thomas continued. “Women he dated. What their families owned. Their professional prospects. Whether they had debt.”
My stomach twisted.
“Was I on a list?”
“Yes.”
The answer broke something I had believed could no longer break.
“What did it say?”
“Stanford scholarship. Parents own property. No siblings. High earning potential.”
Celeste covered her mouth.
“He targeted her,” Sophie whispered.
Thomas nodded.
“He wrote that you were his best long-term opportunity.”
I turned away.
The rain.
The umbrella.
The coffee remembered correctly.
The questions about my business plan.
Perhaps none of it had been romance.
Perhaps I had not chosen love over Stanford.
Perhaps I had been studied until I chose exactly what Julian wanted.
Thomas stood.
“I confronted him before the wedding.”
“What did he say?”
“That men evaluate women all the time. That he loved you. That the list had been immature.”
“And you believed him?”
“I wanted to.”
“No. You wanted the discomfort to end.”
He lowered his eyes.
That was the truth.
Cowards often confused peace with the absence of confrontation.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
“The forensic team opened the laptop.”
“How?”
“The password was HARVEST.”
The name of the first apartment building where Julian and I had lived.
“What did they find?”
“Emails. Financial models. Notes about you.”
I gripped the phone.
“There’s also a folder labeled Project Stanford.”
My heart began pounding.
“What’s inside?”
Daniel was silent for a moment.
“Copies of letters addressed to you.”
“What letters?”
“One is from Stanford.”
I could barely hear him.
“What does it say?”
“It was sent three weeks after you told the university you were declining admission.”
I remembered Julian telling me there had been no possibility of deferral.
He had said he called the admissions office himself because I had been too emotional.
Daniel continued.
“The letter offered you a one-year deferment.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why have I never seen it?”
“Because Julian received it.”
“How?”
“He changed the mailing address on your application portal.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Daniel’s voice became distant.
“There’s an email to his roommate dated the same day.”
“Read it.”
“Harper—”
“Read it.”
He exhaled.
“Julian wrote: ‘Problem solved. By next year she’ll be married, invested here, and too embarrassed to go back.’”
I pressed one hand against the wall.
Ten years of my life rearranged themselves.
He had not simply asked me to choose him.
He had removed the road behind me.
Daniel spoke again.
“There’s one more thing.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“The folder contains a draft agreement between Julian and Beatrice.”
May you like
“About what?”
“Your inheritance.”
