Chapter 10 - CELESTE CAME HOME
We found Celeste in the old music room.
She was barefoot.
Her hair was tangled.
One side of her face was bruised.
Ethan rushed toward her.
She recoiled.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Celeste.”
She looked at me.
For the first time since the staircase, I saw no arrogance.
Only terror.
“Mercer took me.”
Ortiz stepped closer.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Start from the beginning.”
Celeste laughed bitterly.
“The beginning?”
Her eyes moved to me.
“You want the beginning?”
“Yes.”
She wiped her face.
“The beginning was when you got pregnant.”
She hated admitting it.
“Graham told me Mother planned to transfer control to Ethan’s child.”
“Was that true?”
“I don’t know.”
“He showed me documents.”
“Forged?”
“Probably.”
Her mouth trembled.
“He told me Ethan would remove me from the family trust.”
“What else?”
“That Claire had convinced Mother I was unstable.”
I said nothing.
Celeste continued.
“He showed me psychiatric notes.”
“From your therapy?”
She stared.
“How do you know?”
“We found your file.”
Her face collapsed.
“He had everything.”
“Yes.”
“He told me if I didn’t protect myself, Ethan would use those records to have me removed.”
“Did you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you to push me?”
Celeste’s eyes hardened.
“No.”
That mattered.
“Then why did you?”
Her jaw shook.
“Because I hated you.”
The honesty hit harder than an excuse.
“You walked into this family and everyone loved you.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Mother did.”
“Ethan did.”
“You got pregnant.”
“And suddenly every conversation was about the future.”
She swallowed.
“I felt erased.”
“So you tried to erase my baby?”
“No.”
“You pushed a pregnant woman down marble stairs.”
“I didn’t think—”
“Exactly.”
Celeste started crying.
Real tears this time.
“I wanted to scare you.”
“By pushing me?”
“I thought you’d grab the railing.”
I stared at her.
“That is the lie you need to stop telling yourself.”
She looked away.
Then whispered:
“I know.”
Silence.
No forgiveness.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
Ortiz asked:
“Who abducted you?”
“Mercer’s security man.”
“Name?”
“Dale Kern.”
We found his file downstairs.
Former police officer.
Private investigator.
Mercer had used him for years.
“Why release you?”
Celeste shook her head.
“He didn’t.”
“I escaped.”
“How?”
“He moved me last night.”
“From where?”
“A warehouse.”
“Where?”
“Near the river.”
“Which river?”
“Hudson.”
Ortiz started making calls.
Then Celeste grabbed my hand.
I almost pulled away.
“Claire.”
“What?”
“Graham knows you found your father’s files.”
“How?”
“He said you went to Vermont.”
My skin went cold.
“He knew?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say how?”
“No.”
That meant someone around us was still reporting to him.
I looked at Ethan.
He looked at Ortiz.
Then at the Whitmore staff.
Security.
Housekeepers.
Attorneys.
Too many possibilities.
Celeste continued:
“He’s leaving.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“But?”
She swallowed.
“He said before he leaves, he has to finish what Richard started.”
“What does that mean?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
Celeste looked toward the east wing.
“He said the last recording has to disappear.”
Thomas had told us about three copies.
My father’s.
His.
Rebecca Sloan’s.
But perhaps Richard kept one more.
An original.
Inside Whitmore Manor.
Celeste whispered:
“Graham said Richard hid it where Evelyn would never allow anyone to search.”
May you like
I knew immediately.
Her bedroom.
