Chương 5
He opened his eyes.
“I want the combination.”
“You will speak with Miles first.”
Miles Keene had been the family’s personal attorney for almost three decades. He had drafted Julian’s first trust, negotiated Edmund’s estate, and once advised Celeste through a dispute with a neighbor over an elm tree. He was discreet, patient, and loyal in a way that often meant the client’s survival mattered more than the truth.
“No.”
“Then you will not open the safe.”
Julian took out his phone.
Celeste watched him. “Who are you calling?”
“Security.”
Her expression almost softened. “The safe is bolted into the wall.”
“I’m not asking them to move it. I’m asking them to preserve the office and restrict access.”
“You cannot restrict me from a room in my own house.”
“The records may concern the company.”
“The house is held by my trust.”
“The security staff are employed by Arden Residential Services.”
Celeste’s lips parted, then closed.
It was a petty piece of leverage. Julian disliked using it. He used it anyway.
He called the head of security, directed him to lock the household office, preserve the hallway camera logs, and allow no one inside without Julian’s written approval. He did not explain why.
When he ended the call, Celeste stood with both hands flat on the counter.
“You are choosing a stranger over your family.”
“Nora is not a stranger.”
“She is an employee.”
“She was an employee until you fired her for finding evidence.”
“I fired her because she became dangerous.”
The words remained between them.
Celeste heard them as clearly as Julian did.
She turned toward the windows.
Julian put the envelope inside his travel case, locked it, and carried the case upstairs.
His bedroom had been prepared for his return. The bed was turned down. Fresh shirts hung in the dressing room. A tray held mineral water, almonds, and the ginger candies Celeste ordered because she had once decided they helped him sleep after flights.
He sat on the edge of the bed without removing his shoes.
For six minutes he did nothing.
Then he called a lawyer who had never represented his family.
Her name was Rachel Kim, a former federal prosecutor who now handled internal investigations and corporate crises. Julian had met her two years earlier during a conference on construction transparency. He remembered that she had contradicted him in front of four hundred people and declined his invitation to dinner afterward because she had an early train.
She answered on the fifth ring.
“This is Rachel.”
“It’s Julian Arden.”
A pause.
“This sounds expensive.”
Under different circumstances, he might have smiled.
“I need independent counsel.”
“For you or your company?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That means for you.”
He told her only what he could verify: undisclosed payments from an account in his deceased father’s name, a possible connection to Harbor Quay, and records found by a household employee who had been dismissed immediately afterward.
Rachel did not interrupt.
When he finished, she asked, “Where are the records?”
“In a locked case in my bedroom.”
“Who else can access the room?”
“Household staff. Security. My mother.”
“Move the case somewhere controlled.”
“The house has security.”
“Your mother apparently controls some of the people who control the house.”
He looked at the bedroom door.
“What about the employee?”
“She went home.”
“Does she have copies?”
“Yes.”
“Has anyone threatened her?”
“My mother told her to delete them and mentioned counsel.”
“That may feel like a threat to a person who just lost her job.”
“I know.”
“Do you have her address?”
“Yes.”
“Do not go there tonight.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good. Powerful men arriving at dismissed employees’ homes after dark tend to produce unhelpful interpretations.”
Julian leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“What do I do?”
“First, stop asking your mother substantive questions. Second, preserve everything you have. Third, send me the names of every person you believe may know about the payments. Fourth, tell no company attorney until we understand whether any of them were involved.”
“And Nora?”
“Make sure she has access to her own lawyer.”
“She can’t afford someone for this.”
“Then fund independent counsel through a structure you do not control.”
“That sounds like I’m buying her lawyer.”
“It can, if handled badly. I’ll arrange a list of employment attorneys and a written undertaking that you will pay reasonable fees regardless of what she says or does. She chooses the lawyer. You do not receive privileged information.”
Julian looked at his hands.
“Rachel.”
“Yes?”
“My mother grabbed her.”
“Did you see it?”
“No. I saw the mark.”
“Photograph it if the employee consents. Preserve the hallway footage. Do not pressure her to characterize what happened.”
“I understand.”
“No, you understand in theory. Tomorrow you may feel tempted to turn every person into a source of information. Don’t. She is a person who lost her job and may have been physically restrained by her employer. Her interests are not the same as yours.”
Julian looked toward the tray of ginger candies.
“All right.”
“Can you secure the records tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Then do that. I’ll call you at seven.”
After the call, Julian changed into a sweater and carried the travel case to the detached gatehouse, where the security system recorded every entry. He placed it in a steel cabinet used for property documents and sealed the cabinet with two numbered evidence tags Rachel had instructed a courier to deliver.
By the time he returned to the mansion, the lemon chicken was in the oven.
Celeste sat alone at the breakfast table, still wearing the emerald gown and diamonds. She had poured herself a glass of white wine.
“You’re cooking?” Julian asked.
“Marta put it in.”
“Nora prepared it.”
“Yes.”
He opened the oven and checked the pan. The chicken had been left uncovered. The edges were drying.
May you like
He found foil in the lower drawer and laid it over the dish.
Celeste watched him. “You always overcorrect small things when you are frightened.”
