Part 9
“That is not better.”
“No.”
Andrew sounded tired enough to age through the phone.
Celeste arrived at the foundation at two in the afternoon.
She came alone.
The champagne gown was gone, replaced by a camel coat, cream blouse, and dark trousers. Her blonde hair remained styled, but not perfectly; one side had flattened near the back, as if she had slept in a chair. She wore the same pearl earrings.
The scratch on Mara’s cheek had darkened.
Celeste looked at it and swallowed.
“I did not mean to cut you.”
“You meant to take the case.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Celeste glanced at Ruth.
“Must she be here?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would like my attorney.”
“Grant’s attorney?”
A pause.
“No.”
Ruth offered her a list of independent counsel and a private office from which to call. Celeste chose a lawyer she knew socially, learned he represented Vale Strategic, and selected another.
They waited forty minutes for the attorney to arrive.
During that time, Celeste sat in the conference room without speaking. Tessa had gone home to shower and feed her cat. Daniel brought tea. Celeste thanked him by name. Mara noticed because Grant never did.
The ordinary courtesy made her angrier.
When the attorney arrived, a compact woman named Elise Navarro, she met privately with Celeste for almost an hour. Then they returned.
Celeste placed the antique jewelry case on the table.
The silver edge bore a faint brown-red stain.
Mara’s body reacted before her mind did. Her shoulders tightened. Her hand moved toward her cheek.
“Where is the document?” Ruth asked.
Celeste opened the case.
Inside lay the Vale family brooch: a spray of diamonds and seed pearls shaped like laurel leaves.
Nothing else.
“Grant replaced it after you left,” Celeste said.
“Did you see him destroy the paper?”
“No.”
“Did you see him remove it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In my husband’s old study.”
“Who was present?”
“Grant. Elliot Crane. Me.”
“What did he do with it?”
“He placed it in a leather folder. Elliot took the folder.”
Ruth wrote without looking down.
“Why was the instruction in your jewelry case?”
Celeste folded her hands.
“I put it there.”
Mara felt the room narrow.
“Why?”
“I found it in Grant’s study yesterday morning.”
“How did you enter his study?”
“I own the house.”
The old authority in her voice appeared for a second, then collapsed.
Celeste had gone looking for documents related to the mortgage on the estate. Andrew told her Grant had refinanced more than she understood. She searched his desk while he was in the city and found the transfer instruction inside a file labeled HENRY BAINES—EXECUTED.
“I saw my name connected to North Marrow,” she said. “I had never heard of it. I read the amount. I knew the Ellison name. I put the document in the jewelry case because it was the one place Grant would not look before the ceremony.”
“Why not call me?” Mara asked.
Celeste’s fingers pressed together until the knuckles paled.
“I intended to speak to Henry.”
“Not me.”
“I did not know what you had authorized.”
“You could have asked.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
Celeste looked at the brooch.
“I thought Henry would arrive early. He always does. I planned to show him the document privately. Then he canceled.”
“And you still brought me the case.”
“The room was full. Grant had been watching me all evening. If I abandoned the presentation, he would know.”
“So you gave me a box containing evidence of an attempt to steal from my trust and hoped I would not open it?”
“I thought I could remove the paper during the toast.”
“You failed.”
“Yes.”
“You grabbed it hard enough to cut me.”
Celeste flinched but did not look away.
“Yes.”
Mara wanted the older woman to defend herself. She wanted an excuse ugly enough to dismiss. Instead, Celeste sat rigidly and accepted each fact in a voice barely louder than the ventilation.
“Why were you silent when Grant ordered me out?” Mara asked.
Elise shifted, perhaps preparing to intervene, but Celeste answered.
“Because I was afraid of my son.”
The words did not excuse anything. Their plainness made them worse.
“What could he do to you?”
“He controls the loans on the estate. My apartment in the city. Most of the accounts I use. He convinced me to transfer management after his father died. I told myself it was temporary. Then every question became an accusation that I did not trust him.”
Mara almost laughed at the familiarity.
Celeste continued.
“He said if Halcyon Ridge failed, Vale Strategic would collapse. Hundreds of people would lose work. The estate would be sold. Andrew would blame me. He said the transfer was a bridge loan you had discussed.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I wanted to.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Ruth asked about the gift basket.
Celeste’s face changed.
“I sent Henry nothing.”
“Could Grant imitate your handwriting?”
“He would not need to. My social secretary keeps signed cards in a desk for gifts.”
“Who has access?”
“Staff. Family.”
“Elliot?”
“He has been in the office.”
Celeste closed her eyes briefly.
Mara noticed a tiny tremor near her left thumb. The woman had stood through funerals, lawsuits, and charity galas without allowing a camera to catch her blinking at the wrong moment. Fear had not made her helpless. It had made her selective.
She had protected herself until Mara walked away bleeding.
“Will you provide a sworn statement?” Mara asked.
Celeste turned to her attorney.
Elise spoke quietly. “We need to assess potential exposure.”
“Of course,” Mara said.
Celeste recoiled as if the contempt had been physical.
“You think I am choosing him again.”
“You are asking how much truth you can afford.”
“And you aren’t?”
May you like
The question landed.
Mara looked at Ruth’s boxes, the foundation’s darkened conference screens, her father’s name etched into the glass wall. She had spent years allowing Grant into the trust because opposing him cost affection, peace, and the flattering illusion that she was building a partnership. She had calculated too.
