Chapter 3 — The Woman Named Celeste
Chapter 3 — The Woman Named Celeste
Celeste Romano had been in my life long before I knew her name.
That was the first thing I learned the morning after my father's phone call.
The second thing I learned was worse.
She had not entered Nathan's life because of him.
She had entered it because of me.
I sat across from Victoria in the gray light of early morning, staring at the photograph she had placed between us.
My mother.
Celeste.
My father.
And the woman whose face had been scratched away.
Four people standing together twenty-five years ago.
Four people who were never supposed to have been connected.
Victoria hadn't touched her coffee.
Neither had I.
"Tell me everything you know about Celeste."
Victoria looked at the photograph.
"Celeste Romano wasn't always Celeste Romano."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Her maiden name was Celeste Bell."
I waited.
Victoria continued.
"She worked for your mother."
"I know."
"No. You don't."
She turned the photograph toward me.
"She didn't work for your mother as a secretary."
I felt a chill.
"What was she?"
"An investigator."
I stared at her.
"An investigator?"
"Your mother didn't trust people easily. After your father disappeared, she hired Celeste to find out who was watching the family."
I looked at the photograph again.
"Then why would my mother keep her around?"
"Because Celeste found something."
"What?"
Victoria hesitated.
"She found the Blackwell Trust."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"You said the trust was created by my grandfather."
"It was."
"Then what did Celeste find?"
"Who else had access to it."
Victoria opened a folder.
Inside were copies of old bank records.
Corporate filings.
Property transfers.
Names I didn't recognize.
Then I saw one name repeated over and over.
Evelyn Blackwell.
I looked at Victoria.
"Who is Evelyn?"
Victoria didn't answer immediately.
"Your mother's older sister."
My heart stopped.
"The woman in the photograph."
"Yes."
"But my mother was an only child."
"That's the story."
"Why?"
"Because your grandfather erased Evelyn from the family."
"Why?"
Victoria's eyes hardened.
"Because Evelyn tried to take the trust."
I looked down at the documents.
"Did she succeed?"
"No."
"Then why is she dangerous?"
Victoria closed the folder.
"Because she didn't stop trying."
At nine in the morning, I went to see Celeste.
Not at Nathan's store.
Not at the company.
I found her at a private club downtown.
The kind of place where people paid thousands of dollars simply to be left alone.
She was sitting near the window.
White dress.
Black sunglasses.
Coffee untouched.
When she saw me, she didn't look surprised.
She removed her sunglasses.
"You came."
I sat across from her.
"You knew I would."
"Eventually."
"You've been working for my family for years."
Celeste smiled faintly.
"Working for your family?"
"Don't play games."
"I've never played games with you, Emma."
I almost laughed.
"You had an affair with my husband."
"Yes."
"You helped him forge my signature."
"No."
I froze.
"No?"
"I helped him obtain the signature."
My hands tightened.
"But I didn't forge the document."
"Who did?"
Celeste looked toward the window.
"I don't know."
"That's a lie."
She smiled.
"You sound like your mother."
I leaned forward.
"Don't mention her."
"Why?"
"Because you don't get to use her name after what you've done."
Celeste's expression changed.
For the first time, the confidence disappeared.
"I didn't hurt your mother."
"You worked for her."
"Yes."
"You betrayed her."
"No."
"Then explain."
Celeste lowered her voice.
"Your mother asked me to betray her."
I stared.
"What?"
"She ordered me to get close to the people she believed were watching you."
"And Nathan?"
"Was one of them."
I couldn't breathe.
"My husband?"
"Your mother suspected Nathan's family had connections to the Blackwell Trust."
I shook my head.
"That's impossible."
Celeste leaned closer.
"Nathan didn't marry you because he loved you."
The words hit harder than the slap.
I stared at her.
"Then why?"
"Because your mother knew the trust would eventually belong to you."
"And Nathan knew?"
"Not at first."
"When did he find out?"
"Three years after your marriage."
I thought about the timeline.
My mother's death.
The company expansion.
Nathan becoming increasingly controlling.
The first time he asked me to sign financial documents.
The first time he insisted I let him manage my investments.
Everything suddenly looked different.
"Why didn't you warn me?"
Celeste's eyes lowered.
"Because I was trying to find the person behind Nathan."
"Who?"
She looked at me.
"Evelyn."
My mother's sister.
The woman whose face had been scratched from the photograph.
The woman who had supposedly disappeared twenty-five years ago.
I swallowed.
"Where is she?"
Celeste shook her head.
"I don't know."
"You worked for my mother."
"Twenty-five years ago."
"You know her."
"I knew the woman she was then."
"What happened?"
Celeste looked at me for a long moment.
"She changed."
"How?"
"She stopped wanting the money."
I frowned.
"Then what did she want?"
Celeste's answer was quiet.
"You."
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped across the floor.
"Me?"
Celeste nodded.
"Your mother wasn't afraid Evelyn would steal the trust."
"Then what?"
"She was afraid Evelyn would use you to get it."
I stared at her.
"Why me?"
"Because you're the final beneficiary."
I shook my head.
"That doesn't explain anything."
Celeste reached into her handbag.
She pulled out a small envelope.
"I was told to give you this if you ever discovered the forged signature."
I didn't take it.
"Who told you?"
"Your mother."
My heart stopped.
"That's impossible."
"She gave it to me two months before she died."
"Why didn't you give it to me then?"
"Because she told me not to."
"Until when?"
"Until someone tried to transfer your shares."
I stared at the envelope.
My mother's handwriting was on the front.
Emma.
Nothing else.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was one page.
Only three paragraphs.
I read the first.
Then the second.
Then the third.
And the room seemed to tilt.
My mother had written:
If you are reading this, then someone has tried to take control of your inheritance before your twenty-ninth birthday. Do not trust anyone who tells you the danger is Nathan. Nathan is a symptom, not the disease.
I stopped.
The next line made my blood run cold.
Find the woman who raised you to believe your father was dead.
I looked at Celeste.
"My mother wrote this?"
"Yes."
I continued reading.
She has been closer to you than you realize.
The letter ended with a sentence that made my fingers go numb.
Her name is not Evelyn anymore.
I looked up.
Celeste was watching me.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
"You do."
"I don't."
"Then why are you here?"
She looked away.
"Because I was ordered to protect you."
"By whom?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Your father."
My father's name felt different every time someone spoke it.
Not like a memory anymore.
Like a threat.
"How long have you known he's alive?"
Celeste looked at me.
"Seven years."
I felt as though someone had struck me.
"Seven?"
"Yes."
"You knew my father was alive for seven years?"
"He contacted me."
"And you said nothing."
"He made me promise."
"Why?"
"Because he believed telling you would get you killed."
I laughed bitterly.
"Everyone keeps saying they're protecting me."
Celeste didn't respond.
"How convenient."
"I understand why you don't trust me."
"No."
I stood.
"You don't understand."
I leaned toward her.
"You slept with my husband."
Her face tightened.
"Yes."
"You helped him access my financial records."
"Yes."
"You worked for my mother."
"Yes."
"You knew my father was alive."
"Yes."
"And you expect me to believe you're protecting me?"
Celeste's eyes filled with tears.
"No."
She stood.
"I expect you to hate me."
I paused.
"Why?"
"Because if you hate me, you might stay alive."
She picked up her bag.
Then whispered:
"Nathan isn't the person you should be afraid of."
"Who is?"
Celeste looked toward the entrance.
Then back at me.
"The woman who owns the company."
I frowned.
"What company?"
"Hale & Hart."
I stared.
"Nathan owns it."
"No."
She shook her head.
"That's what the forged documents were designed to make you believe."
My heart pounded.
"Who owns it?"
Celeste opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, the lights went out.
The entire club plunged into darkness.
Someone screamed.
A glass shattered.
Then came the sound of a gunshot.
I dropped to the floor.
Celeste grabbed my arm.
"Stay down!"
Another shot.
Then another.
People ran.
Tables overturned.
Someone screamed for security.
I crawled behind the bar.
Celeste moved beside me.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Good."
"Who is shooting?"
"I don't know."
She looked toward the entrance.
"Yes, you do."
Celeste went silent.
Then she whispered:
"Evelyn."
The emergency lights came on.
A man stood near the doorway.
Black coat.
Black gloves.
Gun in hand.
He wasn't looking at Celeste.
He was looking at me.
He raised the weapon.
Celeste pushed me down.
The shot struck the mirror behind us.
Security tackled the man.
He fired once more before disappearing through a side door.
I looked at Celeste.
She was bleeding.
"You're hurt."
She looked down.
A bullet had grazed her shoulder.
"Don't worry."
"You're bleeding."
"That's not important."
"It is to me."
She stared at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said:
"Now do you believe me?"
I didn't answer.
Because I had just realized something.
The shooter hadn't aimed at Celeste.
He had aimed at me.
Victoria arrived twenty minutes later.
She took one look at the blood on Celeste's sleeve.
Then at me.
"What happened?"
"Someone tried to kill me."
Victoria's face changed.
"Where?"
"Here."
"Who?"
"Evelyn."
Victoria froze.
"You saw her?"
"No."
Celeste answered.
"Her man."
Victoria looked at Celeste.
"You shouldn't have come."
Celeste laughed bitterly.
"Neither should you."
Victoria stepped closer.
"What did you tell Emma?"
Celeste didn't answer.
Victoria looked at me.
"What did she tell you?"
I held up my mother's letter.
Victoria read it.
Her face became pale.
"Emma..."
"What?"
She looked at Celeste.
Then at me.
"There is something you need to know about your mother."
"What?"
Victoria swallowed.
"She didn't die three years ago."
I stared.
"What?"
"She died twenty-three years ago."
I shook my head.
"No."
Victoria's voice was barely audible.
"The woman who raised you after your father's disappearance wasn't your mother."
The world seemed to stop.
I couldn't speak.
Celeste closed her eyes.
I looked at her.
"You knew."
She nodded.
"Who was she?"
Neither woman answered.
I demanded:
"Who was the woman who raised me?"
Victoria finally whispered:
"Your aunt."
My mother's sister.
Evelyn.
The woman everyone said had disappeared.
The woman whose face had been scratched from the photograph.
The woman who had apparently raised me while pretending to be my mother.
I stumbled backward.
"No."
Victoria reached for me.
I pulled away.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"My mother died when I was six."
"Yes."
"And Evelyn?"
"She took her place."
I couldn't breathe.
"Why?"
Celeste looked at me.
"Because your real mother left something hidden."
"What?"
"The trust."
I stared at the two women.
Then the realization hit me.
The woman I had called Mother for twenty-three years wasn't my mother.
The woman I had been taught to fear might not be the villain.
And the person I had mourned my entire life...
might have been alive somewhere all along.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
You finally know her name.
Another message appeared.
Now find out why she raised you.
Then a photograph.
A young woman holding a six-year-old girl.
The girl was me.
The woman was Evelyn.
And behind them stood my real mother.
Alive.
Watching.
The photograph had been taken two days after the funeral I remembered attending.
I stared at it until my vision blurred.
Then one final message appeared.
Your mother didn't abandon you, Emma.
She was taken from you.
And beneath it was an address.
An old house outside Nashville.
My childhood home.
May you like
The place I had been told was sold twenty years ago.
The place where, apparently, the truth had been waiting for me the entire time.
