Chapter 9 — Celeste's Second Face
Chapter 9 — Celeste's Second Face
I stared at the photograph until the edges blurred.
My mother.
Jonathan.
Nathan.
Eleven years ago.
The year Nathan and I met.
The year I believed my life had finally begun.
Now I was beginning to wonder if it had been planned before I even knew his name.
I called my mother.
She answered after the first ring.
“Emma?”
“Where are you?”
A pause.
“At home.”
“I need to see you.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Emma, please—”
“Now.”
She understood from my voice that this was not a request.
“Come to me.”
“I'm already outside.”
I looked toward her house.
The lights were on.
I hadn't even noticed her car.
I walked to the front door.
She opened it before I knocked.
For several seconds, we simply stared at each other.
Then I held up my phone.
“Explain this.”
Her face changed.
She saw the photograph.
And I watched the last bit of color leave her face.
“Where did you get that?”
“Eleven years ago.”
She looked away.
“Mom.”
“I can explain.”
“You always say that.”
She closed her eyes.
“Because there are things you don't understand.”
“Then explain them.”
She stepped aside.
I entered.
The house smelled exactly as it always had.
Lavender.
Old books.
The perfume she had worn for as long as I could remember.
Everything familiar.
Everything suddenly false.
I placed the photograph on the table.
“Why were you with Jonathan?”
She sat down.
“Because he was alive.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since before you met Nathan.”
I felt something inside me break.
“You knew my father was alive.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe he was dead.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to.”
I stared.
“Jonathan asked you to hide from me?”
“No.”
“He asked me to hide him.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed someone was trying to kill you.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“Adrian Vale.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Your grandfather's former partner.”
I shook my head.
“Adrian isn't my grandfather.”
“No.”
She lowered her voice.
“But he helped your grandfather build the Black Account.”
I remembered what Nathan had told me.
His father's name was Adrian Vale.
The man who had supposedly died years ago.
The man who had been standing behind so many transactions.
The man who wanted my shares.
I sat down.
“You're telling me Nathan's father helped my grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“And Jonathan discovered it.”
“Yes.”
“And that's why Jonathan disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“Then why was Nathan in that photograph?”
My mother didn't answer.
“Mom.”
She finally whispered:
“Because Nathan was part of the plan.”
I felt sick.
“What plan?”
“The plan to protect you.”
I laughed.
“Protect me?”
“Yes.”
“You introduced my husband to me to protect me?”
She looked down.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“He was supposed to watch you.”
I stared.
“Watch me?”
“Keep you safe.”
“By marrying me?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“He wasn't supposed to fall in love with you.”
The room went silent.
I felt cold.
“But he did.”
“Yes.”
“And then?”
“Everything became complicated.”
I left my mother's house before midnight.
I didn't trust myself to stay.
Too many truths had appeared at once.
My mother had known Jonathan was alive.
Nathan had been sent to watch me.
Adrian had helped my grandfather.
The Black Account had been designed to protect something.
And Celeste—
Celeste.
I suddenly remembered the jewelry store.
The champagne silk dress.
The way she had looked at me.
Not surprised.
Not frightened.
Almost amused.
Like she knew exactly what was happening.
Like she had been waiting.
I called Olivia.
“Find Celeste.”
There was silence.
“Emma?”
“Find her.”
“Why?”
“Because I think we've been looking at the wrong person.”
Celeste had disappeared.
Her apartment was empty.
Her phone was off.
Her car had been abandoned three blocks from her office.
Olivia sent me the location.
I went there myself.
The building was old.
The kind of place wealthy people ignored because it looked insignificant.
Celeste's name wasn't on the mailbox.
But her office was on the third floor.
The door was unlocked.
I entered.
Nothing looked unusual.
A desk.
Two chairs.
A bookshelf.
A framed certificate.
Then I noticed the photograph.
Celeste stood beside my mother.
Both women were younger.
Behind them was the old Harper estate.
The date:
June 2009.
Two years before I met Nathan.
I looked closer.
A man stood in the background.
Jonathan.
My father.
And beside him was another woman.
I didn't recognize her.
I turned the photograph over.
Three words had been written:
The Second Face.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
You finally found her office.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
Now look beneath the floor.
I looked down.
The wooden floorboards were old.
One had a slightly different color.
I knelt.
There was a tiny gap.
I pried it open.
Beneath the floor was a metal box.
Locked.
I took out the brass key.
It fit.
The box opened.
Inside were dozens of photographs.
Contracts.
Bank records.
Letters.
And one passport.
I opened it.
The photograph was Celeste.
But the name wasn't Celeste.
Claire Morgan.
I froze.
Another identity.
Another lie.
I opened the first file.
It contained a list of names.
Nathan.
Robert.
Adrian.
My mother.
And one name I didn't recognize.
Samuel Cross.
Beside each name was a role.
Nathan — Observer.
Robert — Legal Executor.
Adrian — Financial Architect.
Elizabeth — Protector.
Celeste — Infiltrator.
Samuel — Controller.
I read the last line again.
Samuel — Controller.
Who was Samuel Cross?
I searched the name.
Nothing.
No company records.
No social media.
No public history.
It was as if the man didn't exist.
Then I opened the next file.
A photograph.
An older man sitting in a wheelchair.
The image was grainy.
But I recognized him.
My grandfather.
I stared.
The photograph had been taken recently.
Very recently.
He was alive.
But he wasn't alone.
Standing beside him was Samuel Cross.
I felt my pulse racing.
Then I noticed something.
Samuel's face looked familiar.
I zoomed in.
The photograph from the jewelry store.
The man standing near the entrance.
The one I had assumed was security.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same scar across his left cheek.
He had been there when Nathan hit me.
Watching.
Waiting.
I suddenly understood.
That hadn't been an accident.
Someone had wanted him there.
I called Olivia.
“Send this to the police.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Emma, if this is legitimate—”
“It is.”
She went silent.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“Celeste has another identity.”
“What?”
“She isn't Celeste.”
“Who is she?”
“Claire Morgan.”
Olivia inhaled sharply.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Claire Morgan died eight years ago.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Officially, she died in a boating accident.”
“Then who is this?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the documents.
“Find out.”
I spent the next four hours reading everything inside Celeste's box.
The deeper I went, the worse it became.
She hadn't simply been Nathan's mistress.
She had been working inside the Harper organization for years.
She had been hired by my mother.
Then reassigned by my grandfather.
Then recruited by Adrian.
And eventually, she began working for Samuel.
Every side believed she belonged to them.
That was why the file called her:
The Second Face.
She had built different identities for different people.
To my mother, she was Celeste.
To Nathan, she was his lover.
To Adrian, she was an operative.
To Samuel, she was Claire.
But who was she really?
I found the answer in a handwritten letter.
The letter was addressed to my mother.
Elizabeth,
If Emma ever learns the truth, don't tell her about the first agreement.
She must believe Nathan chose her freely.
If she knows he was assigned to her, she'll never trust anyone again.
That would make her vulnerable.
Keep Celeste close.
She is the only person who can reach her if everything fails.
The letter was signed:
Jonathan.
I stared at it.
My father had trusted Celeste.
My mother had trusted Celeste.
Nathan had trusted Celeste.
Even Adrian had trusted her.
And all this time, she had been carrying secrets from every side.
Then I found another document.
A contract between Celeste and Samuel.
The first paragraph made my stomach drop.
Subject Emma Harper must never gain independent control of the Black Account.
The second paragraph was worse.
If she approaches the truth, terminate the marriage before her twenty-ninth birthday.
I whispered:
“They planned my divorce.”
But why?
I read the final page.
The answer was there.
If the marriage cannot be terminated peacefully, use the jewelry store incident.
I stopped breathing.
The slap.
The cameras.
The witnesses.
It hadn't simply been Nathan losing control.
It had been anticipated.
Planned.
Prepared.
My humiliation had been part of the strategy.
At 3:18 a.m., someone knocked on the office door.
I grabbed my phone.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
Another knock.
Then a woman's voice.
“Emma.”
Celeste.
I opened the door.
She stood in the hallway.
No champagne dress.
No makeup.
No expensive jewelry.
Her hair was tied back.
She looked exhausted.
And frightened.
“You found the box.”
I stared at her.
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to Nathan.”
“Yes.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“Adrian.”
“Yes.”
“Who do you actually work for?”
She looked behind her.
“No one.”
I laughed.
“That's not true.”
“I used to.”
“Samuel?”
She nodded.
“Then why stop?”
“Because I realized what he planned to do.”
“What?”
She looked directly at me.
“He doesn't want your money.”
I had heard those words before.
But this time, something about them felt different.
“What does he want?”
Celeste stepped inside.
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because your blood is the key.”
“To the account.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“To something older.”
I felt cold.
“What?”
“The Black Account is only one layer.”
She closed the door.
“Your grandfather built another system beneath it.”
“What system?”
“A control system.”
“For what?”
She whispered:
“The people who own the companies.”
I stared.
“Explain.”
“Your grandfather didn't just hide money.”
She looked at me.
“He created identities.”
I didn't understand.
“He could make someone disappear.”
“What?”
“Erase their records. Change their names. Move their assets. Create new lives.”
I thought of Celeste.
“Like you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To control people.”
I looked at the documents.
“Samuel.”
“He was the first person your grandfather gave that power to.”
“Then why does he want me?”
“Because your grandfather gave him one final instruction.”
“What?”
Celeste's eyes filled with tears.
“Never let Emma discover who she really is.”
I felt my heart pounding.
“What am I?”
Celeste hesitated.
Then she said:
“You aren't just Jonathan's daughter.”
I stared.
“What else?”
“You are the legal successor to everything your grandfather built.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You are the person who can legally expose all of it.”
My blood ran cold.
“Why?”
“Because your grandfather created the entire system under your birth certificate.”
I couldn't speak.
Celeste continued.
“Every hidden company.”
“Every secret account.”
“Every altered identity.”
“Every illegal transfer.”
“They all have one common beneficiary.”
Me.
I felt dizzy.
“Why?”
“Because he believed that one day you would control everything.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then Samuel takes it.”
“Who is Samuel?”
Celeste looked at me.
“You've already met him.”
I thought of the photograph.
The jewelry store.
The scar.
The man standing near the entrance.
“The security guard.”
She nodded.
“He wasn't security.”
“Then who was he?”
Celeste whispered:
“Samuel Cross.”
Before I could ask another question, the lights went out.
The office plunged into darkness.
Celeste grabbed my arm.
“Don't move.”
A gunshot shattered the window.
Glass exploded across the room.
I ducked.
Celeste pulled me behind the desk.
Another shot.
Then silence.
I whispered:
“Samuel?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Samuel never misses.”
I stared at her.
“Then who fired?”
Celeste looked toward the broken window.
“Someone who wants you alive.”
A shadow moved outside.
Then disappeared.
My phone vibrated.
One message.
Stop looking for Jonathan.
A second appeared.
He isn't the man you should fear.
Then the final message.
Ask Celeste why she really saved you.
I turned toward her.
She was crying.
“Celeste.”
She looked at me.
“What aren't you telling me?”
She swallowed.
“I was the one who forged your signature.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I didn't know what the document would be used for.”
“You transferred my shares.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“You almost destroyed me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel threatened my daughter.”
I stared.
“You have a daughter?”
Celeste nodded.
“She disappeared eight years ago.”
I suddenly understood.
“Claire Morgan.”
Her face crumpled.
“Yes.”
“Claire was your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“And the woman whose identity you took?”
“My daughter.”
Silence.
Celeste looked at me.
“I became Claire because Samuel killed the woman I used to be.”
I couldn't breathe.
“He didn't just steal my identity.”
She wiped her tears.
“He stole my daughter's life.”
Then she reached into her coat and pulled out a photograph.
A little girl.
Eight years old.
Standing beside Jonathan.
On the back was a date.
And beneath it, six words:
Emma was supposed to save her.
I stared at the photograph.
Then at Celeste.
“What does that mean?”
Celeste's voice broke.
“Your father knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Samuel would come for you.”
“When?”
“After your twenty-ninth birthday.”
“Why?”
“Because once you access the Black Account…”
She stopped.
“What happens?”
She looked at me.
“The system will identify every person who has ever been erased.”
My heart pounded.
“And Claire?”
Celeste closed her eyes.
“Claire isn't dead.”
I stared.
“Then where is she?”
May you like
Celeste whispered:
“Your grandfather has her.”
