Chapter 8 - FIRE IN THE ARCHIVE
Garrett caught Celeste’s wrist.
The letter opener hit the floor.
Victor shouted.
“Celeste!”
She twisted free.
Then ran.
Not toward the front doors.
Toward the west hall.
I knew before anyone else.
“The archive.”
Garrett ran after her.
So did security.
By the time we reached the library, smoke was already coming through the archive doorway.
Celeste had started a fire.
Old paper burns fast.
Very fast.
Sprinklers activated.
Alarms screamed.
Staff rushed outside.
Bess grabbed Addie.
Percy helped the cook.
I saw Celeste near the doorway with a lighter still in her hand.
Garrett stared at her.
“What have you done?”
She looked almost relieved.
“Protected you.”
He looked at the flames.
“You think destroying evidence protects me?”
“It protects everything.”
She stepped toward him.
“Our wedding.”
“Our future.”
“The family.”
Garrett laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You don’t know anything about family.”
Her face collapsed.
“You’re choosing her.”
She pointed at me.
There it was.
The thing underneath everything.
Not love.
Ownership.
She thought Garrett belonged to her.
His house.
His money.
His staff.
His future.
Everything.
Garrett answered.
“I’m choosing the truth.”
Sheriff’s deputies entered behind us.
Celeste looked toward Victor.
He was gone.
I turned.
“Where is he?”
Security ran for the front doors.
Victor’s sedan was already moving down the driveway.
A deputy radioed the plate.
Celeste laughed.
“You won’t catch him.”
The sheriff approached her.
“Celeste Vane?”
She turned.
“You’re being detained pending investigation into assault, theft, destruction of evidence, and arson.”
She looked at Garrett.
“Stop them.”
He said nothing.
“Garrett.”
The deputy handcuffed her.
Her expression changed.
For the first time since I met her, Celeste looked frightened.
Not angry.
Not insulted.
Frightened.
As they led her away, she looked at me.
“This is your fault.”
I answered.
“No.”
“You finally ran out of people willing to pretend.”
She was taken outside.
Firefighters contained the archive blaze.
Most of the room was damaged.
But we had already photographed the Pier Nine records.
The tape was safe downstairs.
My father’s letter was in my pocket.
Victor could not burn any of that.
Then one firefighter emerged carrying a charred metal case.
“We found this behind the archive wall.”
Garrett frowned.
“What is it?”
The lock had melted.
Inside were ledgers.
Bank records.
Payments.
Some recent.
Not twenty years old.
Garrett opened one.
His face changed.
Victor Sloane had been receiving money from Harwick companies for decades.
Even after Garrett took control.
Even after Garrett believed he had removed his father’s old associates.
Millions.
Through fake consulting companies.
Then I saw one name.
CELESTE VANE.
She wasn’t just Victor’s niece.
She was being paid.
May you like
Garrett stared at the ledger.
The woman he planned to marry had entered his life on Victor Sloane’s payroll.
