Chapter 12 - The House Marianne Never Told Them About
Property records led them to a small house in Beacon, New York.
The deed had been purchased in December 2004.
Owner: Marianne Mercer.
Abby stared at the screen.
“My mother owned a house.”
Julian nodded.
“She sold it in 2008.”
“To whom?”
He scrolled.
“A holding trust.”
“What trust?”
Julian’s expression changed.
“Gideon Cross.”
Abby leaned closer.
“Your father bought it from her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The property remained inside Gideon’s private estate after his death.
Julian had inherited it without noticing.
That fact infuriated Abby almost as much as it fascinated her.
“You inherited my mother’s secret house.”
“Apparently.”
“And never visited.”
“I inherited three hundred and twelve properties.”
Abby stared.
“You should stop saying rich-person things when I’m angry.”
They drove north that evening.
The house stood at the end of an overgrown road beside the Hudson River.
Small.
Blue shutters.
Sagging porch.
A maple tree dominated the yard.
Abby stopped at the gate.
She remembered the place.
Not clearly.
A flash.
Her mother spreading a blanket beneath the maple tree.
Abby herself, perhaps seven years old, chasing fireflies.
“Oh my God.”
Julian watched her.
“You’ve been here.”
“Yes.”
The memory came slowly.
“Mom said it belonged to a friend.”
They entered.
Dust covered everything.
The furniture had remained untouched for years.
On one wall, pencil marks recorded a child’s height.
ABBY - AGE 7.
Abby touched the writing.
Her mother had planned a life here.
Then something had forced her to leave.
Julian found a locked door beneath the staircase.
Leonard’s key fit.
Behind it was a narrow basement.
They descended.
A workbench stood against the far wall.
Several metal filing cabinets lined one side.
Abby opened the first.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
Empty.
Her heart sank.
Then Julian noticed scrape marks on the concrete.
“Someone moved something.”
A section of shelving had been shifted recently.
Behind it was a second door.
Inside was a small room.
And there were the records.
Boxes.
Dozens.
Julian stared.
“Gideon.”
Abby opened one.
Cross Foundation ledgers.
Another contained employment files.
She recognized Naomi Reed’s name.
Abby froze.
“These are recent.”
Julian opened another.
2019.
2020.
2021.
Someone had been maintaining this archive after Gideon’s death.
Abby looked at him.
“Who knew about this place?”
“Leonard.”
“Maybe Voss.”
“Maybe my mother.”
They searched.
Thirty-one employee files appeared.
Every person Julian had tested.
Each file contained original security footage.
Payment records.
Internal Voss memos.
The truth.
Abby opened Naomi Reed’s file.
A video still showed another employee placing money inside Naomi’s locker.
The timestamp was clear.
Naomi had been framed.
Julian sat heavily on a chair.
One after another.
Driver.
Chef.
Assistant.
Housekeeper.
Gardener.
Most had never stolen anything.
Abby looked at him.
“How many?”
Julian counted.
Twenty-seven.
Twenty-seven innocent employees.
Only four had actually taken money.
His entire belief system collapsed in a cardboard box.
Julian whispered.
“Twenty-seven.”
Abby did not comfort him.
He did not deserve comfort yet.
He deserved truth.
“Names.”
He looked up.
She repeated.
“Remember what I told you.”
Julian nodded slowly.
“Names.”
They began reading them aloud.
Naomi Reed.
Marcus Bell.
Tina Alvarez.
Gerald Kim.
Rebecca Sloan.
Twenty-seven names.
Twenty-seven lives.
By the end, Julian looked ill.
Abby opened the final cabinet.
Inside was a folder marked ELENA.
She removed it.
A cassette tape lay inside.
Neither breathed.
The label read:
OCTOBER 29, 2004.
Abby inserted it into an old recorder sitting on the workbench.
Static.
Then Celeste’s voice.
You’re becoming difficult, Elena.
Elena responded.
People donated that money for children.
Celeste laughed.
Children received plenty.
Elena said.
Nine million dollars is missing.
Another voice.
Martin Voss.
You should leave this alone.
Elena replied.
I already copied everything.
Celeste’s voice became cold.
Then we’ll need to make sure you can’t use it.
Abby’s hands tightened.
Elena asked.
Is that a threat?
Celeste answered.
Call it insurance.
The recording changed.
A door.
Footsteps.
Then Celeste again.
Martin.
Handle her.
Voss asked.
How?
A pause.
Celeste said.
I don’t care.
Accident.
Robbery.
Car.
Just make sure she stops talking.
Julian stared at the recorder.
There it was.
The murder order.
Not circumstantial.
Not implication.
A direct instruction.
Abby whispered.
“We have her.”
Julian did not celebrate.
“No.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“We have evidence.”
“That’s what I said.”
“No.”
He looked toward the boxes.
“Celeste has spent twenty-two years surviving evidence.”
Abby understood.
They needed copies.
Multiple.
Immediate.
Julian called federal investigators.
Then Naomi.
Then his attorneys.
Then a secure digital forensics team.
For the first time, Abby felt ahead of Celeste.
The feeling lasted eleven minutes.
Smoke appeared beneath the basement door.
Abby smelled it first.
“Julian.”
He turned.
Smoke thickened.
They ran upstairs.
Flames climbed the rear wall.
Someone had set the kitchen on fire.
The front door would not open.
Julian slammed against it.
Locked from outside.
Abby coughed.
“Window.”
They tried the living-room windows.
Painted shut.
The fire spread unnaturally fast.
Accelerant.
Julian grabbed a chair and smashed the glass.
He pushed Abby through.
She landed hard in the grass.
Julian threw Pearl and two evidence boxes after her.
Then he climbed out.
The roof caught fire minutes later.
Fire trucks arrived.
But the hidden archive was destroyed.
Almost all of it.
Abby sat on the grass clutching the two boxes they had saved.
Julian stared at the burning house.
“Someone followed us.”
Abby looked toward the road.
A car disappeared beyond the trees.
She could not see the driver.
Then her phone buzzed.
A photograph arrived from an unknown number.
It showed Caleb leaving the university administration building earlier that afternoon.
Underneath was a message.
YOU FOUND YOUR MOTHER’S HOUSE.
I FOUND YOUR BROTHER.
Abby’s blood turned cold.
Another message appeared.
BRING THE RECORDING TO CROSS TOWER TOMORROW AT MIDNIGHT.
COME ALONE.
OR CALEB DOESN’T MAKE IT TO MORNING.
Abby immediately called Caleb.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
Julian tried.
Nothing.
Abby stood.
“He’s been taken.”
Julian read the message.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, you are not going alone.”
“They have my brother.”
“We make copies of the recording.”
“They said original.”
“They cannot know which is original.”
“They have killed before.”
Julian stepped closer.
“So have we learned nothing?”
Abby stared.
“What?”
“Everyone in this story keeps trying to protect people by facing danger alone.”
“Your mother.”
“Elena.”
“My father.”
“Leonard.”
He looked at her.
“It keeps ending badly.”
Her eyes filled.
“That is my little brother.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Julian’s voice softened.
“You’re right.”
Then he added.
“But I know what it is like to discover someone has built your fear into a weapon.”
Abby swallowed.
He held out his hand.
“Do not give Celeste exactly what she wants.”
Abby stared at it.
For the first time since this began, she took his hand willingly.
“All right.”
Julian squeezed once.
May you like
“Then we make her believe you are alone.”
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