Chapter 6 - The Friend Who Knew Too Much
“No.”
It was the only word I could say.
Alannah repeated it carefully.
“The certificate was generated from a laptop registered through Priya's firm.”
“That doesn't mean Priya.”
“No.”
“She has hundreds of employees.”
“Correct.”
“She helped me.”
“Yes.”
“She sent me to you.”
“Yes.”
My thoughts collided.
Priya had been the first person I called.
She had supported me.
Kept Lily.
Helped me plan.
Told me I had already made the decision.
Why would she forge my signature?
“Where is Lily?”
I asked.
A pause.
“Celeste—”
“Where is my daughter?”
“With Priya.”
I stood so fast the chair fell backward.
Olivia grabbed her phone.
Alannah said:
“We're contacting her now.”
I was already running.
I called Priya.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
Again.
Nothing.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
Then a text arrived.
PRIYA:
Everything okay?
I called immediately.
She answered.
“Hey.”
“Where's Lily?”
A pause.
“Here.”
“Put her on.”
“Celeste, what's wrong?”
“Put Lily on the phone.”
Another pause.
Then:
“Mom?”
My knees nearly gave out.
“Sweetheart.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yeah. Priya made grilled cheese.”
I closed my eyes.
“Stay there. I'm coming.”
“Okay.”
Priya returned.
“What happened?”
“Don't leave.”
“What?”
“Stay exactly where you are.”
“Celeste, you're scaring me.”
“Good.”
I hung up.
When I arrived twenty-five minutes later, investigators were already outside Priya's townhouse.
She stood in the doorway looking furious and terrified.
Lily ran to me.
I held her so tightly she complained.
“Mom, you're squishing me.”
“Sorry.”
I kissed her hair.
Priya watched.
“What is happening?”
Alannah arrived behind me.
Then Marcus.
Priya's expression changed when she saw them.
“Oh my God.”
That reaction confused me.
It wasn't guilt.
It looked like recognition.
Marcus spoke.
“Ms. Nair, we need to ask about a device associated with your firm's digital certificate.”
Priya went pale.
“What device?”
He gave her the serial number.
She stared.
“No.”
“What?”
“That laptop was stolen.”
Silence.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
My pulse slowed slightly.
“Did you report it?”
“Yes.”
She ran inside.
Returned with her phone.
Pulled up an insurance claim.
Police report.
Everything.
Marcus checked.
“This changes things.”
Priya looked at me.
“You thought I—”
“I didn't know what to think.”
She nodded slowly.
“I understand.”
That hurt.
Because she did.
The stolen laptop had been taken from Priya's old consultancy office during a burglary that resulted in three missing devices.
One was later recovered.
Two were not.
Investigators traced an employee who had access to all three.
A contractor.
Evan Rourke's younger brother.
The signature trail had been planted.
Not only mine.
Priya's firm's identity had been used to create legitimate-looking certification records.
Which meant Rourke's plan had been built years in advance.
Thomas hadn't created the trap.
He had walked into it.
But he had still walked willingly.
That distinction mattered.
Not enough to save our marriage.
Enough to tell the truth correctly.
The case exploded over the next month.
Federal investigators froze Rourke-controlled entities.
Executives were questioned.
Hartley delayed its merger.
Thomas was placed on administrative leave.
Then terminated.
He cooperated.
His cooperation mattered.
So did his crimes.
His attorney negotiated.
No prison, eventually.
Probation.
Financial penalties.
Disgorgement.
Professional restrictions.
He lost almost everything he'd been chasing.
For weeks, I lived with Lily in a furnished apartment near her school.
The first night, she asked:
“Is this our house?”
“For now.”
“Can we get a dog?”
I looked around.
Then laughed.
“Maybe.”
Her eyes widened.
“You said maybe instead of we'll see.”
“I did.”
“That means yes.”
“It does not.”
“It kind of does.”
For the first time in months, I laughed until I cried.
Not sad tears.
Release.
My freelance work increased.
Priya offered me a position at her firm.
Not charity.
Work.
Real work.
Creative director for a new client division.
I hesitated.
Then accepted part-time.
Three months later, full-time.
I had forgotten what it felt like to be known outside the roles I performed at home.
Celeste.
Not Mom.
Not Thomas's wife.
Me.
Thomas saw Lily under a temporary parenting schedule.
Supervised at first, not because anyone thought he would hurt her, but because his legal situation was unstable.
Then regular weekends.
He never poisoned her against me.
I will give him that.
He also stopped asking me to reconsider the marriage.
Not immediately.
But eventually.
One evening in January, we met outside Lily's dance class.
He looked thinner.
Older.
Quieter.
“She left her gloves in my car.”
He handed them to me.
“Thanks.”
“Celeste.”
I waited.
“I signed the settlement.”
I knew.
Alannah had called.
“Okay.”
“I didn't contest the house equity.”
“Thank you.”
“It was yours as much as mine.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
Snow had begun falling lightly.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets.
“I keep trying to figure out the moment I ruined everything.”
I looked at him.
“There wasn't one.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“It wasn't Greece.”
He looked down.
“It wasn't Olivia either.”
“Then what?”
“It was every time you decided I didn't need the truth because you thought you knew what was best.”
His eyes filled.
I continued gently.
“You didn't destroy our marriage with one decision, Thomas. You trained me not to trust the life I was standing in.”
He swallowed.
“I loved you.”
“I know.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Yes.”
He looked surprised.
“Love wasn't enough.”
The dance studio door opened.
Lily came running out.
“Dad!”
Thomas smiled.
A real smile.
She hugged him.
Then me.
We stood there for a moment.
A family.
Just not the same kind anymore.
That spring, the criminal case against Evan Rourke moved toward trial.
Olivia testified.
Thomas testified.
Priya testified about the stolen devices.
I testified about my signature.
The prosecutor told me afterward that my records were unusually thorough.
I thought about Lily's vaccination form.
Precision matters.
Months passed.
The divorce became final.
I bought a smaller house six blocks from Lily's school.
Three bedrooms.
A tiny backyard.
No grand entrance.
No marble.
No giant vase of expensive flowers.
I loved it immediately.
On move-in day, Lily found me unpacking dishes.
“Mom!”
I turned.
She stood at the back door.
Behind her was Priya.
Beside Priya was a man holding a leash.
At the other end was a shaggy brown rescue dog.
I stared.
“No.”
Lily clasped her hands.
“Mom.”
“No.”
“He needs us.”
“Absolutely not.”
Priya smiled.
“His foster placement ends tomorrow.”
I pointed at her.
“You are a terrible influence.”
The dog sat.
Looked at me.
Tilted his head.
Lily whispered:
“His name is London.”
I stared.
Priya burst out laughing.
“You named the dog London?”
“I didn't!”
Lily said.
“The shelter did.”
I tried to stay serious.
Failed.
Twenty minutes later, London was asleep on our rug.
Lily sat beside him.
I looked around the house.
At the boxes.
At the sunlight.
At the unfinished life.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
For a second, old fear returned.
Then I opened the message.
It was from Thomas's attorney.
A document had been discovered during the final Rourke evidence review.
A sealed letter.
Addressed to me.
Written by Thomas more than a year before Greece.
I stared at the envelope photograph.
May you like
Across the front were four words:
FOR CELESTE IF I FAIL.
