“No. That is not an answer.”
His jaw tightened.
I stood again.
“You had eighteen months to tell me the truth. You slept beside me. You sat with my dying mother. You promised her you would protect me.”
“I know.”
“You used her.”
His eyes filled.
“I know.”
The rage came then.
I crossed the room and struck him.
The sound cracked through the apartment.
He did not defend himself.
I struck him again.
Then I pushed both hands against his chest.
He stumbled backward.
“You let me love you.”
“Yes.”
“You let me plan a wedding.”
“Yes.”
“You stood beside my mother’s coffin.”
His face broke.
“Yes.”
I hit his chest again, but there was no strength left in me.
He caught my wrists gently.
I hated him for the gentleness.
I hated myself for remembering it.
“Was any of it real?” I asked.
He closed his eyes.
“When my mother sent me to you, no.”
The words gutted me.
He opened his eyes again.
“But then you laughed at my terrible coffee. You called me out when I lied. You sat on the floor with that injured pigeon for three hours because the rescue clinic was closed. You remembered the name of every junior analyst in your company.”
His voice shook.
“I didn’t mean for you to become real.”
I pulled my hands free.
“That is not love.”
“No.”
He looked at me with unbearable clarity.
“It was cowardice wearing love’s clothes.”
We stood in silence.
For the first time, he did not ask forgiveness.
He took a small recording device from his pocket and placed it on the table.
“What is that?”
“My confession.”
I stared at him.
“Everything. The plan to approach you. The data theft. The dinner. The financial fraud. My mother’s involvement in hiding the evidence about your father.”
“You recorded yourself?”
“With dates, accounts, access codes. Enough to corroborate Celeste’s files.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the windows.
“Because Celeste is missing.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“She left federal protective custody this morning.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She received a message claiming our father survived the boat fire.”
“That’s impossible.”
“His body was never found.”
I thought of the ledger. The warnings. Charles Harrow preparing to meet investigators.
“Where did she go?”
“Our family’s old boathouse in Maine.”
Adrian picked up the ring from the table.
For a moment, I thought he would take it.
Instead, he closed my fingers around it.
“My mother has people watching the airports. If I leave openly, she’ll know I told you.”
“You think Evelyn lured Celeste there.”
“I know she did.”
“Then call the authorities.”
“I did. They’re hours away.”
He turned toward the door.
“Adrian.”
He stopped.
“Why should I believe you?”
He looked back.
“You shouldn’t.”
Then he left.
The helicopter reached Maine after midnight.
Rain hammered the windshield. Pine forests rolled beneath us, black and endless. Miriam sat across from me, one hand holding a headset, the other gripping the edge of her seat.
Federal agents were approaching by road.
A storm had washed out the nearest bridge.
We landed in a clearing half a mile from the Harrow estate.
The boathouse stood at the edge of the Atlantic, a dark wooden structure trembling beneath the wind. Waves crashed against the rocks. One upstairs window glowed.
We heard the gunshot before we reached the door.
Miriam grabbed my arm.
Agents moved ahead.
The door burst open.
Celeste ran out barefoot.
Blood covered the front of her white sweater.
I caught her as she fell.
“Adrian,” she gasped.
Inside, someone screamed.
We entered.
Evelyn stood near the water entrance with a pistol in her hand.
Adrian lay on the floor between her and the open boat slip.
Blood spread beneath his shoulder.
A second man knelt near the wall, hands raised. He was thin, gray-haired, scarred along one side of his face.
Charles Harrow.
Alive.
Evelyn pressed the gun against his temple.
“No closer,” she said.
Her hair had come loose. Rain blew through the open doors, whipping silver strands across her face.
Charles looked at Celeste.
“My girl.”
She made a broken sound.
Adrian tried to rise.
Evelyn swung the gun toward him.
“You always were weak.”
He laughed once, painfully.
“No, Mother. I was obedient.”
She fired.
The shot exploded through the boathouse.
Adrian jerked.
For one impossible second, he remained upright.
Then he fell.
