Chapter 3 - Under Noah’s Bed
I stared at Celeste.
Behind us, the string quartet had stopped playing. No one told them to. They simply understood that music no longer belonged in the room.
“What did you say?”
Celeste’s smile stayed in place.
“You heard me.”
My father stepped closer.
“Ethan.”
I turned.
He looked twenty years older than he had at dinner last month.
That told me enough.
“Dad, what is the Harbor Account?”
“Not here.”
I almost laughed.
“Apparently everything dangerous in this family happens ‘not here.’”
My mother covered her mouth.
Noah tugged Anna’s sleeve.
“I want my room.”
I nodded.
“We’re going together.”
Celeste blocked the staircase.
“You are not tearing this house apart.”
I took out my phone.
“Then I call the police.”
My father said, “Don’t.”
“Why?”
Silence.
I dialed 911.
He grabbed my wrist.
“Because the police report on Emily’s crash was paid for.”
I froze.
The guests reacted all at once—gasps, whispers, chairs scraping marble.
My mother whispered, “Richard.”
He looked sick.
“I didn’t pay to hurt her. I paid to keep something out of the report.”
“What?”
“A second vehicle.”
My chest tightened.
“There was another car?”
He nodded.
Celeste stepped away from the staircase.
For the first time, I realized she wanted us to go upstairs.
Which meant she didn’t think we would find anything.
That worried me.
Anna carried Noah while I led the way.
My bedroom door was open.
Noah’s room was across the hall.
The bed had been stripped.
Mattress gone.
Box spring gone.
Even the rug beneath it was missing.
“No,” Noah whispered.
Anna looked at me.
“It was here this morning.”
I turned toward the hallway.
Celeste stood twenty feet away.
Calm again.
“Looking for something?”
“You had his bed removed?”
“It was damaged.”
“At a formal party?”
She shrugged.
“I manage problems when they appear.”
I walked into the empty space where Noah’s bed had been.
There were scratches in the hardwood.
Fresh ones.
Near the wall, I saw a thin metal edge sticking from behind the baseboard.
I knelt and pulled.
A tiny silver key slid into my palm.
Anna inhaled sharply.
Celeste’s face finally cracked.
My father, who had followed us upstairs, whispered one word.
“Oh, God.”
I looked at him.
“What does it open?”
He didn’t answer.
May you like
But Celeste did.
“The safe your wife was never supposed to find.”
