Chapter 8 - Seventy-Five Thousand Dollars
Vanessa read the line twice.
Then a third time.
“For the original.”
Her mother’s name sat beside the words like a verdict.
Margaret took the page from Brooke. “Where was this?”
“In a blue file inside the archive.”
Daniel frowned. “There is no blue file in the archive.”
“There was that night.”
Celeste shook her head. “You expect us to believe you broke into a private archive, found a mystery file, copied one page, and left everything else?”
Brooke snapped, “I didn’t break in. Your badge opened the door.”
“You stole my badge.”
“Because you were lying to my best friend.”
Vanessa grabbed the page back. “Stop making this about me like I’m not standing here.”
Silence.
She looked at Daniel. “Did Emily know my mother?”
“No.”
Margaret hesitated.
Vanessa saw it. “You know something.”
Margaret’s eyes lowered. “Emily did freelance design work under another name. She was trying to build a portfolio without the Whitmore name opening doors for her.”
“What name?”
Margaret looked sick.
“E. C. Rowan.”
Every head turned toward Celeste Rowan.
Celeste stared back.
Daniel said slowly, “Rowan?”
Celeste’s face lost all color.
Margaret took one step toward her. “Who are you?”
Celeste opened her mouth but no words came.
Then the ballroom doors swung open.
A security officer hurried in with a tablet.
“Mr. Whitmore, we found footage from the service corridor.”
He tapped the screen.
The video showed someone carrying a cedar box out of the Whitmore house eleven nights earlier.
The figure wore a hood and moved quickly, but at the bottom of the stairs the person looked up.
The image caught a clear profile.
Vanessa’s heart stopped.
It was her mother.
May you like
Renee Caldwell.
And she was carrying Emily’s box.
