Chapter 9 - Aunt Celeste
I had not spoken to Celeste Whitaker in eleven years.
By noon, she had sent me one text.
STOP DIGGING OR YOU WILL LOSE ALL FIVE.
I showed Mara.
She read it twice.
Then she took my phone and typed:
TOO LATE.
I grabbed it.
“Maybe don't threaten the possible kidnapper.”
“I said too late.”
“You know what it sounded like.”
“Good.”
We were both exhausted.
That made us mean.
Back in Manhattan, I called an emergency meeting of the Whitaker board.
My mother arrived first.
Then Brielle's father, Charles Cartwright.
Then six directors who had known me since I had braces.
Gerald's chair remained empty.
I put Maya's hospital bracelet on the table.
“Who knows about this?”
Nobody moved.
Then Charles sighed.
Not shocked.
Annoyed.
“You're making this public?”
Mara stood.
“Public?”
He looked at her like she was furniture.
“This was handled.”
I crossed the table before I knew I had moved.
I grabbed his collar.
Two directors pulled me back.
Charles laughed.
“There he is. The same unstable boy Evelyn was afraid would inherit.”
I wanted to hit him.
I didn't.
Barely.
“Where is my daughter?”
“I have no idea.”
“You knew there was a fifth child.”
He adjusted his tie.
“Your father made a terrible mess.”
My mother whispered, “Charles, stop.”
He looked at her.
“Why? We're past pretending.”
The room changed.
I looked at my mother.
“What does he mean?”
She said nothing.
Charles did.
“Your father wasn't investigating missing money, Adrian.”
He smiled.
“He was moving it.”
Mara looked at me.
I shook my head.
“No.”
Charles opened his briefcase and tossed photographs onto the table.
My father entering offshore banks.
My father meeting Gerald.
My father handing cash to Mara.
I stared at her.
She went pale.
“That was for the boys.”
“How much?” I asked.
“Adrian—”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand over three years.”
The room went silent.
“You took money from my father.”
“To keep your children housed.”
“You never told me.”
“You weren't there!”
“I didn't know!”
“Because your family made sure you didn't!”
We were shouting now.
Ugly.
Public.
Real.
Then one of the board members cleared his throat.
“There's something else.”
He slid a document toward me.
A guardianship petition.
For four boys.
Filed that morning.
Petitioner: Evelyn Whitaker.
My mother looked at me.
“I can keep them safe.”
Mara lunged across the table.
May you like
And this time, nobody was fast enough to stop her.
