Chapter 11
I did not accuse Bianca of killing Sofia.
Not yet.
I wanted Celeste.
Alive.
Speaking.
Marcus gave me the address himself.
That was the first useful thing he did without being pushed.
We brought Celeste to the estate before dawn.
She walked into my library like a woman returning to a game she had paused.
Sixty.
Elegant.
Cold.
Bianca looked relieved when she saw her.
That was interesting.
Marcus did not.
He looked tired.
I placed Sofia’s letter on the table.
Celeste glanced at it.
Recognition.
“Did you know she wrote this?”
“No.”
Lie.
Small.
Immediate.
I noticed.
“You met her at the clinic.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“We spoke.”
“About Lucy.”
“Among other things.”
“What did you want?”
“Stability.”
I almost laughed.
That word again.
“Explain it without hiding inside vocabulary.”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Your family concentrated too much power in one line.”
“My line.”
“Yes.”
“And Lucy threatened what?”
“She would eventually control enough shares to block any internal balance.”
I stared.
“She was one.”
“She would grow.”
There it was.
Adults punishing a child for the future they imagined.
“What did you ask Sofia to do?”
“Place the shares under family stewardship.”
“She refused.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
Celeste looked toward Bianca.
Wrong move.
I saw it.
“Then what?”
“She became ill.”
“She was already ill.”
“Yes.”
“But got worse after your visit.”
Marcus whispered, “Mom.”
Celeste snapped.
“Be quiet.”
I leaned back.
Family dynamics reveal themselves fastest under pressure.
Marcus flinched automatically.
Forty years old.
Still a son when she used that tone.
Bianca did not flinch.
She mirrored it.
Now I understood which child learned Celeste’s methods better.
“What did you give Sofia?”
Celeste stared at me.
“Nothing.”
I watched.
For once, I believed the word.
But not the innocence.
“What did you take?”
Her face changed.
There.
Better question.
May you like
Celeste had not brought something into Sofia’s room.
She had removed something.
