Chapter 11 - The Gala Turns.
By eight that morning, the story had escaped the gates of the Hawthorne estate.
A guest had recorded part of Noah being carried through the ballroom on a stretcher.
Another guest had photographed the hidden compartment.
Someone posted both images online before police could ask anyone to remain quiet.
The same donors who had applauded Celeste's speech were now calling the foundation board demanding answers.
News vans gathered beyond the iron gates.
Maya saw them from an upstairs window and felt a strange anger at how quickly suffering became spectacle.
Noah was still in a hospital bed.
Yet strangers were already debating whether he was a victim, a troubled child, or evidence of a family scandal.
Detective Ortiz kept the staff away from reporters.
Her focus remained on finding Celeste and locating Evelyn's camera.
Marcus said the camera had originally been kept in Evelyn's study.
After her death, Celeste moved most of Evelyn's belongings into storage.
Maya knew the storage room.
It was beneath the east staircase.
Officers opened it and found boxes labeled with Evelyn's name.
Clothes.
Books.
Photo albums.
A pair of worn gardening gloves.
A music box Noah had loved as a toddler.
But no camera.
Maya opened a box of old stationery and found a folded inventory sheet.
The camera was listed.
Next to it, in Celeste's handwriting, was one word.
ARCHIVE.
“What archive?” Ortiz asked.
Maya shook her head.
“The foundation has an archive room downtown.”
Jonathan entered behind them.
“No.”
They turned.
“The family archive is here.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
“In the old nursery wing.”
Maya stared at him.
“That wing was sealed after Evelyn died.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Jonathan looked toward the boxes.
“Because I couldn't walk through it.”
Maya felt no sympathy for that answer.
He had sealed rooms because they hurt him while his son was eventually sealed inside one because no one was watching.
Ortiz asked for the key.
Jonathan removed an old brass key ring from his pocket.
Then he stopped.
“The archive key isn't here.”
Maya remembered Noah's words.
She has Mom's key.
“Celeste has it.”
Jonathan looked at her.
Ortiz immediately contacted the hospital to ask Noah whether the brass key he remembered might fit the archive.
Before the response came, a uniformed officer entered.
“We have movement at the south gate.”
“Celeste?”
“No.”
He glanced at Jonathan.
“About forty reporters and several foundation donors.”
Jonathan went toward the ballroom.
Maya followed at a distance.
The enormous room looked ugly in daylight.
Wilting white roses leaned over abandoned tables.
A screen behind the stage still displayed the previous night's slogan.
A HOME WITHOUT FEAR.
Jonathan stared at it.
Then his phone began ringing.
The foundation board chairman.
A company director.
His lawyer.
His mother.
He answered none of them.
Instead, he walked onto the stage where Celeste had spoken hours earlier.
He reached for the microphone.
Maya realized what he intended to do.
“Don't.”
Jonathan looked at her.
“I have to say something.”
“You don't know enough yet.”
“They think I did this.”
Maya's anger sharpened.
“This is not about what they think of you.”
Jonathan slowly released the microphone.
That was when every screen in the ballroom suddenly went black.
A second later, a video appeared.
It showed Evelyn Hawthorne sitting in her bedroom three years earlier.
May you like
She looked directly into the camera.
And she said Celeste's name.
