Chapter 3 - THE NAME ON THE PAPER
“That isn’t mine.”
Celeste said it before Brooks could ask.
“I understand,” Brooks replied. “Tell me what’s wrong with it.”
“The C. I stopped writing it that way in college.”
Julian would remember that signature.
He had watched her sign apartment leases, birthday cards, the paperwork for the wedding they never had.
Celeste looked at the date.
Three days before the attack.
“What am I supposedly approving?”
“Emergency replacement of the station’s fire-control equipment.”
Celeste laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“The emergency lights failed. The suppression system never came on.”
Brooks didn’t interrupt.
Celeste could still hear the alarms stopping.
That had been worse than the explosion.
A whole building falling silent while people were trapped inside.
“Who supplied the replacements?”
Brooks slid over a second page.
WARREN FIELD SYSTEMS.
Her father’s company.
Celeste stared until the letters seemed to move.
“He told me he only supplied vehicle parts.”
“The company had several divisions,” Brooks said. “Your father says you were familiar with all of them.”
“I wasn’t.”
“We’re establishing that.”
Reed leaned forward.
“What do you need from her tonight?”
“Her account. Her consent to examine relevant personal records. And a safe number where we can reach her.”
Celeste’s phone vibrated.
ARTHUR.
She let it ring.
A message followed.
You are not well enough for this. Come home before you hurt yourself again.
Brooks read it when Celeste turned the screen around.
“Has he used that language before?”
“Whenever I ask something he doesn’t want to answer.”
Another message arrived.
This time from Julian.
I can still fix this. Don’t give them your laptop.
Celeste looked up.
“My laptop?”
Brooks’ eyes sharpened.
“Where is it?”
“At my apartment.”
“What’s on it?”
“Old photographs. Personal email. My mother’s recipes.”
Then she remembered the small black drive in her desk drawer.
Her personal backup from deployment.
She had tried opening it once after rehabilitation. The sound of her own voice on one recording had sent her shaking to the bathroom floor.
She had put it away.
Never erased it.
Never tried again.
“Maybe something else,” she said.
Brooks stood.
Before she could speak, Celeste’s phone lit up with another call.
Her downstairs neighbor.
Celeste answered.
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
“Sweetheart, did you send somebody over?”
Celeste went still.
“No.”
“There are two men at your door. One says he’s your brother.”
“I don’t have a brother.”
May you like
In the background, Celeste heard wood crack.
Then Mrs. Alvarez whispered, “They’re inside.”
