Chapter 16 - The Night Before Demolition
Police returned to St. Aurelia at 9:00 p.m.
The search focused on the remaining sealed portions of the east lift complex.
Architects scanned walls.
Forensic technicians mapped cavities.
Alexander waited upstairs with Elena, Maya, and Victoria.
Sebastian arrived with lawyers.
He demanded access.
Foster refused.
“This is still my property,” he said.
Alexander looked at him.
“Not if you stole it.”
Sebastian smiled.
“Careful.”
Elena stepped forward.
“Or what?”
His eyes settled on her.
For thirty years, that look had controlled her.
Not tonight.
“You’ll sue me again?”
Sebastian said, “You mistake attention for importance.”
Elena almost smiled.
“You made that mistake backstage.”
He frowned.
“When Victoria broke the brooch.”
His expression changed.
“You thought Celeste belonged to nobody important.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened.
Alexander watched.
Elena continued.
“She mattered enough for you to spend thirty years hiding what happened.”
Sebastian turned away.
Victoria said, “Dad.”
He ignored her.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Why did Mom say you built rooms over graves?”
Sebastian froze.
Elena stared.
Victoria continued.
“She knew, didn’t she?”
Sebastian’s face became cold.
“Your mother was ill.”
“She was drunk because she knew what you had done.”
“You know nothing about your mother.”
“I know you taught me to call every woman who frightened you unstable.”
Alexander looked at Sebastian.
“My mother.”
“Elena.”
“Your wife.”
Victoria whispered, “Me.”
Sebastian laughed.
“You all want a simple monster.”
Elena answered, “No.”
She stepped closer.
“We want a complete one.”
Before Sebastian could respond, Detective Foster entered.
“We found another compartment.”
Alexander’s heart jumped.
“What?”
“Behind the original lift control room.”
Inside was a rusted steel document box.
The brass key from Celeste’s handbag opened it.
The box contained original Orpheus documents.
Appraisals showing the east annex had been worth at least $8.4 million in 1996—not $1.2 million.
Draft trustee objections written by Celeste.
A carbon copy of the property consent.
Unsigned.
And a handwriting practice sheet.
Dozens of attempts at Celeste Reed’s signature.
Maya whispered, “Oh my God.”
Whose handwriting?
Forensic comparison began immediately.
But Elena recognized the paper.
“Wardrobe tracing sheets.”
Everyone turned.
“We used that paper upstairs.”
Foster asked, “Who had access?”
“Staff.”
“Sebastian?”
“Yes.”
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
Victoria stared at the repeated signatures.
Her father had practiced forging Celeste’s name in the same building where her body had been hidden.
Then Foster removed another item.
A Polaroid photograph.
Celeste’s body lay wrapped in scenery canvas.
Richard stood beside it.
Sebastian held the camera-facing edge.
On the back, someone had written:
NO MORE MISTAKES.
Alexander almost dropped the photograph.
“Who took this?”
Foster said, “We don’t know.”
Elena’s mind raced.
Then she remembered.
“Luis.”
Everyone looked at her.
“He used a Polaroid camera for loading damage reports.”
Maya understood.
“Insurance documentation.”
Elena nodded.
“Luis must have photographed them.”
“But why was Sebastian storing it?” Victoria asked.
Alexander answered.
“Leverage.”
Richard and Sebastian had not trusted each other.
They kept evidence.
Insurance against betrayal.
That explained how the conspiracy survived.
Fear held it together.
Sebastian’s face had gone gray.
Foster turned toward him.
“Mr. Marlowe, do not leave the building.”
His attorney immediately intervened.
“You are not under arrest.”
“Not yet.”
Sebastian looked at Victoria.
“You did this.”
Victoria stared at him.
“No.”
She pointed toward Celeste’s photograph.
“You did.”
Police escorted Sebastian to a private room while the district attorney reviewed charges.
The property sale was suspended automatically after the original title evidence was recovered.
Alexander’s injunction became almost irrelevant.
The conspiracy had stopped being historical theory.
It was documented.
But there was one unresolved question.
Who took the Polaroid?
Luis had recanted.
Detective Foster called him.
This time, Elena asked to speak first.
“Luis.”
Silence.
“I know why you’re afraid.”
He began crying.
“Please.”
“You photographed them.”
Silence.
“You kept one copy.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought if they ever came after me…”
“Where is yours?”
Another silence.
Then Luis whispered an address.
“A safe-deposit box.”
“What’s inside?”
“The other photograph.”
“What other photograph?”
Luis sobbed.
“The one after Richard left.”
Alexander stopped breathing.
“What does it show?”
May you like
Luis whispered:
“Sebastian standing over Celeste alone.”
