Chapter 18: The Gala Prep

The roof was steep, slick with dew, and terrifyingly high. I crawled along the gutter, Mrs. Higgins’ warning echoing in my ears. *Some dust is best left settled.*

I made it to the fire escape and scrambled down, my hands shaking so badly I nearly slipped twice. When my feet hit the gravel of the driveway, I didn't stop. I ran to the garage, unlocked my car, and drove.

I didn't go far. Just to the 24-hour diner on the edge of town, where the coffee was burnt and the fluorescent lights were bright enough to keep the shadows at bay.

I sat in a booth, clutching the stolen diary.

*October 14, 1999.*

The day Catherine lost her baby. The day the Blackwood merger was finalized.

I read until my eyes burned. The diary detailed a systematic dismantling of Catherine’s life. Gaslighting. Isolation. Forced medication. And at the center of it all, Eleanor.

But Richard was there too. "R," the diary called him. *R says it's for the best. R says we have to be patient.*

I closed the book. The diner clock read 6:00 AM.

I had to go back. The Gala was tonight.

If I didn't show up, if I didn't play the part of the dutiful wife, they would know I was a threat. They would come for me before I could find the proof I needed—the proof of what happened to the baby.

I drove home, sneaking in through the kitchen entrance just as the sun crested the horizon. I showered, scrubbing the attic dust from my skin, and dressed in my Gala gown—a midnight blue velvet that Richard had chosen.

The house was chaotic. Caterers were setting up tents on the lawn. Florists were hauling in truckloads of white lilies.

I found Richard in the study. He was pouring a scotch. At 10 AM.

"You're up early," I said from the doorway.

He spun around, nearly dropping the glass. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles. He looked like a man who had seen a ghost.

"Elena. I thought you were... sleeping."

"I went for a drive. Needed to clear my head."

He stared at me, searching my face for any sign that I had been in the attic. That I knew.

"About last night," he started, his voice rough. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just..."

"It's fine, Richard. Let's just get through the Gala."

He nodded, relieved. He took a long swallow of scotch.

The door to the study opened. Marcus Thorne walked in, looking slick and predatory in his tuxedo.

"Richard, we need to sign the liability waivers for the event staff," Marcus said, not seeing me in the corner. "And Eleanor wants to review the contingency plan."

"What contingency plan?" I asked.

Marcus jumped. He looked from me to Richard, his smile tight. "Just standard procedure, Elena. In case of... weather."

"Of course," I said. "Weather."

I walked over to the desk to pick up the schedule. As I reached for it, I saw a file folder sitting open under Richard’s scotch glass.

It was marked *E. Vane - Asset Division.*

My name.

I froze.

Richard saw me looking. He slammed his hand down on the folder, his knuckles white.

"Elena, could you give us a minute? Legal matters."

"Sure," I said, my heart pounding.

I turned and walked out, closing the door behind me. But I didn't leave. I leaned against the heavy oak panel, pressing my ear to the wood.

"She knows something," Richard hissed. "I found the attic door unlocked."

"Did she see the paintings?" Marcus asked.

"I don't know. But if she talks to the bank... or the police..."

"She won't," Marcus said smoothly. "We have the leverage. The loans are in her name. The signature is hers."

"It's messy, Marcus."

"Divorce is always messy, Richard. But annulment? That's cleaner. Especially when the marriage was never legal to begin with."