Chapter 6 - THE CONFESSION OF CELESTE
At three o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, an unexpected visitor arrived at my front door.
I looked through the security camera monitor and saw Celeste standing on the porch. She was wearing dark sunglasses, a plain trench coat, and no jewelry. The polished, regal aura she had maintained for a decade was completely gone. She looked frail, hunted, and deeply exhausted.
I opened the door, keeping the brass security chain engaged. "You have five seconds to explain why you’re on my property, Celeste."
"Olivia... please," Celeste whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't have anywhere else to turn. Harrison’s security team cleared out my apartment in Stamford. Nathan blocked my number. They’ve completely cut me off."
"You made your bed, Celeste," I said coldly. "Literally."
"Please, just five minutes," Celeste begged, pulling off her sunglasses to reveal heavy blue bruises under her eyes from lack of sleep. "I have something you need to see. Something about Nathan. He’s setting you up."
I stared at her for a long moment. Deciding to hear her out, I unlatched the chain and stepped back, letting her into the foyer.
She walked in slowly, her eyes avoiding the living room where the massive canvas print still hung. She sat down on the edge of a chair in the kitchen, her hands shaking violently as I placed a glass of tap water in front of her.
"What do you mean, setting me up?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
"Nathan knew you were getting suspicious three weeks ago," Celeste said, her voice barely audible. "The photo... I didn't send it to you by accident. And I didn't send it to hurt you."
I frowned, stepping closer. "What are you talking about?"
"Nathan made that photo," Celeste confessed, looking up at me with tears streaming down her face. "He came to my suite at the Greenwich Inn two weeks ago. He drugged my wine. When I woke up, he was taking pictures of us. He told me that if I didn't help him frame you for corporate espionage, he would send those photos to Harrison."
I stood completely still, my pulse racing. "Explain that clearly, Celeste."
"Nathan was stealing millions from the bank's trust accounts to cover his bad market investments," Celeste sobbed. "He needed a scapegoat. He created an encrypted file on your personal laptop—the one you use for your architectural work—using your home IP address. He deposited two hundred thousand dollars worth of converted cryptocurrency into an anonymous account registered in your name."
My blood ran cold. The sheer depth of Nathan’s psychopathy was staggering.
"He was planning to expose the affair himself next month," Celeste continued. "He was going to claim that you were blackmailing him and Celeste, that you had stolen the funds from the bank, and that he was the victim of a jealous, vengeful wife who was trying to ruin his family."
The puzzle pieces clicked together with sickening precision. The photo sent to my phone on Wednesday wasn't a boast from a triumphant mistress—it was the first phase of Nathan’s setup, intended to provoke me into an emotional outburst that would make me look unhinged when he presented his fabricated evidence to Harrison and the police.
"Why are you telling me this now?" I asked, my voice deadly quiet.
"Because Nathan betrayed me too!" Celeste cried out, her fists clenching. "He told me he loved me! He promised we would start a new life in France once he took control of the bank! But as soon as you hung that print on Saturday, he panicked and told Harrison’s lawyers that I was the one who forced him into the affair and planned the embezzlement!"
She reached into her handbag and pulled out a sleek silver flash drive, placing it on the island.
"Everything is on this drive," Celeste said, her voice cracking. "The audio recordings of Nathan explaining how he framed your IP address, the log files of the transfers, and the evidence that he set up the crypto account in your name. Take it. Use it to destroy him before he destroys you."
I looked down at the silver flash drive, then back at Celeste.
"You did all of this because you thought you could win," I said, showing no pity. "You spent six years humiliating me, Celeste. You treated me like dirt under your shoe."
"I know," Celeste whispered, bowing her head. "I was terrified of losing my place in this family. I thought if I kept you down, nobody would look at where I came from."
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"I will take the drive," I said, picking up the silver metal stick. "And I will give it directly to my attorney and the federal prosecutors. But don't expect me to save you, Celeste."
"I don't expect anything," Celeste said softly, standing up slowly. "I just want Nathan to pay for what he did to both of us."
