Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN IN THE GLASS
The next morning, newspapers called the fire at Vale House a tragedy. By lunchtime, the financial news was calling it a scandal. Before the investigators finished photographing the ruins, Celeste Mercer appeared in a televised statement from the glass-walled headquarters of Vale Group and announced she was taking temporary control of the company.
I watched from a hospital waiting room with Sofia asleep beside me. A nurse had bandaged her wrists and given her fluids. Mrs. Finch was upstairs having surgery on her broken ankle. Ronan stood by a vending machine, listening to the woman who'd stolen his signature explain to the world that he needed time away from work.
“After the distressing events at the Vale family residence,” Celeste said, “our priority is the safety of employees and the stability of the business. Mr. Vale has voluntarily delegated his voting authority while the investigation continues.”
The camera caught her reflection in the glass. Behind her, New York glittered in the autumn sun. She looked immaculate, as though she had never stood in a basement threatening two women with a gun.
“Voluntarily,” I repeated. “She knows how to choose a lie.”
Ronan's face was unreadable. “She learned from my father.”
A reporter asked whether the fire might be connected to alleged environmental violations at the Westbank site. Celeste smiled with practiced sorrow.
“Those allegations have been repeatedly reviewed. We welcome any good-faith investigation. However, spreading rumors during a crisis helps nobody.”
I wanted to throw the television through the window.
Naomi arrived carrying a cardboard tray of coffee and a folder swollen with documents. She looked as tired as all of us felt, but she didn't waste time.
“The shooting at Nadia's house is being treated as attempted homicide,” she said. “We have a witness who saw the getaway car, and the bullet's been recovered. Nadia is under protection.”
“And Celeste?” I asked.
“Her lawyer says she left the estate before the fire started and is willing to cooperate. Malcolm is missing. The guards at the east wing are claiming a security misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” My voice rose. “She locked us underground.”
“I believe you. But believing you and persuading a judge are different parts of the job.” She opened the folder. “We are working both.”
Sofia stirred beside me. “I can identify the room. I can show you the marks on the door.”
“Later,” Naomi said. “You need rest.”
“I've rested for six weeks in a room without a window.” Sofia sat upright, her voice shaking. “I would like to be useful now.”
Naomi considered her for a moment, then slid a photograph from the folder. It showed the east wing before the fire, captured by a maintenance survey. Sofia pointed to a nearly invisible seam behind the wall cabinets.
“That's the hidden door. There's a panel inside where the vents meet. Malcolm used it to watch me.”
Naomi made a note. “We'll have the fire investigators check it.”
Ronan came closer. “Can you freeze the transfer?”
“Your attorneys filed an emergency application. The disputed shares are flagged, but Celeste can still speak for the company as acting executive until the board removes her.”
“Then we need to reach the board before she destroys what's left.”
Theo entered with his laptop and a paper bag of sandwiches. His clothes were wrinkled, and he looked as though he'd forgotten what sleep was.
“I have news nobody will enjoy,” he said. “The Westbank demolition contractor received an instruction to begin site preparation at midnight. Officially it's for safety after the fire. Unofficially, they're getting ready to wipe out the old pumping equipment.”
Naomi frowned. “The site is part of an active investigation.”
“The company claims the compromised machinery is a flood risk. Their engineers submitted a report an hour ago.”
“Who signed it?” Ronan asked.
Theo turned the screen. “An engineer who died five years ago.”
Nobody spoke for a moment.
“Celeste's favorite trick,” Ronan said at last. “A dead person can't contradict her.”
I thought of Daniel Keene and the blue line on Mara's map. “But dead people can leave evidence.”
Ronan looked at me. The decision passed between us without words.
That afternoon, we met Celeste at the Vale Group headquarters. Naomi insisted on accompanying us, along with one investigator in plain clothes. The company had invited Ronan to a board meeting about his own removal. The invitation was the closest Celeste had come to admitting she was afraid.
The headquarters tower stood on the riverfront, a curtain of glass reflecting gray clouds and the traffic along the avenue. Inside, everything shone: stone floors, polished metal, expensive art with little plaques explaining why a person should admire it. I wore plain black trousers and the only decent sweater I'd brought from my apartment. Beside the lawyers and executives, I looked like somebody who had taken the wrong elevator.
Ronan noticed me tugging at my cuffs. “You belong in that room as much as anyone.”
“I don't want to belong in that room. I want my sister to go home and never hear Celeste's name again.”
“I want that too.”
“Then don't let them make this about who owns a company.”
He nodded. “I won't.”
The boardroom occupied the top floor. Its glass walls overlooked the Hudson, giving everyone inside the illusion they were floating over the city. Celeste waited at the head of the table wearing a cream suit. Five directors sat along one side. A team of lawyers occupied the other.
“Ronan,” she greeted him. “I'm glad you're safe.”
He didn't take her offered hand. “You were in the corridor with a weapon. You threatened Elena and Sofia.”
Celeste's smile didn't move. “I'm afraid you're confused about what happened. Trauma can do that.”
Naomi stepped forward and introduced herself. “I'd like a word with you after the meeting, Ms. Mercer.”
“Of course. My counsel will arrange it.”
I wanted to ask her how many people she'd buried behind the word counsel. Instead I sat beside Sofia, who had refused to stay in the hospital any longer, and watched the board members exchange uneasy glances.
Ronan placed a folder on the table. “Fifteen years ago, Vale Group concealed industrial contamination at Westbank. My father was involved. I believe executives working for the company continued the scheme after his death. I intend to release the documents I've found to investigators and the public.”
Celeste's eyes flickered. “You've been speaking to unreliable people.”
“One of those people is my sister. She left a recording before she died.”
A hush settled over the room.
“You promised your father you'd stop bringing Mara into business,” Celeste said softly.
“I was nineteen when she died. I promised him anything he asked because I was grieving.” Ronan leaned forward. “You knew that. You used it.”
For one fraction of a second, her calm cracked. “I kept this company alive while you treated the world like a problem money could solve. Your father knew I was the only one strong enough to manage it.”
“And what did you do to stay strong?” Sofia asked. “How many people did you lock up so you could keep your job?”
Celeste turned toward her, recognizing the danger a living witness posed. “Miss Morales, your distress is understandable, but—”
“No.” Sofia's voice grew clear. “You don't get to call me distressed because I remember exactly what happened.”
A director at the far end stood. “This meeting needs to stop until these allegations are investigated.”
Celeste held up a hand. “Please. We can discuss the matter without creating a public spectacle.”
I watched the woman reflected in the glass behind her. From that angle she looked small, trapped between the city and her own image. I understood, suddenly, that what she wanted most was not money. It was to be seen as indispensable. Without the Vale name, she was terrified nobody would know who she was.
“Mara trusted you,” I said.
Celeste's eyes came to mine. “You never met Mara.”
“No. But I've heard her voice. I've read the letter she wrote. She thought you were kind, until she found out what kind of person you were when somebody powerful asked you to lie.”
Celeste rose so suddenly that her chair rolled backward.
“Enough.”
“You could have helped her.”
“I was trying to keep her away from the river!”
The room went silent. Celeste seemed to hear herself for the first time. Her mouth closed.
Ronan stood. “What happened at the river?”
She looked at him with something like contempt and grief. “Your father made choices. I cleaned up after them. That's what I always did.”
“Did you see Mara that night?”
Celeste's counsel touched her sleeve. “Do not answer.”
But she was already looking past him at the dark water beyond the glass.
“She wouldn't stop asking for Daniel,” Celeste whispered. “She kept insisting he was alive. She said she would tell the police.”
Ronan's hands tightened on the table. “Was he alive?”
Celeste stepped back from the glass. Her expression snapped closed.
“My attorneys will handle this.”
She turned and left through a private door. One of her guards followed, and Naomi's investigator moved quickly to keep the exit in sight. In the confusion, Theo's laptop chimed.
He looked down. “The pumping-station control system just accepted an emergency override.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
His face drained of color. “The river gate is opening. The water level in the old chamber is rising.”
Sofia's fingers closed around mine. “The ledger cabinet is in that chamber.”
Ronan looked toward the Hudson. Far below, the river was turning dark beneath an approaching storm.
“Then Celeste isn't waiting until midnight,” he said. “She's erasing the room now.”
Theo refreshed the screen. One warning symbol flashed above the rest: MANUAL SHUTOFF REQUIRED.
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And beneath it, a line of text showed whose access badge had triggered the override.
MALCOLM PRYCE — ON SITE.
