Chapter 1 - The Gala Celeste Thought Belonged to Her
Celeste Arden used the pointed toe of her silver heel to knock Elena’s IV pole sideways in front of nearly two hundred guests.
The wheels skidded across the polished ballroom floor.
Elena dropped to one knee and caught the pole before the infusion pump struck a chair.
Nobody laughed.
That seemed to irritate Celeste more.
“Still dragging yourself into rooms where nobody wants you?” she asked.
Elena’s navy gown pooled around her knees. Eight months of lymphoma treatment had taken her hair, most of her strength, and nearly every illusion she had left about family.
It had not taken her patience.
She started to rise.
Celeste stepped on the loose tubing running beside the pole.
“Your parents are gone,” she said. “Their company is mine. You’re just the problem that hasn’t disappeared yet.”
The winter gala at Arden House Estate outside Greenwich, Connecticut, was supposed to celebrate the company’s fortieth anniversary.
Celeste had turned it into a coronation.
Her photograph appeared in the printed programs as executive chair.
She had invited bankers, luxury-hotel owners, wedding planners, investors, and most of the senior employees Elena had grown up knowing.
Elena’s own name appeared nowhere.
Marcus Reed, the catering manager who had worked for Elena’s parents for twenty-three years, moved toward her.
Celeste pointed toward security.
“Get her out. I’m tired of watching weakness beg for attention.”
Elena finally stood.
Then she smiled.
Celeste noticed.
“What?”
Elena looked across the ballroom at Marcus and raised one finger.
Marcus reached beneath the catering station.
The chandeliers dimmed.
Three large screens behind the orchestra came alive with debt schedules, property diagrams, and transaction timelines.
No names were large enough for the guests to read from across the ballroom.
Celeste did not need them.
She recognized the numbers.
Elena rested one hand against the IV pole.
“You really should’ve checked who bought your debt.”
Celeste went still.
The previous afternoon, Arden House Group’s primary lender had sold a distressed senior loan package at seventy-one cents on the dollar.
Celeste had assumed the buyer was another private-credit fund.
It wasn’t.
Elena had used the remainder of her parents’ family trust, through an independently managed investment vehicle, to purchase the controlling tranche.
Not the company.
The debt.
The distinction was about to matter.
“What did you do?” Celeste asked.
Before Elena could answer, the heavy curtain behind the stage released.
It dropped to the floor.
A man stood in the service alcove beyond it.
Thin.
Gray-haired.
Leaning on a cane.
Celeste recoiled.
Her champagne glass slipped from her hand.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
Elena turned toward the man.
Robert Kline, her parents’ former chief financial officer, stepped into the ballroom.
And the expression on Celeste’s face told Elena something she had not known until that exact moment.
May you like
Her aunt had not merely believed Robert was dead.
She had been counting on it.
