Chapter 7 - Shadows in the Garden
The estate in Mercer Island had always felt like a sanctuary, but over the past month, it had transformed into an impregnable fortress. High security gates, private patrols, and state-of-the-art encrypted surveillance systems now protected the sprawling waterfront property. Yet, despite the ironclad security, a strange, lingering chill hung in the air—the kind of psychological residue left behind by a predator who refused to accept defeat quietly.
It was late evening. The sun had dipped below the jagged silhouette of the Cascade Mountains, casting long, bruised purple shadows across the manicured lawns that sloped down toward Lake Washington.
Inside the nursery, the lighting was warm and amber. Lily lay sleeping peacefully in her custom bassinet, her chest rising and falling in steady, rhythmic motion. A mobile of hand-painted silver stars turned slowly overhead, casting gentle reflections against the pale wallpaper.
I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a cup of herbal tea that had long since grown cold, staring out toward the perimeter gate.
My mother entered quietly, her footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug. She carried a soft cashmere blanket, which she draped gently over my shoulders.
“You’re doing it again, Claire,” she said softly, standing beside me and looking out at the darkened garden. “Staring into the dark as if an army is about to breach the gates.”
“It’s Vivian,” I murmured, not taking my eyes off the shadow of a weeping willow near the southern fence line. “Grant signed the papers. He’s out. Apex is secure. But Vivian hasn’t posted a single statement on her social media channels in three weeks. For a woman who lived for public validation and vitriol, complete radio silence is entirely out of character.”
My mother’s expression tightened, her posture stiffening. “Vivian was always a parasite living off the host. Without Grant’s salary or the prestige of the Kensington name attached to her social club memberships, she’s essentially a ghost in Seattle high society. People are actively returning her calls with busy signals.”
“A cornered animal is more dangerous than an active one,” I replied. “She lost her penthouse, her social standing, and the grandchild she spent months bragging about to her bridge club. She blames me for every single piece of it.”
“Let her blame you,” my mother said firmly, resting a comforting hand on my arm. “The gates are locked. The estate security team has her face flagged on every camera from here to Bellevue. If she steps one foot onto this property, the police will pick her up before she reaches the fountain.”
Before I could answer, a sharp, piercing sound shattered the quiet serenity of the nursery.
It wasn't Lily crying. It was my encrypted personal cell phone resting on the bedside table.
The screen lit up with an unknown, unlisted VoIP number.
I walked over, picked it up, and slid my thumb across the screen. I pressed the phone to my ear without saying a word.
“You think you’ve won, don't you?”
The voice was raspy, laced with venom and a desperate, unhinged fury. It wasn't Vivian. It was Celeste.
My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. “How did you get this number?”
“Numbers are easy to buy when you still have desperate friends willing to sell them,” Celeste hissed through the speaker, her breath hitching as if she were standing out in the cold wind. “You destroyed everything. You took Grant’s company, his money, his dignity. You threw him into the gutter like a piece of garbage.”
“He threw himself into the gutter the moment he signed fraudulent documents and tried to steal from a family trust,” I replied, my voice dangerously low so as not to wake Lily. “And you helped him. You fabricated a pregnancy scam to trap a man you thought was rich and powerful. You are lucky the authorities haven't indicted you for wire fraud.”
“Fuck your audits!” Celeste screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. “You think money and lawyers make you untouchable? You think you can just step on people and walk away into your little gated mansion while we starve?”
“If you call this number again,” I said, every word dripping with absolute ice, “I won't involve civil lawyers. I will personally hand the police department the unredacted medical fraud package that proves every single cent of the relocation money Grant gave you was obtained through criminal deception. You will spend your twenties in a jumpsuit, Celeste. Try me.”
There was a long, jagged silence on the other end of the line. The heavy breathing of the disgraced mistress echoed in the receiver like a dying animal.
“This isn't over,” Celeste whispered venomously. “The truth about your family’s little empire isn't as clean as you pretend it is. People are talking.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen. My heart hammered against my ribs, not out of fear, but out of a sudden, razor-sharp realization.
May you like
Celeste wasn't just venting. She was repeating a phrase I had heard somewhere else before—a phrase that suggested someone was feeding her information from the outside. Someone who knew the inner workings of Mercer Hale.
***
