Chapter 4 - Opal Had Prepared Her Lie Before the Camera Turned OnDetective Keene stopped the deletion remotely before the files disappeared.
The security company locked every administrator account.
No more changes.
No more remote access.
Whoever had used Nolan’s credentials was cut off.
But the attempt told them something important.
Someone understood the camera system.
Someone knew exactly which footage mattered.
Celeste sat beside Kai while Keene explained what police had recovered from Opal’s phone.
The screenshots appeared convincing.
Celeste’s profile picture.
Her name.
Dates.
Conversation threads.
Some real messages.
Some false.
That was what made them dangerous.
Opal had not created an entirely fake conversation.
She inserted forged messages between genuine ones.
Tuesday, 8:14 p.m.
Celeste: He only slept twenty minutes today.
Real.
Opal: I’ll try to settle him.
Real.
Celeste: If he fights food again, use the night medicine.
Fake.
Two real statements wrapped around one lie.
Celeste felt sick.
“How did she do that?”
“Forensic investigators are determining whether these are manipulated screenshots or altered backups.”
“She had access to my phone.”
“How?”
Celeste thought.
Opal knew the household passcodes.
She paid bills.
Ordered groceries.
Sometimes answered Celeste’s phone when her hands were full with Kai.
After Nolan’s death, Opal became indispensable.
That word now disgusted Celeste.
“I gave her too much access.”
Keene replied:
“She exploited access.”
Celeste stared through the hospital-room glass.
“Same result.”
“No.”
Keene’s voice remained calm.
“Different responsibility.”
Tessa looked up from her coloring book.
“Ms. Opal knows Mom’s password.”
Celeste turned.
“How?”
“She watched you type it.”
“When?”
“Lots.”
Of course.
The tiny habits adults never noticed.
Children did.
Keene crouched.
“Tessa, did Ms. Opal ever use your mom’s phone?”
“All the time.”
“Did she ever tell you not to tell?”
Tessa thought.
“She said Mom asked her.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
Every lie was designed to feel ordinary.
Later that morning, police searched Opal’s bedroom.
She had lived in the guest suite since Nolan died.
Her drawers were neat.
Clothes arranged by color.
Books aligned.
Nothing looked hidden.
Then an officer found a false bottom beneath a storage box.
Inside were three old smartphones.
A USB drive.
Photocopies of Celeste’s driver’s license.
Nolan’s death certificate.
Kai’s birth certificate.
Tessa’s school records.
And a folder.
EMERGENCY FAMILY PLAN.
Celeste read it with trembling hands.
The first page described her.
“Widowed mother exhibiting prolonged grief, insomnia, forgetfulness, emotional volatility.”
The second listed incidents.
Missed parent-teacher conference.
Forgotten prescription refill.
Late utility payment.
Crying episode during family dinner.
Every normal failure after Nolan’s death had been recorded as evidence of instability.
Then came Kai.
“Recurring unexplained somnolence.”
“Feeding irregularities.”
“Possible medication-management errors.”
Celeste felt physically ill.
“She caused the symptoms.”
Keene said nothing.
“She caused them and wrote them down like I caused them.”
The final pages were draft legal documents requesting temporary guardianship of Tessa and Kai in the event Celeste became “medically unable to provide safe care.”
Applicant:
Opal Reed.
Celeste stared.
“She isn’t family.”
“No,” Keene said.
“But long-term caregivers can petition under certain circumstances. Winning is another issue.”
“She was building circumstances.”
“Yes.”
Celeste looked at the documents again.
One paragraph claimed Opal had “functioned as de facto primary caregiver since Nolan Mercer’s death.”
Another claimed both children showed “greater emotional stability” with Opal.
Celeste almost tore the page.
Then she noticed a handwritten note.
Need medical record from Moreno.
Celeste’s eyes narrowed.
“She knew I was meeting Dr. Moreno.”
“Obviously.”
“No.”
Celeste pointed.
“This note is dated three weeks ago.”
The appointment had only been scheduled four days earlier.
Unless—
She remembered an earlier email with Dr. Moreno’s office.
A request for a parent-only consultation.
Celeste had drafted it weeks earlier, then waited.
Someone had seen her drafts.
Opal.
Keene looked at the note.
“What else is written?”
Celeste read:
When she leaves for consult, office should be clear for at least two hours.
The room went silent.
The same phrase Opal had said at home returned.
You should be asking why I needed you out of this house so often.
Celeste looked up.
“The guardianship wasn’t the whole plan.”
Keene agreed.
“No.”
“Then what was she doing while I was at appointments?”
Police requested full security history.
Most indoor cameras had been disabled on the exact mornings Celeste took Kai to doctors.
But not all.
There was one old camera Nolan installed inside his home office.
A camera Opal apparently didn’t know existed.
The device had stopped appearing in Celeste’s app after a software update.
But its local storage remained connected.
Detective Keene called an hour later.
“We recovered footage.”
Celeste’s heart accelerated.
“Of Opal?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
Keene paused.
“Searching your husband’s office.”
“How often?”
“At least nine times.”
Celeste closed her eyes.
“What was she looking for?”
“We don’t know.”
Then Keene added:
“But in one video, she’s on the phone.”
“Can you hear her?”
“Yes.”
“What does she say?”
Another pause.
“She says, ‘The baby is working. Celeste keeps taking him to doctors. I just need more time to find what Nolan hid.’”
Celeste stopped breathing.
May you like
Kai had never been the target.
He had been the distraction.
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