Chapter 4 - CAMILLE’S SECRET
Camille Prescott had known the name Helena Hawthorne since childhood.
Everyone in Greenwich did.
But in the Prescott house, Helena’s name had a different temperature.
Cold.
Everett Prescott never spoke it unless necessary.
If an old magazine showed Helena beside Grant at a benefit, he turned page.
When Camille was fourteen and asked why Julian’s mother died, Everett said:
“Accident.”
Nothing more.
At nineteen, Camille found a photograph in her father’s study.
Helena.
Rebecca Bennett.
Everett.
Grant.
All four standing beside a scale model of a development in Stamford.
On the back:
Harbor North — 2007
Helena died months later.
Camille asked.
Everett took photo away.
“Stay out of files.”
At twenty-six, after she began dating Julian seriously, her father finally explained part.
He said Helena had suffered depression.
That she became paranoid about company finances.
That Rebecca Bennett encouraged.
That on final night Helena was “agitated” and carrying documents that could have damaged Hawthorne Holdings with false accusations.
He said Grant spent eighteen years protecting Julian from truth about mother.
Camille believed.
Mostly.
Then one year before engagement, she overheard Everett and Grant arguing.
Grant:
If Julian gets original trust before thirty-five, we lose everything.
Everett:
Then make sure Camille keeps him where he is.
Camille stood outside library door and stopped breathing.
She confronted father later.
He said she misunderstood.
“What original trust?”
“Old estate paperwork.”
“What does it have to do with me?”
Everett looked at her.
“You love Julian?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t ask questions that could destroy him.”
Classic.
She asked anyway.
He told her if Julian discovered Helena had tried to transfer control away from Grant, Julian might challenge decades of transactions and trigger lender defaults.
Thousands jobs.
Family fortunes.
Scandal.
Camille became accomplice through silence.
Not because she knew murder.
Because she wanted Julian.
She had loved him since college.
Or at least loved being chosen by him.
Julian was difficult to reach emotionally. Reserved. Controlled. Still haunted by mother.
When he finally asked Camille to move in, she felt she had won something more than romance.
She ignored father’s pressure because it aligned with desire.
Then Nora appeared.
Months earlier, Camille had noticed the maid once in hallway touching something under collar.
She saw black enamel edge.
Her heart jumped.
Everett had shown Camille a photograph of Helena’s missing locket after overheard conversation.
He told her:
“If you ever see this, tell me immediately.”
“Why would I?”
“Because it may contain stolen family property.”
Camille should have told Julian.
She told Everett instead.
That was her first deliberate betrayal.
Everett instructed:
watch Nora.
Do not confront.
Let security determine.
Camille did not know Nora’s identity then.
At engagement party, champagne hit gown.
She was already drinking.
Already furious from argument with Julian, who had spent evening avoiding wedding questions.
The riding crop.
The slap.
Then locket exposed.
Panic.
Camille accused theft because father had trained that script.
Now, at 3 a.m., she sat in guest suite holding phone.
Julian called back.
She ignored twice.
Third, answered.
“Talk.”
His voice was ice.
“Not phone.”
“You called me on phone.”
“I panicked.”
“About what’s in box.”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You just said father would go prison.”
“He said that once.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
Julian stood from library desk.
“You knew there was a box?”
“I heard ‘box 417.’”
“How?”
“Dad and Grant.”
His chest tightened.
“Grant?”
“Yes.”
“My father knows.”
“I think.”
“Camille.”
“What?”
“How long have you been hiding this?”
She started crying.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Cry instead of answer.”
Her breath caught.
He had never spoken to her like that.
“About a year.”
Julian closed eyes.
A year.
They became engaged eight months ago.
She knew before saying yes.
“Why?”
“Because I thought it was old business problem.”
“You heard prison.”
“My father exaggerates.”
“Did you ever ask me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Julian whispered:
“Because you wanted wedding.”
“That’s cruel.”
“Is it false?”
Camille’s voice hardened.
“You think this has been easy? You keep part of yourself locked around a dead woman. I spent two years trying to build future with man who still talks to his mother’s portrait when he thinks nobody’s around.”
Julian went silent.
True.
Camille continued:
“My father said reopening Helena’s death would destroy you.”
“He doesn’t get to decide.”
“Neither does a maid.”
Nora.
Julian’s jaw tightened.
“She has a name.”
“Oh, please.”
“There.”
“What?”
“That is who you are when you think someone beneath you.”
Camille’s face burned though unseen.
“You’ve never complained when staff served you.”
“Service is job.”
“Humiliation is not.”
She laughed bitterly.
“So now you’re righteous because you want to believe mysterious beautiful maid carrying your mother’s necklace?”
Julian caught word.
Beautiful.
Jealousy already.
He felt exhausted.
“Did you know Nora was Rebecca’s daughter?”
“No.”
“Did your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell him about necklace before tonight?”
“Yes.”
There.
Julian sat again.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
“Jesus.”
“I saw corner.”
“And didn’t tell me.”
“No.”
“What did Everett say?”
“Not to confront her.”
“So tonight wasn’t first recognition.”
“No.”
Then Julian remembered Camille shouting She stole that necklace instantly.
Prepared.
He felt relationship collapse quietly.
“Do you love me?”
Camille gasped.
“What kind of question?”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
Silence.
“Camille.”
“I wanted to.”
“That isn’t answer.”
“No.”
He nodded to himself.
“Neither do I.”
Her voice cracked.
“You’re ending engagement over one night?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I’m ending because you knew people around me were hiding something about my mother and chose them.”
She started sobbing.
Julian did not soften.
Not because he felt nothing.
Because he felt too much.
“We are done.”
“Julian.”
“I will not discuss wedding again.”
“Don’t do this.”
“You did it.”
He ended call.
Then stared at black screen.
Eighteen months of relationship did not vanish.
He still remembered her sleeping with head on his chest in Paris.
Her hand inside his at father’s surgery.
The first time she made him laugh during a board retreat when he had been furious.
She had been real.
So was betrayal.
Both.
At 7:30 a.m., Camille texted one final message.
There’s something else. Ask Elias Wren where I was the night before you proposed.
Julian stared.
Elias was his chief operating officer.
His closest friend from business school.
The man standing beside him when he chose Camille’s engagement ring.
Julian read again.
Something else.
His engagement had not only been built over his mother’s secret.
It might have been built over a more ordinary betrayal too.
Before he could respond, Amelia called.
“Harbor Federal confirmed box 417 exists.”
Julian stood.
“Owner?”
A pause.
“Helena Hawthorne and Rebecca Bennett, jointly.”
Nora, sitting nearby, covered her mouth.
Amelia continued:
“There’s a problem.”
“What?”
“Someone attempted access at 8:42 this morning using a court order.”
Julian stared at clock.
It was 8:47.
“Who?”
“The order lists Grant Hawthorne as estate representative.”
Nora stood.
Julian’s voice went cold.
May you like
“Stop them.”
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