Chapter 6 - Victoria Made the Scars Public Before SunriseAt 6:14 the next morning, photographs of Celeste's back appeared online.
By 6:22, three gossip accounts had reposted them.
By 6:40, someone had attached an old photograph of Celeste leaving the Whitmore mansion seven years earlier.
The caption read:
THE PRODIGAL WHITMORE RETURNS.
Celeste saw it while drinking coffee in a hotel room overlooking Lake Michigan.
She didn't react.
Admiral Reed did.
"Who released this?"
He stood near the window in shirtsleeves, uniform jacket draped over a chair.
Celeste scrolled.
"Victoria."
"You know?"
"She used the same photographer at her wedding."
Reed looked disgusted.
"That's your sister."
"I'm aware."
The article described Celeste as an "estranged heiress with mysterious injuries."
Another claimed she'd spent years "outside the country under unclear circumstances."
A third suggested the admiral's salute had been part of "an apparent publicity stunt."
Reed took out his phone.
Celeste looked up.
"What are you doing?"
"Calling someone."
"No."
He frowned.
"Celeste."
"Don't."
"They're using the Navy."
"They're using me."
"They're implying—"
"I know what they're implying."
Reed stared at her.
She put the phone down.
"If you release my service history, they'll make the story about heroism."
"That would be accurate."
"It would also be convenient."
"For whom?"
"For me."
Reed understood.
Celeste walked toward the window.
"The trust hearing is Monday. Arthur will say I'm exploiting my service to win public sympathy in a private financial dispute."
"You saved seventeen sailors."
Celeste's face tightened.
"Fourteen."
"Seventeen came out of that compartment."
"Three came out before I went in."
Reed almost smiled.
"Still correcting the citation."
"It should be accurate."
"That obsession nearly got you killed."
"No. The fire nearly got me killed."
He studied her.
Seven years earlier, she had been a young engineering officer with an irritating habit of asking for evidence.
Now she was harder.
Quieter.
But not colder.
"Your father deserves to know."
Celeste looked at him.
"Why?"
"So he understands what he did."
She shook her head.
"If he needs a medal citation to understand that tearing someone's clothing off in public is wrong, the citation won't help."
Reed had no answer.
Her phone rang.
Grant.
She considered ignoring it.
Then answered.
"What?"
His voice sounded different.
No smugness.
"Did you send reporters to headquarters?"
"No."
"Someone's outside."
"Call security."
"Celeste."
"What?"
"What happened to you?"
She knew what he meant.
The scars.
"Ask Victoria."
"She doesn't know."
"Then neither do you."
"I saw the admiral."
"Congratulations."
"Why did he salute you?"
Celeste sat.
"Why does it matter now?"
Grant hesitated.
"Because last night I laughed."
There was something almost human in that.
Almost.
Celeste waited.
Grant continued.
"I thought..."
"What?"
He struggled to say it.
"I thought you'd failed."
Celeste's voice stayed calm.
"I know."
"Victoria said you probably spent years drifting around."
"I know."
"Dad said you couldn't hold a job."
"I know."
Grant became angry again.
"Stop saying that."
"Why?"
"Because you're making me sound like an idiot."
Celeste looked out at the lake.
"I haven't told you what to sound like."
Silence.
Then Grant asked:
"Did those scars happen in the Navy?"
Celeste closed her eyes briefly.
"Goodbye, Grant."
"Wait."
She almost ended the call.
Grant lowered his voice.
"Dad moved money last night."
Celeste's eyes opened.
"How much?"
"I don't know."
"From where?"
"Three company accounts."
"When?"
"After Samuel left."
"Why are you telling me?"
Grant didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"Because one of the accounts has my name on it."
That got her attention.
"What account?"
"The Grant Whitmore Strategic Reserve."
Celeste frowned.
She had never heard of it.
May you like
Grant whispered:
"I didn't know it existed."
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