Chapter 5 - Poison in the Well
Desperation is a corrosive acid; it eats away at whatever remains of human intellect until only pure instinct is left.
Celeste Blackwell was nothing if not desperate.
By Monday evening, she had checked into the penthouse suite of the St. Regis under an assumed name, using a credit card that Harrison hadn't yet managed to flag. Her vanity was bleeding from a thousand cuts. The society blogs had caught wind of Harrison’s divorce filing, and her phone was buzzing relentlessly with calls from socialites feigning sympathy while relishing her public execution.
She called Nathan forty times. Nathan, huddled in a cheap motel near Queens, didn't answer. He was drunk, terrified, and staring at the television screen that seemed to mock him with every headline.
So, Celeste came for me.
I was working late in my private office at the museum, cross-referencing shipping manifests with Evelyn, when the office phone rang. I put it on speaker.
“You think you’re so clever, don't you, Olivia?” Celeste’s voice was ragged, stripped of its honeyed Southern cadence. It was thick with venom and the slurred cadence of expensive vodka.
“Good evening, Celeste,” I said calmly, signing another affidavit Evelyn slid before me. “How is the St. Regis? I assume Harrison hasn't canceled the room service privileges yet?”
“You ruined my life!” she hissed. “I spent seven years catering to that decrepit, arrogant old bastard! Seven years playing the doting hostess, putting up with his heart problems and his miserable family! I earned that estate!”
“You earned nothing, Celeste. You married an empire and thought you could hollow it out like a termite.”
“I have the paintings, Olivia,” Celeste laughed, a sharp, manic sound that made Evelyn shake her head in pity. “The flight leaves tomorrow night. Once they’re in the UAE, the private consortium will wire one hundred million into an un-traceable account in the Cayman Islands. Nathan signed the export manifests. His name is on the customs declaration. When the museum discovers the theft, Harrison’s precious son goes to federal prison for twenty years, and you’ll be blacklisted from every cultural institution on the planet.”
“Is that so?” I asked softly.
“I won, Olivia. Even with your pathetic little stunt at the dinner table. Harrison may divorce me, but he’ll have to settle for fifty million just to keep me quiet about what Nathan did. You’ll be penniless, Nathan will be in a cell, and I will be drinking champagne in Monaco.”
“You should look closer at the crates, Celeste,” I whispered.
Silence hung on the line for three agonizing seconds.
“What did you say?”
“You always were terrible with details,” I said, leaning closer to the receiver. “You knew the price of everything and the value of nothing. You never could tell the difference between a masterwork and a mirror. See you tomorrow night at Newark, Celeste.”
I disconnected the call.
Evelyn looked up from her laptop, her expression grim yet electrified. “The federal prosecutor just signed off on the sting. Homeland Security Investigations will be on-site disguised as port authority baggage handlers. The moment Celeste or her courier presents the fraudulent bill of lading to release the cargo for aircraft loading, the trap snaps shut.”
“And Nathan?” I asked, a slight shadow crossing my thoughts.
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“Nathan is a cornered dog,” Evelyn warned. “Be careful, Olivia. When a man like Nathan realizes he has lost his money, his status, and his future, he doesn't think about survival. He thinks about revenge.”
***
