Chapter 6 - A Mask Torn Away
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Wesley stood completely still as he read the words typed on the small screen.
Every lie, every deflected conversation, every time Celeste had gently suggested that Norah was becoming "confused" or "delirious" from her illness suddenly snapped into place like pieces of a horrific puzzle.
He turned slowly toward the hallway.
Celeste was sitting on the floor, guarded by the two stone-faced enforcers. Seeing Wesley walk out of the room, her expression shifted back into desperate pleading.
“Wesley, please!” she sobbed. “You can’t believe whatever that mute girl typed on her phone! She’s sick! She doesn't know what she’s doing!”
Wesley walked over to Celeste’s expensive designer handbag sitting on the hallway table. He inverted it, dumping its contents onto the floor.
Lipstick, compact powder, a heavy gold compact—and a folded sheet of architectural parchment detailing the vault schematics of Warehouse 7, along with a heavily encrypted thumb drive bearing the seal of the Valenti Crime Family.
The hallway fell into absolute, suffocating silence.
Celeste’s tears stopped instantly. The panicked, hysterical woman vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating creature whose eyes turned as sharp as glass.
“So,” Celeste said, her voice dropping all pretense of innocence, wiping a speck of dust from her skirt as she sat up. “The mute bitch finally found a way to speak.”
Wesley stared down at her, his face completely devoid of humanity.
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“You poisoned a nineteen-year-old girl who couldn't even scream for help,” Wesley whispered.
“She was in the way,” Celeste snapped, spitting on the floor near his shoes. “You cared more about that half-dead girl than you did about me! The Valentis offered me fifty percent of your harbor operations. All I had to do was make sure your attention stayed divided until they took the docks.”
