Chapter 10 - THE PRICE OF TELLING THE TRUTH
Three months passed.
Celia hated every one of them.
Winter settled over New England.
Her mother returned home.
Grekov remained in federal custody while prosecutors built a case involving conspiracy, bribery, racketeering, obstruction, and crimes stretching back decades.
Lucian Varo accepted a cooperation agreement after realizing Grekov’s loyalty ended at the jailhouse door.
Calder was arrested six days later.
Thomas Rowe disappeared.
Again.
Celia told herself she no longer cared.
She was lying.
Stellan was not charged with the violent crimes connected to Adrian or Alexander’s deaths.
He was charged with several financial and conspiracy offenses involving businesses he had inherited and continued operating.
His attorneys negotiated.
Prosecutors reviewed the evidence he voluntarily supplied.
Weeks passed.
Celia received no calls.
No messages.
Nothing.
At first she assumed Stellan had been ordered not to contact her.
Then Mara called.
“He can contact you.”
Celia stared at the wall of her apartment.
“What?”
“He just isn’t.”
“That sounds more like him.”
Mara laughed.
“How’s your mother?”
“Complaining about hospital food, which I’ve decided is a sign of excellent health.”
Her mother’s treatment expenses had changed too.
An anonymous foundation had paid several outstanding medical bills.
Celia knew exactly who had arranged it.
She sent the money back.
The foundation paid again.
She sent it back again.
The third time, a note arrived.
STOP BEING DIFFICULT.
No signature.
Celia wrote beneath it:
STOP BEING CONTROLLING.
She mailed it to Archer.
A week later, he called laughing.
Life became strange.
Celia’s eviction disappeared because the agency finally paid her full hazard compensation plus the completion bonus Stellan had ordered before the investigation began.
She could breathe financially for the first time in two years.
So naturally, she did something reckless.
She quit the agency.
Her supervisor stared at her over a video call.
“You are our most requested Russian-language interpreter.”
“You sent seven people into a situation you barely investigated.”
“We investigated.”
“You sent me a file that had been edited.”
The supervisor went pale.
That confirmed enough.
Celia founded her own interpretation consultancy two weeks later.
Rowe Exact Language.
Her mother hated the name.
“It sounds arrogant.”
“It’s accurate.”
“You are your father’s daughter.”
Celia looked at her.
“Unfortunately.”
Her mother’s expression softened.
“Not unfortunately.”
That was the first kind thing either of them had said about Thomas in months.
He remained missing.
But one morning, Celia received a postcard from Alaska.
No return address.
Only one line.
You were always better than both of us.
She put it in a drawer.
She did not forgive him.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
But she kept the card.
On the ninety-third day after the final negotiation, Archer called.
“Are you working?”
“Yes.”
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“Why do people enjoy saying that word to me?”
“Because you work for Stellan.”
Silence.
Celia stood.
“Archer?”
“He’s coming home.”
Everything inside her stopped.
“When?”
“Today.”
“What happened?”
“The cooperation agreement was finalized. Reduced charges. Corporate restructuring. Several companies are being placed under independent oversight. He’ll serve probation and financial penalties. No prison sentence.”
Celia sat slowly.
“He’s free?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because he won’t.”
Of course he would not.
“When does he arrive?”
Archer paused.
“Three.”
Celia looked at the clock.
2:18.
She hated herself for already reaching for her coat.
The compound looked different in daylight.
The burned east building had been cleared.
The security gates remained.
But several guards were gone.
The place felt less like a fortress and more like an enormous house trying to remember it was allowed to be one.
Archer met Celia on the steps.
“You came.”
“Don’t make it sentimental.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Where is he?”
“Study.”
“Of course.”
Celia walked through the entrance hall.
She remembered her first day.
The secondhand blazer.
The tote bag.
The rules.
Do not extend your hand.
Do not sit until he sits.
Do not speak unless directly addressed.
She opened the study door without knocking.
Stellan stood by the fireplace.
No suit jacket.
White shirt.
Dark trousers.
He looked slightly thinner.
More tired.
Alive.
He turned.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he said, “Ms. Rowe.”
She hated the relief that flooded her.
“Mr. Varo.”
“You entered without permission.”
“I’m not an employee.”
“So you keep reminding me.”
“You disappeared.”
“I was in federal proceedings.”
“You had a phone.”
His expression shifted.
“Yes.”
“You could have called.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
Celia stepped into the room.
“Why?”
Stellan looked toward the fire.
“Because when this ended, you were supposed to get your life back.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
“I started a company.”
“I know.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You investigated me again?”
“Archer told me.”
“Less creepy.”
“Marginally.”
Celia walked closer.
“You don’t get to decide when I leave.”
His eyes met hers.
“I know.”
“You keep doing it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
For once, Stellan Varo had no immediate answer.
Celia waited.
Finally he said,
“Because everyone I kept close became a target.”
“Adrian?”
“Yes.”
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Lucian?”
“He became the threat.”
“And Mara survived.”
“Barely.”
Celia nodded.
“And I survived.”
“Barely.”
“I was in less danger before meeting you.”
“Considerably.”
She almost smiled.
Then became serious.
“You told me fear was useful because it kept people at a distance.”
Stellan said nothing.
“You were wrong.”
“I am occasionally.”
“That must be painful.”
“Extremely.”
Celia stood directly in front of him now.
“I’m not asking you to promise nothing bad will ever happen.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking you to stop making my decisions for me.”
His eyes searched hers.
“If I do?”
“Then maybe I stay for dinner.”
That was all.
Not love.
Not forever.
Dinner.
For a man who had built his whole life on certainty, it seemed to terrify him more than Grekov ever had.
Stellan slowly nodded.
“Dinner.”
Celia turned toward the door.
His voice stopped her.
“Celia.”
She looked back.
He crossed the distance between them.
Not touching.
Not yet.
“I thought about calling you every day.”
Her breath caught.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I could not think of anything to say that did not sound like asking you to wait.”
She understood.
He had refused to ask her to build her life around his uncertainty.
That was almost annoyingly decent.
“So you said nothing.”
“Yes.”
“That was stupid.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His brow moved.
“Good?”
“You’re learning another language.”
“What language?”
Celia smiled.
“Normal human behavior.”
May you like
This time, Stellan laughed.
And somewhere in the house, Archer undoubtedly realized the world had changed.
