Chapter 8 - THE ORCHID FILE
Bellmere released the first non-dispositive section of File Orchid.
My mother’s handwriting covered six pages.
Celeste.
Not Nora.
She wrote about leaving.
Not why completely.
Enough to frighten me.
My father—my biological father—was Thomas Rowan.
That part of my birth certificate was true.
He had been an attorney in Sterling Global’s compliance division.
He married Celeste against Gabriel Sterling’s wishes.
Gabriel was my grandfather.
Billionaire founder.
Controlling.
Brilliant.
According to Celeste, Thomas discovered undisclosed guarantees tied to a family investment vehicle.
He died in a car crash when I was two.
Officially accidental.
Celeste never accused the family of causing it.
That mattered.
She did write:
After Thomas died, they began saying grief had made me unstable.
My breath caught.
Unstable.
Again.
Gabriel petitioned for temporary guardianship over me, claiming Celeste was neglecting corporate obligations and becoming erratic.
Celeste fought.
Julian was nineteen at the time.
Away at university.
He knew only that his sister was “having a breakdown.”
The court ordered family evaluation.
Then Celeste disappeared with me before the hearing.
That was where the released section ended.
“Why stop there?” I asked Benjamin.
“Because subsequent pages concern disputed financial ownership and allegations requiring identity confirmation.”
“So I can learn my mother ran, but not what she ran from?”
“For now.”
I hated Bellmere.
I also understood the rule.
If I were a fraudster with a ring, they could not hand me billion-dollar instructions because I looked convincing.
The DNA result was still pending.
Julian requested a meeting again.
This time I accepted.
Public law office.
Helen present.
Julian entered alone.
He was forty-eight.
Older than I first thought.
His face looked familiar now that I had seen Celeste’s photo.
Not mine exactly.
Something around the eyes.
He sat across from me.
“I don’t know whether to call you Maya or—”
“Maya.”
“Of course.”
“You knew my mother?”
“She was my sister.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He absorbed it.
“Yes.”
“What was she like?”
He looked down.
“Impatient. Funny. Terrible at letting anyone else choose music. She read contracts faster than my father’s lawyers.”
I almost smiled.
Mom had done that.
Fine print first.
Always.
“Did you believe she was unstable?”
“At nineteen?”
“Yes.”
I waited.
“For a while.”
“Did you help my grandfather?”
“No. I was mostly kept out. But I believed the family’s version.”
“Did you search for us?”
“At first. Then my father said Celeste contacted counsel and did not want to be found.”
“Did she?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at the ring.
“I started searching again after Dad died.”
“When?”
“Eleven years ago.”
Mom died thirteen years ago.
He had missed her by two years.
“What did you find?”
“Enough to know the story I was raised with was incomplete.”
“Why didn’t you find me?”
“Because Nora Rowan’s records were lawfully sealed under a protective relocation order, and I did not have grounds to break them.”
That answer surprised me.
He could have used money.
He had not.
At least not successfully.
Then he said something quieter.
“When I saw you at Lily’s party, I didn’t recognize you as my niece.”
“Then why investigate?”
“Because everyone else was pretending what Richard did was normal.”
I believed him.
May you like
Not completely.
Enough.
