Chapter 6 - MOMMY’S TREASURE
The scrap was no longer in my shoe.
I told Detective Ellis immediately.
“What was on it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never looked?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Numbers.”
“What numbers?”
“I don’t remember.”
That sounded terrible.
It was true.
Charlotte had given me the paper six months earlier while we were folding napkins.
“Mommy’s treasure.”
I thought it was a child’s game.
The page contained columns.
Maybe account codes.
Maybe dates.
I tucked it beneath my shoe insole after Charlotte insisted Isabella could not see it.
Then forgot.
Negligent?
Maybe.
But I had not understood what I held.
Police asked why the burglar knew.
Security cameras from Sterling House answered partly.
Months earlier, Isabella had recorded staff interviews after “private papers” went missing.
She asked me whether Charlotte ever gave me anything.
I said:
“Drawings.”
I genuinely did not remember the scrap.
Isabella must have suspected.
Who broke into my apartment?
Unknown.
The building camera caught someone wearing a delivery uniform.
Face hidden.
Vehicle plate stolen.
No instant identification.
No cartoon henchman confession.
The break-in changed my safety plan.
Witness-services placed me elsewhere.
Naomi helped with restraining measures.
William offered his private security.
I declined direct dependence on him.
We arranged neutral security through victim-witness resources and later insurer reimbursement.
Boundary.
Good.
Hawthorne meanwhile produced a ledger index.
One code looked familiar.
CST-42.
I stared.
“That might have been on the paper.”
“Forty-two?” Naomi asked.
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
Hawthorne would not say yet.
But the index showed:
CST-42 — CHILD CONTINUITY BLOCK.
Still no percentage explanation.
Still no central reveal.
Isabella’s financial connections expanded.
Her brother, Grant Vale—not related to other Grants—owned Vale Heritage Consulting.
The firm handled restoration work for Sterling properties.
Over four years, it received $8.7 million.
Some work obviously existed.
Roofs.
Stone repair.
Electrical modernization.
The hidden archive renovation came through Vale Heritage.
Was that criminal?
Not by itself.
Isabella disclosed her family connection in foundation filings.
But not every fee.
Auditors found markups.
Possible conflicts.
No conclusions.
William asked:
“Did I approve these?”
Some.
He looked sick.
“I signed board packets.”
Naomi, who represented me not him, said:
“Then you need your own counsel.”
He did.
That mattered.
William stepped aside temporarily as CEO while an independent committee reviewed related-party approvals.
Not because he was accused of locking Charlotte away.
Because governance negligence was real.
His board appointed Helena Ross interim chief.
Sterling Hospitality continued.
Hotels did not collapse because a Sterling left the office.
The family hated that fact.
Then the break-in produced one clue.
A partial fingerprint on my apartment window matched no household staff.
But phone records showed Isabella had called one person seventeen minutes before the burglar entered.
Thomas Reed.
Sterling House’s head of estate security.
May you like
The man who controlled the mansion’s cameras.
And the same man who had told police the east-gallery camera “malfunctioned” during Charlotte’s confinement.
