Chapter 8
The garden kennel was lifted under warrant.
Under the decorative base was an old drainage hatch.
Not large enough to hide a person comfortably.
Large enough to hide a metal document box.
The box had water damage.
Inside were ruined papers, a rusted key ring, and one plastic sleeve that survived.
In the sleeve:
A duplicate flash drive.
A copy of Celia’s handwritten timeline.
And a note addressed to Rourke.
The note was short.
If Posie is told I hurt her, look under the place they used to scare her. I would never cage my child.
Rourke read it in an interview room with his lawyer present.
He did not cry.
That would have been easier.
He simply lowered his head until his hands covered his face.
Mara did not comfort him.
Neither did his lawyer.
Some grief needs silence more than witnesses.
The flash drive contained foundation spreadsheets, photographs of the kennel taken before Celia vanished, and a scanned letter from Celia to Rebecca Holt, a family-law attorney.
The letter said Celia intended to seek emergency protection for Posie and request that Rourke’s access be supervised until his household and business operations were independently reviewed.
Rourke looked up.
“She was going to take Posie.”
His lawyer said carefully:
“She was going to court.”
That distinction mattered.
Celia had not run away.
She had tried to use law.
May you like
Rourke’s world had made law feel like war.
Althea had used that against both of them.
