Chapter 8: Celeste’s Perimeter
Celeste did not disappear. People who stage courthouse theater rarely vanish; they rebrand.
Her attorneys filed notices preserving appellate options and sent letters that spoke of family tragedy and overzealous federal interference. Mother relocated from the pearl-gray public posture to a quieter house outside the city and declined interviews. Victor Sloan’s firm issued a statement about zealous advocacy and then became harder to reach. Orison Strategic Holdings, facing the open fact of a national-security review, suspended its exploratory communications in a notice so carefully worded it barely admitted those communications had existed.
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Rachel tracked the civil residue. I tracked the company. Mercer tracked the parts I was not cleared to see. In a secure call he confirmed that the intermediary who had approached Tessa was in custody on charges that would not be fully public for some time, and that Celeste’s email traffic had become a thread in a wider fabric. He did not promise me a courtroom climax with my sister in handcuffs on the evening news. He promised process. Process, after a week of spectacle, felt like oxygen.
Tessa remained in the protection protocol for another twelve days. We spoke twice over approved channels. She asked about the eagle. I told her it was in my pocket, bent, and that I had not yet decided whether to repair or replace it. She said replacement was cleaner. I said some scars on metal were instructive. It was the kind of argument we had always been able to hold without losing the line of trust underneath.
