Chapter 3: The Room Behind the Library
Nora didn’t ask the server what Eleanor meant. The woman’s eyes had already darted toward the terrace, where guests milled beneath the white tent and the musicians tried to make the afternoon sound ordinary.
“Which envelope?” Nora asked.
“The one from the records room. I saw Mr. Bell come out with it just now.” The server swallowed. “He told me to put it with the old papers. Then Mrs. Montgomery told me to make sure it was destroyed.”
Nora’s gaze moved to Arthur Bell. He was cutting across the far side of the garden, one hand tucked beneath his jacket.
“Can you show me where he went?”
The server glanced toward Eleanor. “I could lose my job.”
“You could also help stop someone from destroying whatever he’s carrying.”
The woman looked at Nora for a long beat, then nodded.
Ethan had been waiting near the garden room entrance. He’d kept his distance from the boys, just as he’d promised, but the tension in his shoulders suggested he’d heard enough to know something was wrong.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Your mother ordered a sealed envelope destroyed. Arthur took it.”
Ethan’s expression hardened. “I’ll get security.”
“No.” Nora stepped between him and the nearest guard. “Call them off.”
He paused.
“I’m not asking you to ignore this,” she said. “I’m asking you not to turn it into another scene where men in suits decide where my children are allowed to stand.”
Ethan glanced at the boys. Liam was holding Noah’s hand. Caleb stood close to Nora’s side, watching all the adults with a solemn frown.
“You’re right,” Ethan said. He lifted his phone and gave the guard a short instruction. “Nobody touches Nora or the boys. Nobody follows them.”
“Thank you,” Nora said, without softening.
The server led them through a narrow passage behind the library. The boys came too. Nora wouldn’t leave them with strangers, and Ethan didn’t suggest otherwise. He walked several paces behind, quiet as the carpet beneath their shoes.
At the library door, the server pointed to a brass lock.
“This is where the old records are kept. Mr. Bell has a key.”
The lock hung open.
The room beyond smelled of dust, cedar shelves, and the faint metallic bite of a printer running somewhere nearby. A desk lamp cast a yellow pool over orderly rows of binders. One drawer stood open. An empty envelope lay on the floor, its flap torn.
Nora bent to pick it up.
“Don’t,” Ethan said. “It could—”
She looked at him.
He stopped himself. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Nora used the edge of her sleeve to lift it. The envelope was heavy paper, embossed with Walter Montgomery’s initials. No address. No label. Whatever had been inside was gone.
From outside came the slam of a van door.
The server’s face went pale. “The service entrance.”
They hurried down a back corridor and pushed through a fire door. Beyond it, a dark van idled beside the kitchen loading bay. Arthur was feeding a stack of folders through its open side door.
Ethan stepped forward.
Arthur turned. “This is a private matter.”
“Then why are you moving family records into a van?” Nora asked.
“They’re confidential.”
“You were told to destroy an envelope.”
Arthur’s gaze flicked to the boys. For a moment, his careful expression slipped. Then he shut the van door.
“Mr. Montgomery, perhaps you should take your family back to the reception.”
“They are my family,” Ethan said, looking at the boys as he spoke. He didn’t move closer to them. “And I’m not sending them anywhere.”
Arthur smiled without warmth. “You don’t know what you’re stepping into.”
“Then you can explain it,” Nora said.
The driver climbed behind the wheel. Arthur reached for the passenger door.
A white dress appeared in front of the van.
Caroline planted herself between the bumper and the loading bay, one hand raised. “You are not driving away.”
“Caroline,” Arthur said, sharply.
“I heard you say confidential. I saw those folders.” Her eyes moved to the side door, where the top binder had slipped open. “Walter’s name is on them.”
The driver lowered his window. Caroline didn’t move.
Arthur lunged for the folders. Nora reached for the nearest one, but he tore it free first. The cover bent in his grip. Ethan caught Arthur’s wrist.
“Let go,” Arthur snapped.
“Put it down.”
For a heartbeat they strained against each other, the folder trapped between them. Then Arthur shoved hard and broke free. Ethan stumbled into the van’s open door. Nora grabbed his sleeve before he fell, and Arthur darted around the back of the vehicle with one folder under his arm.
“Stop!” Caroline shouted.
He vanished through the kitchen entrance.
The driver had already put the van in reverse, but Caroline slapped her palm against the side panel. The tires screeched to a halt. The van lurched, its rear doors flying open.
Binders tumbled onto the gravel.
Nora rushed forward. Most were thick account books, each spine stamped with a year. One had Walter Montgomery’s name in faded gold lettering. A loose page had caught under its cover, torn diagonally through the middle.
“Don’t touch anything,” Ethan said, then caught Nora’s look. “I mean—do what you think is right.”
Caroline reached in and lifted the page by its clean edge. “This was already torn.”
The boys crowded close to Nora. She felt Caleb press against her leg. She wanted to send them away from the van, away from the sudden sharpness in every adult voice. But she couldn’t make herself look away from the page.
At the top, in typed letters, were the words Monday certification. Beneath them, a handwritten note ran across the paper in dark blue ink.
Nora recognized Ethan’s signature before she finished reading the line above it.
May you like
No descendants reported.
Ethan Montgomery.
