Chapter 21: Forty-Eight Hours

The torn page remained in my hands long after midnight.

I compared the jagged edge against every loose document inside the Hawthorne Project folder.

Nothing matched.

Whoever removed the missing half had done it years ago.

Not recently.

A quiet knock interrupted my thoughts.

"Madam?" Rose whispered from outside.

"It's me."

I unlocked the door just enough for her to slip inside.

She looked over both shoulders before closing it again.

"Mr. Ashford is searching the study," she said.

"He's been there for nearly an hour."

"Looking for what?"

"I don't know."

"But he dismissed everyone from the west wing."

"Even Colette?"

Rose nodded.

"Especially her."

That caught my attention.

Damien had never excluded Colette before.

"Did they argue?"

"I only heard raised voices."

"Then Mr. Ashford ordered her out."

Rose hesitated.

"Madam... he looked angry."

"Not at you."

"At someone else."

After Rose left, I locked the documents back inside the wardrobe.

The memory card stayed hidden inside my jewellery toolkit.

If someone searched my room tonight, they would find papers.

But they would never find Nathaniel's voice.

Morning arrived with heavy rain.

The estate looked grey beneath the clouds.

At breakfast, Damien occupied his usual chair.

Eleanor sat opposite him.

Colette stood near the sideboard, unusually quiet.

Nobody spoke while the servants served coffee.

Finally Eleanor broke the silence.

"The board meeting is in two days."

"Everything must be perfect."

Damien stirred his coffee without looking up.

"It will be."

"Your wife has become a distraction," Eleanor continued.

"Handle your personal affairs after the meeting."

"Not before."

My eyes remained on my untouched tea.

"There won't be anything left to handle afterwards," I said.

Eleanor frowned.

"Meaning?"

"My lawyer filed the divorce petition yesterday."

The dining room fell silent.

Colette nearly dropped the coffee pot.

Damien slowly raised his eyes.

"Withdraw it," he said.

"No."

"You haven't thought this through."

"I've had eleven months to think."

"And three years before that," I added quietly.

Something flickered across his face.

Only for a second.

Then it disappeared.

"The hearing won't happen immediately," Damien said.

"The court requires forty-eight hours before acknowledging the filing."

"I'm aware."

"Good," he replied.

"Then you also know nothing changes before then."

"Everything already changed."

I stood and left the table.

Behind me, Eleanor muttered something about stubborn women.

Damien didn't answer her.

Instead, he remained unusually silent.

Later that afternoon my phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

"Mrs. Ashford?"

"Yes."

"This is Attorney Samuel Brooks from the Civil Registry."

"I'm calling regarding your divorce petition."

"Has something happened?"

"Not exactly."

"Your husband has requested a temporary suspension."

I stopped walking.

"On what grounds?"

"He claims new financial evidence affects the marital estate."

"Can he do that?"

"Temporarily."

"Only for forty-eight hours."

"After that, unless substantial evidence is presented, the petition proceeds normally."

"Has he submitted anything?"

"Not yet."

"Only the request."

"Thank you."

"We'll contact you again in two days."

The call ended.

Forty-eight hours.

That was all Damien had managed to buy himself.

Not forever.

Just two days.

I immediately called my own lawyer.

"Don't panic," Michael Lawson said.

"This is a delaying tactic."

"Will it work?"

"Only if he produces something significant."

"Otherwise the court ignores it."

"Can he accuse me of abandoning the marriage?"

"He can accuse you of anything."

"Proving it is another matter."

"Then we keep moving forward."

"Exactly."

"And Vivian..."

"Be careful."

"Men who begin losing control rarely make calm decisions."

His warning echoed in my mind long after the call ended.

As evening approached, I decided to visit my old studio.

Verline remained locked.

Dust coated every surface.

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows.

The silence felt familiar now.

I opened one of the lower drawers.

Most of my tools were gone.

Only scraps remained.

A broken ruler.

Several worn pencils.

An unfinished ring mould.

I picked up the mould.

Inside the hollow band, something rattled.

I frowned.

Turning it upside down, I tapped it gently against the desk.

A tiny folded strip of tracing paper slid onto the wood.

I unfolded it carefully.

The handwriting wasn't mine.

It belonged to Nathaniel.

"If you're reading this," it began,

"it means Damien searched everywhere except where artists hide things."

My heartbeat quickened.

"He isn't your biggest problem."

"Watch the newspapers."

"When they finally write about the accident... you'll know who made the first move."

There was nothing else.

Just that warning.

I folded the paper again and slipped it into my pocket.

Nathaniel had hidden messages inside my own work.

He must have known someone would eventually search his files.

But no one would think to dismantle unfinished jewellery.

A soft creak sounded behind me.

"I thought I'd find you here."

I turned.

Damien stood in the doorway.

His tie was loosened.

His sleeves rolled above his wrists.

He looked exhausted.

"The court notified you already," I said.

"Yes."

"Forty-eight hours isn't enough."

"I don't need forever."

"I only need the truth."

"Whose truth?"

"Yours."

I laughed quietly.

"You've spent three years refusing to hear it."

"Now you suddenly want honesty?"

"I want answers."

"About Nathaniel."

The smile disappeared from my face.

"What do you know about my brother?"

"Less than I should."

"And more than you think."

"Then start talking."

Damien reached into his coat pocket.

He removed a folded newspaper.

Not today's edition.

An old one.

Yellow with age.

"I found this hidden inside my father's safe this morning," he said.

"It was never published."

"Look at the headline."

I unfolded the paper slowly.

Across the front page, in bold black letters, one sentence stared back at me.

"ASHFORD EXECUTIVE LINKED TO FATAL CRASH INVESTIGATION."

The article carried no author's name.

Only one line had been circled in red ink.

"Publication suspended by executive order."