Chapter 87 The Hidden Record
“What could be inside the box?” Stacy asked, edging closer to Jules, who clutched the mysterious package tightly against his chest like it was his lifeline.
“We don’t know that yet,” Marco replied, shooting Stacy a look that screamed, Seriously? That’s your question right now?
Stacy narrowed her eyes at him and stuck out her tongue playfully.
“We need to get out of here now and inspect it before we’re…” Jules started, his voice soft and urgent, when a sharp, unfamiliar voice sliced through the tension.
“What are y’all doing here?”
Every head snapped toward the doorway. A tall, lanky guy filled the frame, arms crossed, staring at them like he’d just caught a gang of kids raiding the cookie jar. His gaze flicked over the group—then locked onto the box in Jules’s hands. Jules’s fingers tightened around it instinctively, knuckles whitening.
“And why are you holding that?” the man demanded, his voice dropping into a growl. “On whose permission do you think you have the right to touch it? You’re not authorized!” He took a menacing step forward, reaching as if he might yank the box away.
That’s when Leitana stepped out from behind Jules and Anya, who had been subtly shielding her with their bodies. The maintenance worker hadn’t even noticed her until now.
He froze mid-stride, eyes widening in shock.
“Dem here on mi authority,” Leitana said softly, emerging fully into the light. Her voice was gentle yet unmistakably clear, and she tilted her head with that wide-eyed, innocent curiosity that could disarm anyone. “Yu have a problem wid dat? Mi Leitana Ashbourne. Mi have full access to everyting in dis division now. Dis box part of mi work. Yu understand?”
Enzo Jenkins, badge clipped crookedly on his maintenance overalls froze mid-step, mouth half-open. His eyes darted from her face to the group behind her, then back again, recognition hitting like cold water. Everyone in the building had heard the announcement that morning. The CEO’s wife.
“N-no problem, Mrs. Ashbourne,” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, face flushing red. “It’s just… protocol. Restricted archive. Chain of custody stuff. If something goes missing, facilities gets blamed. You know how it is.”
Leitana nodded, expression kind and sincere, no trace of arrogance. “Mi understand. Rules important. Yu doing yu job good. Mi no wan’ trouble for yu. Mi take responsibility. If anyone ask, yu tell dem mi say okay. Mi keep it proper later. Fair?”
Enzo shifted his weight, glancing at the box again. He wasn’t paid enough to argue with Ravial Ashbourne’s wife. One wrong word and he’d be out of a job or worse. Rumors about the boss weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy.
“Yeah… fair,” he muttered. “Just… be careful with it, ma’am.”
Leitana smiled sweetly. “Tank yu. Yu have good day.”
The group filed past him quickly—Jules clutching the box tight, the others murmuring polite nods. Enzo stepped aside, watching them go with a mix of relief and unease.
As soon as they turned the corner, out of sight, Carl yanked his phone from his back pocket. Fingers shaking slightly, he scrolled to a saved contact and hit call.
It rang once.
“Jim,” he said in a rushed whisper when it connected. “You need to come here now. Archive B. The CEO’s wife—she just took Celeste Rey’s personal box. Whole group with her: Lafu, that photographer Jules, couple others. I couldn’t stop her. Said it’s on her authority. What the hell do I do?”
A beat of silence on the line.
Jim’s voice came back low and tight. “Nothing. Don’t touch it. I’m on my way.”
Back in the clustered room, door locked, blinds half-drawn—the group gathered around the table. Lafu spread a clean cloth; Jules set the box down like it was fragile glass.
“Open it,” Diego said, voice tense. “Photos only. We document, we upload, we put it back later.”
Anya gloved up again and lifted the lid with careful fingers.
Inside the box was not a personal diary or handwritten notes, nothing that would raise immediate red flags about privacy or why it hadn’t been returned to family. Instead, it was a small collection of seemingly mundane work-related items that had been quietly “archived” after Celeste’s death, likely to keep them out of circulation without drawing attention.
\- A sealed manila envelope labeled “Celeste Rey – Final Campaign Rider & NDAs” (standard-looking contract paperwork).
\- A company-issued USB drive in a plastic evidence bag, marked “Rey – Raw Files 2024”.
\- A thin folder of printed emails and booking confirmations.
\- A single SD card in a small case labeled “Private Shoot – Offshore – Do Not Duplicate”.
No obviously personal journal. Everything looked like legitimate agency property that could plausibly be retained for “business records” or “ongoing review” after a high-profile talent’s sudden death, especially in a company trying to avoid scandal.
Diego let out a low breath. “Smart. If anyone asked, they could say it was work files, not personal effects. Easier to justify keeping it locked away.”
Jules pulled out the folder first, spreading the printed emails on the cloth.
They were booking confirmations for three “private executive retreats” over the last eight months, dates, luxury yacht names, private islands in the Caribbean, no client listed, just “VIP sponsor event – attendance required.” Each confirmation ended with the same line: “Non-attendance will result in immediate suspension of all future campaign commitments.”
Anya’s eyes narrowed. “These aren’t photoshoots. No crew listed, no stylist, no location scout, just ‘travel provided’ and ‘discretion expected.’”
Stacy photographed every page. “Look at the sign-off—always the same assistant from Jim’s office. And Celeste’s digital signature is on all of them. She agreed… or was made to.”
Marco flipped to the last email, dated four days before her death:
“Reminder: Final retreat this weekend. Attendance mandatory for contract renewal. Transportation arranged. Please confirm.”
Below it, Celeste’s reply: a single word.
“Confirmed.”
Leitana stared at the screen captures, a chill running through her. “She no want go… but she have to. Dey force her.”
Diego ejected the USB drive carefully. “This could have raw footage or backups. Offshore shoots sometimes record everything for ‘security’ or leverage.”
Jules held up the SD card. “And this ‘Private Shoot – Offshore.’ If it’s video or photos from one of those retreats…”
Lafu’s voice was quiet. “We don’t open these here. Too risky. We take photos of the paper trail—that’s enough to start tracing dates against travel logs and sponsor lists. The digital stuff… we get it to someone trusted outside the company.”
Leitana nodded slowly, eyes still on the emails. “She lead mi here for dis. Not words she write… but proof dey hide. Proof she no free.”
The group exchanged grim looks.
This wasn’t a smoking gun yet.
But it was a map, dates, locations, mandatory “events” with unnamed VIPs, and a pattern of coercion disguised as contract obligations.
Enough to start pulling threads.
Enough to make powerful people very nervous.
Marco zipped the photos into their encrypted folder. “We’ve got coordinates now. We follow where these ‘retreats’ lead.”
Leitana closed the box gently, as if laying something to rest.
“Mi tell Ravial tonight,” she said quietly. “We find truth for Celeste… together.”
The room felt heavier and more determined than when they’d entered.
They had the first real breadcrumb trail.
And the hunt had truly begun.