Chapter250 Clifton Is Missing
The window on the other side came down.
Celeste's face appeared. She looked Miranda up and down with a slow, deliberate smirk.
"Oh, now you're being polite to me?" she said. "What is this?"
She leaned forward slightly.
"Let me be very clear, Miranda. It won't be long before you're out of this family for good. And when that happens, you won't even rate a goodbye."
As she spoke, something around her neck caught the fading sunlight and threw off a brief, sharp glint. Miranda's eyes dropped instinctively to avoid it.
Celeste's words landed without effect.
Miranda's expression didn't shift. Her chin stayed level. The ghost of a smile stayed exactly where it was.
Celeste made a sound of contempt, hit the gas, and peeled through the gate with a screech of tires.
Miranda watched the red car disappear around the curve of the driveway.
Then she pulled in quietly after it.
But as the window slid back up and the evening air cut off, something uncomfortable settled in her chest. Heavier than before.
This morning she had seen Celeste leaving the estate, moving fast and looking rattled.
Tonight, she had come back completely different. Confident. Almost smug.
That kind of shift didn't happen for no reason.
Miranda parked, skipped dinner, and went straight upstairs.
Back in her room, she called Mia.
"The Celeste investigation. Where are we?"
Mia's reply came without hesitation.
"Still in progress. Whoever she used as a middleman buried themselves well. We're working through it."
"Did anything happen with her today? Anything off?"
"One thing." Mia paused briefly. "Our people tracked her to a private members' club. Off the main roads, hard to find. She met with a man there. We're still working on identifying him."
Another pause.
"That was the only notable contact. After that, nothing unusual."
"Understood." Miranda stared at nothing for a moment. Then: "Has Clifton reached out to you at all?"
Silence.
"No, ma'am. When Boss is in the field, he cuts all outside communication as a standard precaution. He's the one who initiates contact once the job is done."
"Got it. Thanks."
She ended the call.
The room felt too quiet.
She sank into the sofa and sat there without moving, the phone loose in her hand.
She couldn't shake the image of Celeste's face at the gate tonight. That kind of certainty didn't come from nothing. Something had happened. Something Miranda didn't know about yet. And whatever it was, it wasn't good.
She opened her chat history with Clifton.
The last message was from several days ago.
She ran her thumb slowly over the screen, not pressing anything. Just holding it.
Eventually she set the phone down, showered, and got into bed.
The hot water had done nothing. Her mind was still running.
Outside, clouds had moved in and swallowed the moon. The night pressed against the windows, gray and heavy.
She checked the time. Past one in the morning.
She'd been lying there for two hours.
She threw the covers over her head, which made it worse. The dark closed in and amplified everything she was trying not to think about.
She was on her feet before she'd made a conscious decision.
She slipped out of the room quietly and didn't come back for the better part of an hour.
When she finally lay back down, sleep came quickly.
It didn't last.
Sharp, hurried footsteps in the corridor outside pulled her back out before six in the morning.
Miranda sat up, frowning. The staff at Prescott Estate moved like ghosts. Whatever had set them running at this hour was not routine.
She dressed quickly and went downstairs.
The atmosphere in the main living room was wrong the moment she walked in.
Prescott was seated in his usual chair at the head of the room. Celeste sat beside him, unnaturally still, her head down.
Across from them stood four men in black suits. Their faces were unfamiliar. Their posture was not the posture of people who delivered good news.
Miranda's stomach dropped.
Prescott saw her come down the stairs and gestured for her to join him.
She crossed the room and took the seat beside him, keeping her expression neutral.
She looked at the men again.
Prescott drew a slow breath and steadied himself.
"Go ahead," he said.
The man at the center stepped forward slightly. His voice was flat and precise.
"We received confirmation several days ago. Clifton went overboard at sea. His current status is unknown."
The words hit Miranda like a physical impact.
Her ears rang. The room went distant. Everything seemed to slow down and pull away from her at once.
Beside her, Prescott's reaction was immediate and violent.
His body lurched backward into the sofa, one hand flying to his chest. The color left his face all at once. Veins stood out at his temple. His lips went pale and his breathing turned ragged, the sound in his throat barely human.
"Grandfather!"
Miranda's hands were already moving before the word left her mouth. She reached into his jacket pocket and found the small medication bottle. Shook two pills into her palm. Got them into his mouth.
Every movement was automatic. Mechanical.
Because the rest of her was still standing somewhere out at sea, in the dark, with the words she had just heard playing on a loop inside her skull.
Went overboard. Status unknown.