Chapter 164: Beatrice’s Private Satisfaction

Beatrice Whitmore closed the door to her study with deliberate care, the soft click sealing the room from the rest of Celestine Heights. Morning light filtered through tall windows veiled in sheer linen, diffused enough to soften edges without erasing them. This room had been designed for thinking. For remembering.

She moved to the desk without summoning staff.

That alone marked the day as unusual.

The leather chair waited where it always had. The blotter lay perfectly centered. Nothing in the room had shifted in decades, because Beatrice did not allow drift. She sat, folded her hands once, then reached for the lower drawer she rarely opened.

The key was already in her pocket.

Inside lay a narrow stack of documents bound in faded ribbon.