Chapter 11 Facing the Past
Nick Malone
It had taken hours to track down the location—an off-the-record family property buried in layers of shell corporations. The more Nick dug, the clearer it became: this place wasn’t just forgotten—it was meant to stay hidden. Raven Crest Manor.
The drive to the house stretched on, feeling longer than it should have.
Nick kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near his holster, his instincts dialed high despite the quiet stretch of road ahead. Celeste sat beside him, her posture tense, her fingers continuously twirling the small, nondescript key in her lap.
Outside, the scenery shifted from the steel-and-glass skyline of New York to the more open, sprawling landscapes of upstate.
The further they got from the city, the wider the spaces became—rolling hills, patches of thick forest, and winding roads that cut through sleepy little towns where old diners and gas stations stood frozen in time.
Celeste finally pulling her gaze from the key to glance out the window. “I don’t even remember the last time I left the city for something other than business.”
Nick arched a brow, keeping his eyes on the road. “That a good thing or a bad thing?”
She hesitated before answering. “Depends.”
“On?”
Her lips now in a small, knowing smile. “On whether this trip ends in a murder investigation or a quiet weekend getaway.”
Nick huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Hell of an optimist, aren’t you?”
She turned in her seat to face him, studying him with a look that was too perceptive for his comfort. “You’re quieter than usual.”
Nick adjusted his grip on the wheel, not bothering to deny it. “Long drive.”
“Not that long,” she countered. “But long enough for me to notice you’ve barely said a word since we left.”
Nick keeping his focus forward. The truth was, his mind was tangled with too many thoughts—about her, about what they were walking into, about the damn message that had him questioning things he wasn’t sure he wanted to question.
He shot a quick a glance at her. “Just thinking.”
She raised a brow. “That’s never a good sign.”
“Cute.”
Celeste smirked, clearly pleased with herself. But it faded after a moment, replaced by something more subdued. She turned back to the window, watching the trees blur past. “This place… if my father really did own it, why do I have no memory of it?”
Nick considered that, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Maybe it wasn’t a place he wanted anyone to know about.”
Celeste exhaled sharply. “That’s what worries me.”
For a while, they let the silence settle between them, only the rhythmic hum of the tires on pavement filling the space.
The deeper they drove, the more isolated the road became.
Streetlights were fewer and farther between, and the landscape grew wilder—tall, skeletal trees stretching toward an overcast sky, their bare branches casting eerie shadows across the cracked asphalt.
Nick’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Not much out here.”
Celeste frowned, her fingers toying with the key again. “Feels like the kind of place people go to disappear.”
He nodded, eyes scanning the long, empty stretch ahead. “Yeah. And the kind of place where no one hears you scream.”
She shot him a flat look. “Really? You’re gonna say that while I’m already on edge?”
Nick smirked. “Just setting expectations.”
Celeste groaned, shaking her head, but there was amusement behind her exasperation. It was a welcome break in the tension—a moment of levity in the weight of everything else.
But as they rounded the last turn, and the house finally came into view, that brief moment of ease vanished.
Celeste let out a slow breath, shifting in her seat. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Nick followed her gaze.
Up ahead, the house stood like a relic of a past that refused to die. Stone walls, ivy creeping up the sides, massive windows shrouded in darkness. It was the kind of place that belonged in another era, far removed from the polished world of Manhattan high society.
It was isolated. Secluded.
And far too quiet.
Nick slowed the car, scanning the area. No movement. No signs of security. But that didn’t mean they were alone.
Sabre let out a soft chuff from the backseat, his ears pricked forward, sensing the tension in the air.
Nick’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Stay close. If anything feels off, we’re out.”
Celeste nodded, gripping the key tighter. “Let’s do this.”
***
Inside, the house felt like it had been frozen in time.
The air was stale, carrying the faint scent of dust and aged wood. Furniture sat perfectly in place, untouched by time. A large grandfather clock ticked in the foyer, its steady rhythm the only sound breaking the silence.
Celeste wrapped her arms around herself. “I remember this place.”
Nick moved carefully, his eyes sweeping the space. “You came here before?”
She hesitated, “We came here when I was really little—just once, for a summer vacation.” Her voice was softer now, laced with the kind of nostalgia that didn’t quite feel comforting.
“I don’t remember much, just flashes—running through the backyard, the smell of lake water, my mother wearing a wide-brimmed hat while sipping wine on the porch.
” She swallowed, fingers tightening around the key.
“My father’s business partner was here too. Him and his wife.”
Nick turned facing Celeste. “Bastien Laurent?”
Celeste exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t know.
I didn’t know his name then. But I remember how my mother always seemed tense around them, like she was keeping a secret she didn’t want slipping out.
” She finally looked at Nick, uncertainty prevalent behind her eyes.
“I haven’t thought about that trip in years. Until now.”
They moved deeper into the house, checking each room. Most of them were pristine, untouched. But the study—the one at the end of the hall—was different.
It felt… lived in.
Papers were stacked on the desk. A faint whiskey glass ring stained the wood.
And then there was the bookshelf.
Nick’s instincts flared as he studied it. It looked normal—floor-to-ceiling, packed with aged books—but something felt off. Too staged. Too deliberate.
Sabre padded closer, sniffing near the base. His posture shifted, his ears flattening slightly.
Nick crouched beside him, pressing a hand against the lowest shelf. Solid. But when he moved his fingers along the edge—click.
A soft mechanical whir sounded from inside the wall.
Celeste’s breath hitched. “What was that?”
Nick pressed again. This time, the entire shelf shifted inward. A small gap formed—a hidden seam in the wood.
Without hesitation, Nick braced his hands against the edges and pushed.
The entire bookshelf swung open with a faint groan of old hinges.
Beyond it—a secret room.
***
Nick led the way, his gun drawn as they stepped inside.
The room was small but deliberate—like it had been designed for secrecy. A massive steel desk dominated the center, covered in files, records, ledgers. A dusty surveillance system sat in the corner, its screens blank but still powered.
Celeste stepped forward, staring at the desk. “Did my father used this place.”
Nick nodded, scanning the contents. He flipped open a thick manila folder. Bank records. Offshore accounts. Shady transactions hidden under layers of shell companies.
Nick assessing the space. “This isn’t just business.”
Celeste picked up another document—one stamped with an official seal. Her hands trembled slightly as she read it.
“Nick…” She swallowed hard. “This… this is money laundering.”
Nick’s stomach tightened. The Bellerose name was tied to this.
And it got worse.
Among the papers was a single birth certificate. Old, faded, tucked beneath a stack of financial records.
Celeste frowned, lifting it carefully. “This doesn’t make sense.”
Nick peered over her shoulder. The name on the document sent a chill down his spine.
Juliette Bellerose.
Only… the father listed wasn’t August Bellerose.
“Bastien Laurent.” Nick’s voice filled with surprise.
The air in the hidden room was thick with dust and secrets long buried.
Celeste stood beside Nick, her fingers gripping the edge of the old wooden desk, her breath slow and measured. The discovery of Juliette’s birth certificate, the hidden documents, the faint whispers of a past she hadn’t fully understood until now—it was all too much.
Nick scanned the room, his sharp gaze sweeping over the aging files, the stacks of yellowed paper tucked into shelves that had been untouched for years. The bookshelves had concealed this place well, but someone had been here before them.
Recently.
Sabre’s ears on alert.
Nick felt it before he saw it.
A shift in the air.
Then—a shadow.
A figure loomed just on the other side of the hidden bookshelf door, barely visible through the slight gap where the panel hadn’t fully closed.
Nick’s body reacted instantly. His hand shot to his gun, his instincts screaming at him.
Sabre growled—a deep, bone-rattling sound that cut through the stillness like a blade. Warning. Threat detected.
The shadow moved. Fast.
Nick barked a command. “Sabre—go!”
The Belgian Malinois launched forward, his powerful frame slamming against the hidden door, forcing it open with a sharp creak.
Nick was right behind him, his gun raised as the figure bolted.
“Stop!” Nick’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tense air.
But the man didn’t stop.
He twisted, darting through the study, knocking over a chair in his desperation to escape. His dark clothing blended with the shadows, his movements quick and frantic.
Nick didn’t hesitate.
He took off after him.
Celeste gasped behind them, but Nick didn’t turn back. Sabre was in pursuit, hot on the man’s heels.
The intruder crashed through the side door leading out to the back of the house. The second his boots hit the damp earth of the overgrown garden, he broke into a full sprint.
But Sabre was faster.
Nick barely had time to issue the order before Sabre lunged.
The dog’s powerful muscles coiled and sprang, launching him through the air.
The man barely made it ten feet into the woods before Sabre slammed into him, taking him down hard.
A grunt. A curse. A sickening thud as the intruder’s body collided with the ground, pinned beneath 75 pounds of trained, relentless muscle.
Nick reached them in seconds, his gun trained on the man’s head.
Sabre had his teeth bared at the man’s throat, snarling, his grip tight on the intruder’s jacket. Not drawing blood—yet.
Nick’s voice was ice. “Don’t. Move.”
The man lay still, his chest heaving, his face twisted in pain.
Nick crouched, his gaze dark. “Who the hell are you?”
The man grimaced, coughing. Then, slowly, he turned his head—his hood slipping back to reveal a lined, weathered face.
Mid-fifties. Sharp blue eyes. A scar along his cheek.
Nick’s stomach clenched.
Not a random intruder. Someone connected.
Celeste’s voice was shaky as she finally caught up, her breath uneven. “Nick?”
Nick didn’t look away. “You know him?”
Celeste swallowed, her eyes locked on the man.
“I don’t know his name,” she murmured, her pulse hammering. “But I’ve seen him before.”
The man replied with great difficulty. “And I’ve seen you.”
Nick’s grip on his gun tightened. “Then you better start talking.”
The man’s gaze turned to Celeste. “I’m the caretaker.”
Nick let out a cold laugh. “Of what?”
The man’s lips pressed together. “This house.”
Celeste sucked in a sharp breath.
Nick’s voice was dangerously calm. “Liar. Who sent you?”
The man hesitated. Then—
“Bastien Laurent.”
The silence was deafening.
Celeste went rigid.
Nick’s gun didn’t lower, but his mind was already working through the implications.
Bastien Laurent was alive.
Celeste’s voice was barely a whisper. “That’s not possible.”
The man’s expression didn’t waver. “Yet, here I am.”
Celeste’s fingers curled into fists. “Where is he?”
The man exhaled slowly. “France.”
Nick clenched his jaw. “Why?”
The man hesitated. Then, his voice dropped lower.
“To avoid prosecution.”
Celeste flinched.
Nick’s mind was already firing on all cylinders. If Laurent was hiding out in France, it meant one thing—whatever the Bellerose family had been involved in was bigger than they realized.
Celeste’s voice was barely a whisper. “What did my father do?”
The man’s gaze turned to Nick. “You already know, don’t you… Nick?”
Nick clenched his jaw.
Because he did.
Money laundering. Fraud. Maybe even worse.
And now, they had proof that Bastien Laurent had been tied up in all of it.
Nick exhaled sharply. “You’re coming with us.”
The man tensed, but Nick shook his head. “Relax. You’re not under arrest. Yet.”
The caretaker swallowed. “Where are we going?”
Nick’s expression was hard. “Somewhere quiet. And then you’re going to tell us everything.”
Celeste stood frozen, staring at the man like she was seeing her entire past in a new light.
Nick turned to her, his voice steady. “Are you coming?”
Celeste nodded, her voice hollow. “Yes, umm… yes!”
But Nick saw it in her eyes.
Nothing about this was okay.
And it never would be again.