Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ella
Marie approached as I adjusted the final placement of a banner in the museum lobby. Her quick footfalls echoed throughout the hall, and when I turned, her tense expression caught me off guard. Marie was usually warm, but her lips were pressed together today as if she were bracing for bad news.
“Ella,” she said, her tone subdued, “can we have lunch today? Somewhere private?”
I paused, narrowing my eyes. “Private? What’s going on?”
She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the empty lobby. “Marshall needs to talk to you,” she said quietly.
My breath caught. Marshall, Marie’s husband, was a measured, no-nonsense man who didn’t make casual requests. “What about?”
Marie shifted her weight. “He didn’t say. Just that it’s important, and we shouldn’t be overheard.”
A heavy unease settled in my chest. “Marie, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?”
She held up a hand. “I swear, I don’t know. I’m just the messenger. But trust me, it’s something you need to hear.”
Her urgency chipped at my reluctance. Marie wouldn’t be acting like this if it wasn’t serious. Still, I hated being blindsided. “Fine,” I said. “Let me grab my purse.”
“Thank you,” Maria said softly. “And I promise, this isn’t about some fundraiser. It’s bigger than that.”
I rolled my eyes out of habit, but the weight in her tone left no room for humor. When I returned, Marie was already by the exit, keys in hand.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I slid into the passenger seat and fastened my seatbelt.
Marie pulled out of the lot, her gaze fixed ahead. “It’s a surprise,” she said cryptically. “But it’s quiet. No one will bother us there.”
Her vagueness made the knot in my stomach tighten. Marie wasn’t one to play coy. Whatever Marshall had to say, it was something she wasn’t comfortable discussing at work. As she navigated through town, the air between us felt heavy with unspoken tension. I stayed quiet, my curiosity and apprehension battling for dominance.
When we pulled into a quiet park, my nerves were frayed. Marshall’s sedan was already there, parked a few spots away.
Marie turned to me. “He’s waiting.”
“Right,” I murmured, taking a deep breath.
Marshall greeted me with an apologetic look, his eyes scanning the park. “Let’s get something to eat first,” he said, motioning to the food truck. “Then we’ll talk.”
I followed him, ordering a sandwich I knew I wouldn’t eat. As we sat at a picnic table, Marshall folded his hands and leaned forward. “I’m sorry to drag you out here, but I couldn’t talk at the museum—or anywhere in town.”
“Just tell me,” I said, pulse hammering.
He hesitated before lowering his voice. “The district attorney is convening a grand jury. They’re investigating Alistair Devereux—Lucas’s father—for trafficking stolen art. It’ll be public soon.”
I didn’t flinch. I’d suspected something was buried in the Devereux family, but hearing it confirmed jolted me. My father’s warning and the whispers between Lucas and his mother made sense now.
Marshall studied me, expecting a shocked look. Instead, I asked, “The evidence?”
“It’s strong,” he admitted. “They don’t convene a grand jury unless they’re confident. From what I’ve seen, it’s damning.”
A heavy silence settled between us. My mind raced with questions. What did this mean for Lucas? For me?
“And Lucas?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Marshall hesitated, making my pulse quicken. “His name hasn’t come up—yet. But his connection to his father will raise questions. Investigators are thorough. If they dig deep enough, they’ll look at everyone tied to the Devereux name.”
His gaze met mine, steady. “That includes you.”
The air left my lungs in one sharp exhale. “Me?”
“You’re close to Lucas. That means scrutiny, whether you’re involved or not.”
The word twisted in my mind. Marshall was talking about collateral damage, the fallout that didn’t care who was guilty. And then there was Bess.
“You’re essentially Bess’s mother now,” Marshall said gently. “You have to think about what this means for her. If this investigation escalates…”
He didn’t need to finish. The implication was clear. Bess had already lost so much—I’d fought to give her stability. I couldn’t let anything threaten that.
“I knew there were complications,” I said carefully. “Lucas has always said he and his father are nothing alike. But I didn’t realize…” I trailed off. I didn’t realize how deep it ran. Or how dangerous it was.
Marshall nodded. “I’m not here to tell you what to do. But you deserve to make informed decisions.”
The sandwich before me sat untouched, and the smell of grilled bread and cheese was now nauseating. I pushed it aside and looked up at Marshall. “Thank you for telling me,” I said, though the words felt hollow under the weight of everything else.
He gave me a slight, solemn nod and stood. “If it gets out that I warned you, I could lose my job. Don’t mention this conversation to anyone until the news becomes public.”
He kissed Maria on the cheek before walking away; the tension in my chest remained as I swallowed hard. Marie approached hesitantly, her brows knitted with concern. “Ella?” she asked softly.
I shook my head, blinking back tears I hadn’t realized were forming. “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “Let’s just go.”
Marie didn’t push, and I was grateful for it. We left the park in silence, but my mind was anything but quiet. The grand jury, the investigation, the scrutiny—it all loomed like a dark storm cloud on the horizon.
And Lucas. He hadn’t lied to me, not exactly, but he also hadn’t told me the full truth. I couldn’t help but wonder—how much did he know? How much had he kept from me? And what would happen when the storm finally hit?
When we returned to the museum, the air between Marie and me was thick with unspoken tension. She parked in her usual spot, cut the engine, and glanced at me with an expression that was equal parts concern and curiosity. I didn’t give her the chance to say anything.
“I need to get back to work,” I said, grabbing my bag and stepping out of the car before she could argue.
“I understand,” Marie whispered, touching my hand.
Soon, I found myself in the east wing, where we were finalizing the layout for the Chagall exhibit. The vibrant colors of the artwork seemed almost mocking now, a stark contrast to the heavy cloud of uncertainty hanging over me. I picked up a clipboard and stared at it, pretending to read, though the words blurred together.
“Ella?” Marie’s voice broke through my daze. I turned to see her standing a few feet away, holding a stack of promotional materials for the exhibit. “Are you okay?”
I forced a small smile. “I’m fine,” I said, the lie slipping out too easily. “Just a lot on my mind.”
Marie hesitated, clearly debating whether to press me further. After a moment, she nodded. “If you need to talk…”
“I know,” I said quickly, cutting her off. “Thank you.”
She lingered briefly before heading back to the front office, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I set the clipboard down and ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. The weight of everything Marshall had told me pressed down harder now that I was back in the world of normalcy, where grand juries and stolen art felt like something out of a crime novel—not my life.
But it was my life. And somehow, I had to figure out how to navigate it without losing myself—or Bess—in the process.
The museum quieted as the day wore on, the staff slowly trickling out until I was one of the last ones left. The silence should have been calming, but it only amplified the storm brewing in my mind.
I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen. My thumb hovered over Lucas’s contact, the urge to call him overwhelming. I wanted answers. I wanted to know how much he knew about the investigation, about his father’s dealings. But then I realized any discussion with him might jeopardize Marshall, who was nice enough to warn me.
My hand dropped to my side, the phone still clutched tightly. I couldn’t call him. Not yet. Not until I had some semblance of clarity about what I wanted—what I needed—or the investigation blew up in the media.
The sound of a door closing in the distance broke the silence, pulling me back to the present. I slipped my phone back into my bag and turned toward the exit. It was time to go home to figure out how to move forward.
As I locked the museum doors behind me, the day loomed heavy on my mind. The revelations from Marshall weren’t going to disappear overnight, and neither were the questions they raised. But for now, I could only take it one step at a time.
And hope the storm brewing on the horizon didn’t swallow me whole.