Chapter 11—Christa #2
He leans forward in his chair. “I saw them at Bellweather Wednesday. Walter Grayson and the people with him also believed Charla was Christa. Tate knew, and Charla played along.”
Celeste turns back to me. “They’re having an affair.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Charla wouldn’t tell Simon.” I hold her gaze. “Eleven weeks tells us it started before I told Charla I was thinking about leaving Tate.”
Celeste gets up and walks toward the cabinet along the far wall. She puts her purse down on top of it and stares at the wood grain for several seconds.
“You filed before you knew about them?”
“Yes. I filed Monday. I’ve been unhappy for months. Simon found out about Charla on Wednesday.”
She turns toward Simon. “You came here and told her?”
“Immediately.”
That answer seems to matter to her. She looks at me again, then rubs both palms over the sides of her skirt. “Tuesday... Mom called me Tuesday night. She was so happy. She said you and Tate had come over and told them it was a boy.”
“Charla and Tate went over.”
Celeste gives a disbelieving shake of her head. “I thought you knew Saturday.”
I don’t have to ask what she means.
“After Mom called, I went back over that dinner in my head.” Celeste comes away from the cabinet. “I thought you were already pregnant and didn’t want to tell anyone yet. I thought that’s why Tate kept trying to stop Dad when he started talking about fertility.”
The cruelty of the misunderstanding makes my throat ache. “He knew Charla was pregnant. He knew she was carrying a boy while your father was blaming me for not producing one.”
Celeste closes her eyes. For several seconds, nobody speaks. Jai doesn’t rush her, and Simon stays in his chair.
When Celeste opens her eyes again, they’re bright with anger. “He let me defend him afterward. I called him Sunday and told him Dad was out of line, and he needed to shut that down the next time. Tate told me he had it handled.”
I can imagine him saying exactly that. “He did have a plan. Just not the one you thought. His plan involves the trust.”
Celeste returns to the chair, but she doesn’t settle into it. “Explain.”
Jai opens the folder. “Tate is the male heir of his generation, but his right to provisional voting control isn’t triggered until there’s a qualifying pregnancy with his son. Certification can’t occur before fourteen completed weeks.”
Celeste looks at me.
“Charla is eleven weeks,” I say. “There’s something else you don’t know. After Tate was served Monday, he asked me to hold off for thirty days. He said he wanted a chance to fix our marriage.”
Celeste’s brow furrows. “Thirty days?”
“Exactly thirty.”
She works through the dates before looking back at me. “That gets Charla past fourteen weeks.”
“With enough time for the certification paperwork,” Jai says.
Celeste sits back. “He wasn’t asking you to reconsider because he wanted you back.”
“He needed me to remain his wife and keep quiet long enough to make his plan work.”
Anger flashes across Celeste’s face. “The qualifying pregnancy has to be his wife’s.”
Jai nods. “The child has to qualify through Tate’s lawful marital line. The certification identifies the pregnant spouse.”
Celeste glances toward the hallway before looking back at me. “That’s why Charla is pretending to be you.”
“Yes.”
“She agreed to all of this.”
“Yes.”
Celeste presses her fingers against her forehead before dropping her hand. “What do you need from me?”
Jai slides the folder toward her. “You have standing as a beneficiary whose interests are affected by the transfer. If you challenge the certification, the trustees can pause it while they verify whether the requirements are satisfied.”
Celeste looks down at the highlighted page. “Including whether Charla is really Christa.”
“Yes. Once the false identity is challenged, the trustees have procedures for verifying every qualification attached to the certification.”
That’s enough. Tate and Charla have already given us a legitimate reason to challenge the certification without needing another one.
Celeste closes the folder. “Then why do you need me?”
“You make the challenge stronger because your own trust interests are affected,” Jai says. “I also want you to have independent advice before you decide whether to participate. Your interests overlap with Christa’s, but they’re still yours.”
Jai gives her the name of an independent trust attorney. Celeste takes the card. “I’ll call.”
“You don’t need to decide tonight.”
Celeste looks at her for a long moment, then down at the folder.
“My four daughters have spent their whole lives hearing about Tate’s future son.
Every Christmas, every family event, Dad finds some way to mention lineage or continuity.
Tate always laughed it off because it benefited him.
I kept telling myself the trust was an antique nobody had bothered to fix, and it didn’t mean my girls mattered less. ”
I reach across the space between us and take her hand.
Celeste squeezes mine. “Saturday, he let Dad humiliate you over the same thing. Three days later, he took another woman to my parents and pretended she’d solved the problem.”
“Yes.”
She looks down at our joined hands before meeting my gaze. “I’ll talk to the attorney. If she tells me Jai is right about my standing, I’m challenging him.”
I exhale raggedly. “You don’t have to do this for me.”
“I’m not only doing it for you.” Her expression hardens. “He doesn’t get rewarded for this.”
Jai nods once. “Until you have advice, don’t tell Tate, your parents, or the trustees what you know.”
“I won’t.” Celeste releases my hand and looks toward Simon. “Why did you tell Christa?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Because she deserved to know.”
She studies him. “That’s all?”
Simon glances at me. “No. I care about her.”
Celeste’s attention shifts between us.
I save everyone several minutes. “Simon and I are seeing each other.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Since when?”
“Last night.”
The first hint of amusement I’ve seen since she arrived touches her face. “Oh.”
“That’s all you get.”
“I didn’t ask anything else.”
“You were going to.”
She smiles. “Probably.”
Simon laughs and stands. “I’ll give you three some privacy.”
Celeste stops him at the doorway. “Simon?”
He turns.
“Thank you for telling her.”
His expression sobers. “She should never have needed me to.”
“No.” Celeste looks at me. “She shouldn’t.”
After he leaves, she slips the attorney’s card and folder into her purse. Her movements are slower now, the first rush of shock burning down into something colder.
At the front door, she hugs me before I can reach the lock. “I’m sorry,” she says against my hair.
“You didn’t do any of it.”
“I know.” She steps back and wipes beneath one eye. “I’m still sorry.”
I sniffle and unlock the door.
Celeste steps outside, then turns back. “Don’t tell Tate I know.”
“I won’t.”
“He thinks I stay out of trust business because I hate fighting with Dad.” Her mouth curves slightly. “Let him keep thinking that.”
Jai comes up behind me. “That’s useful.”
Celeste nods. “Good.”
I watch her drive away before locking the studio again.
Tuesday, Tate used my sister to convince his parents his plan was working. Friday, his own sister agreed to help me stop it.
There’s symmetry in that, but the whole situation is still too painful to appreciate it.