THE BILLIONAIRE'S FIANCÉE MOCKED A WAITRESS'S LITTLE GIRL AT HIS GALA—THEN HER BALLET DANCE EXPOSED THE SECRET THEY BURIED

Chapter 16 - The Question Celeste Could Not Answer

A year after the gala, Celeste agreed to participate in a formal interview as part of the remaining civil investigation. Her legal advisers had negotiated the terms. I did not attend; Rebecca later shared only information relevant to my own case.

Celeste acknowledged that she'd authorized aggressive inquiries into Lydia's finances and had approved efforts to discredit Lydia's complaints to Adrian. She disputed any connection to the crash. She also acknowledged giving false impressions about how many scholarships had been awarded.

For months I had wanted someone to ask why she'd targeted a seven-year-old girl who had merely wandered into a ballroom. At last the question was put to her in a recorded deposition.

“Why did you single out Sophie Ellis?”

According to the transcript, Celeste paused before answering.

“She reminded me of Lydia,” she said.

I read the words twice. Then I sat very still.

Celeste added that she'd seen the child moving to the music and feared that people would connect the steps to Lydia's unpublished work. She wanted the interruption to end before Adrian noticed.

So she'd shamed a child to protect herself from a memory.

That explanation didn't excuse anything. But it made the ballroom scene suddenly comprehensible in a way it hadn't been before: Celeste had been afraid of a little girl who knew a dance.

Adrian read the transcript separately. He called afterward and asked whether Sophie should be told. I discussed it with her counselor, who recommended focusing on what Sophie needed rather than sharing every adult motive.

I chose to tell her only that the grown-up had behaved badly because of her own problems, not because Sophie lacked talent or worth.

Sophie thought about it. “So she was scared?”

“Maybe.”

“Scared people still shouldn't hurt other people.”

“That's right.”

She went back to her homework. Children can sometimes reach the heart of a moral question faster than adults with attorneys.

I filed the deposition in the same box as Lydia's notebook and realized I no longer wanted to open it every night. I had carried it like a wound for years. Now it could become part of an archive, available when it mattered, without occupying every hour of my life.

At bedtime, Sophie asked to wear the pale-blue dress from the gala to a friend's birthday party. I hesitated, remembering her tears.

“Are you sure?”