Chapter 7 - Selene March Finally Admitted Who Sent My Mother Toward the Broken Stairs—But the Evidence Hidden in Roman's Family Records Put Our Unborn Baby in Danger

Conrad Pike's statement arrived on a Thursday morning.

I remember the day because it was raining, and because Roman had made me breakfast without burning anything.

He was proud of the achievement.

I had just told him the eggs were edible when Miriam called.

“Pike has given a detailed statement,” she said. “I want you to hear it from me before you see the headlines.”

I set down my fork.

“What did he say?”

“He confirmed that his company inspected the north stairwell on the morning your mother died.”

My heart began to pound.

“Did they find something?”

“Yes. A loose metal edge on the landing and a damaged handrail.”

I closed my eyes.

“Did they fix it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Miriam paused.

“Pike says Peter March instructed him to leave the repair until after a private event. He claims he warned Peter that the stairwell should be closed.”

I stared at the rain sliding down the window.

“And it wasn't.”

“No.”

“Did Pike say anyone wanted Mom hurt?”

“He says he did not hear anyone order an attack. He says he was told the stairwell would be kept out of use.”

I thought of Thomas Reed, ordered by Selene to lock the second-floor door. Of my mother taking the stairs down because she couldn't use that exit.

Someone had controlled which way she could go.

I gripped the edge of the table.

“Who told Selene to lock the door?”

“That's the question investigators are asking.”

***

Roman drove me to Miriam's office.

He didn't try to distract me. He didn't tell me everything would be fine.

He simply asked whether I wanted music.

“No.”

He turned it off.

At a red light, he reached for my hand.

I held on.

***

Miriam had arranged a meeting with a representative of the investigative team. They explained that the hotel incident was being reviewed alongside the warehouse fire, but the two cases remained separate.

The warehouse evidence was stronger.

Voss's records, Daniel's recording, the prewritten accident statement, and Pike's account supported the possibility that people had planned to destroy records before the fire. The changed shift schedule remained under examination.

The hotel evidence showed known safety hazards, a disputed maintenance record, and people who had been warned.

It did not yet prove intentional homicide.

I hated the uncertainty.

But I understood why it mattered.

My mother deserved truth, not a story assembled to satisfy my grief.

***

Selene requested to speak through her lawyer that afternoon.

Miriam asked whether I wanted to attend.

I thought about the service corridor.

The thimble hitting the marble.

My hand over my stomach.

Roman kneeling in front of me while Selene stared at him in disbelief.

“I want to hear her,” I said. “But I don't want to be alone with her.”

Miriam nodded.

“Then you won't be.”

***

Selene entered the room without diamonds.

She wore a plain navy dress and carried a tissue she kept folding into smaller squares. For the first time since I'd known her, she looked young.

She sat across from me.

“Nora,” she said.

I waited.

“I was wrong to hit you.”

“Yes.”

“I was wrong to take your necklace.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed.

“I was jealous. I thought Julian still wanted you. I didn't know Roman was the father of your baby.”

I looked at her.

“None of that made it acceptable.”

“I know.”

Her voice shook.

“I didn't come to ask you to forgive me.”

“Then why are you here?”

She looked at Miriam.

“Because my father told me to lock the stairwell.”

The room went silent.

***

Selene described the day my mother died.

Peter had called her into his office that morning. He was furious because Mara Bellamy had contacted an attorney and threatened to release records about the warehouse fire.

“He said she was trying to destroy the family,” Selene whispered.

“What did he ask you to do?” Miriam asked.

“He told me to keep the second-floor service door locked during the afternoon event. He said Mara would be forced to use the main elevator and could be stopped before she left the building.”

“Did he say anything about the damaged stairs?”

Selene shook her head.

“I knew there had been maintenance complaints. I didn't know the repair had been canceled.”

“Did you see Mara that afternoon?”

“Yes.”

I leaned forward.

“Did you speak to her?”

Selene looked at me.

“I told her she couldn't take hotel documents. She said the records were hers and that Daniel had died because people lied.”

My throat tightened.

“What did you say?”

“I told her my father would ruin her if she went public.”

I stared at Selene.

“My mother was already struggling to pay rent. She was grieving. And you threatened her?”

Selene began to cry.

“Yes.”

I felt no satisfaction.

Only a deep, exhausted sadness.

“Did you push her?” I asked.

Selene looked up sharply.

“No.”

“Did Julian?”

“I didn't see anyone push her. Julian was in the alterations room when she left. I was in the executive elevator.”

Miriam asked for times, locations, and any records that might corroborate the account.

Selene answered as carefully as she could.

Then she said something that changed the room.

“My father knew the stairwell was dangerous. I heard him tell Conrad Pike that if Mara insisted on leaving, she could take her chances with the stairs.”

I felt cold.

“Are you certain those were his words?” Miriam asked.

Selene nodded.

“I remember because I asked what he meant. He told me not to worry about it.”

***

After Selene left, I sat in silence.

I had wanted her to be a monster.

It would have been easier.

Instead she was a woman who had chosen cruelty, then cowardice, then finally a fragment of courage.

Her confession did not erase the slap or the years of humiliation.

But it gave investigators a new lead.

Roman sat beside me.

“Are you all right?”

“No.”

He nodded.

“Do you want to go home?”

“Yes.”

***

On the drive, I asked him a question I'd been avoiding.

“Do you think people can change?”

He glanced at me.

“I hope so.”

“Because of Selene?”

“Because of me.”

I looked out at the wet streets.

“I don't know whether I can forgive her.”

“You don't have to.”

“Even if she helps?”

“Helping now doesn't erase what she did.”

I turned toward him.

“Then how do you live with your own past?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“By telling the truth about it. By accepting consequences. By trying to repair what I can. And by knowing some people may never forgive me.”

I reached for his hand.

It wasn't the answer of a man who believed love made him innocent.

It was the answer of a man who was learning to live without excuses.

***

That night, Roman's chief financial officer called.

The external audit had found a series of payments from a Calder subsidiary to the security contractor that employed Conrad Pike.

Some were legitimate invoices for port security.

Others had vague descriptions and approvals that did not match the underlying contracts.

Roman asked for the records to be preserved and reviewed independently.

Then the auditor mentioned an account I recognized.

North Quay Advisory.

Roman stared at the spreadsheet.

“Why is North Quay receiving funds from a company I sold four years ago?”

The auditor explained that a residual account had remained active under an old management agreement. It had been used to route several payments after the sale.

“Who authorized them?” Roman asked.

“The records point to Malcolm Voss's credentials, but some access logs are incomplete.”

Roman closed his eyes.

Another old system.

Another approval trail.

Another place where his name might have been used.

***

The next morning, Elias came to see us.

He brought a file that had been stored in his apartment for three years.

“I should've given this to investigators sooner,” he said.

Roman looked at him.

“What is it?”

“Notes from my own review of the warehouse route. I was afraid if I turned them over, people would say I was trying to destroy the family.”

Roman sat down.

“I made you feel that way.”

“Yes.”

Elias looked at him.

“But I'm done letting that decide what I do.”

He opened the file.

Inside was a list of shipment numbers, contractor payments, and names of employees who had raised concerns.

Daniel Bellamy's name appeared repeatedly.

So did Mara's.

One entry caught my eye.

M. BELLAMY—REQUESTED PROTECTION FOR DAUGHTER.

I stared at it.

“When was that written?”

Elias checked the date.

“Six weeks before your mother's death.”

I looked at Roman.

“She knew they might come after me.”

He nodded slowly.

Elias continued.

“I tried to arrange a safe place for her to stay. She refused to leave without you. Then she stopped returning my calls.”

My chest hurt.

I imagined Mom sitting at her sewing table, trying to decide whether to tell me the truth or keep me ignorant enough to be safe.

She had chosen silence.

And it had cost her the chance to see my child.

***

Miriam arranged for the new records to be delivered to investigators.

Then she called with an update on Julian.

He had agreed to a formal interview through counsel.

He admitted that Peter March had instructed him to approach my mother before he met me. He also acknowledged using my personal information on financial agreements without my authorization.

The authorities were examining those admissions alongside the documents.

I felt a strange relief.

For months, I had carried debts that made me feel ashamed.

Now the person who created them was finally being asked to explain himself.

***

Julian's interview also included an account of the day my mother died.

He said he argued with her in the alterations room.

He said she accused him of helping Peter hide the warehouse payments.

He said she told him she had already sent copies to a lawyer.

Then she walked out.

He denied following her to the stairs.

But he admitted something else.

Peter had told him that Mara would be “stopped before she got out of the building.”

I stared at the transcript.

“What did he think that meant?” I asked.

Miriam answered carefully.

“He says he believed security would prevent her from leaving with documents. Investigators will test that claim.”

I wanted to throw the pages across the room.

Instead, I put them down.

I was learning that restraint wasn't weakness.

Sometimes it was the only way to keep the truth from being swallowed by anger.

***

The next week, my pregnancy began to show.

Only a little.

A gentle curve beneath my sweater.

Roman noticed before I did.

He stood in the doorway while I tried on a dress that no longer buttoned.

“You're staring,” I said.

He smiled.

“I know.”

“It's rude.”

“I know.”

I looked at myself in the mirror.

For a moment, I saw only the woman who had been humiliated in a hotel corridor.

Then I saw the life growing inside me.

I placed a hand over my stomach.

Roman came closer.

“May I?”

I nodded.

He rested his hand beside mine.

The room went quiet.

“I don't know what kind of father I'll be,” he whispered.

I looked at him.

“Then we'll learn together.”

He kissed my forehead.

I closed my eyes.

For the first time, the future felt larger than the past.

***

That peace lasted until Friday evening.

A reporter called Miriam with a question about the warehouse investigation.

Someone had leaked an internal Calder audit document.

The document listed payments to North Quay Advisory and suggested that Roman's companies had continued funding the security contractor after the fire.

The reporter wanted to know whether Roman had knowingly financed the people connected to Daniel's death.

Roman read the document.

His expression changed.

“This page is missing the audit notes,” he said.

“What notes?” I asked.

“The ones showing the payments were flagged as unauthorized.”

Miriam examined the copy.

“Then the leak may be misleading. We should preserve the complete record and respond accurately.”

Roman nodded.

But the damage had begun.

By morning, headlines linked his name to the fire.

Some called him a hypocrite.

Others claimed he had invented the investigation to destroy a business rival.

I watched him stand at the kitchen window, phone pressed to his ear, telling his lawyers to cooperate with investigators and release verified context where appropriate.

Then he turned to me.

“You shouldn't have to live through this.”

I crossed the room.

“Don't decide that for me.”

He closed his eyes.

“I know.”

I took his hand.

“We can be afraid together.”

***

That night, a letter arrived at Miriam's office.

It was addressed to me.

Inside was a photograph of my mother holding me as a baby.

On the back, someone had written:

SHE SHOULD HAVE LEFT THE RECORDS ALONE. YOU STILL CAN.

Miriam treated it as a threat and arranged for it to be preserved.

Roman's security team reviewed practical precautions with me, including how to report suspicious contact and avoid predictable routes. I accepted the help I wanted and declined the rest.

Then Miriam called again.

The investigators had located a second copy of the North Quay authorization.

It had been stored in the files of a former Calder company.

The copy included an attachment missing from the version Voss had surrendered.

A list of people designated as potential witnesses if the shipment was questioned.

Daniel Bellamy.

Mara Bellamy.

Elias Calder.

And, at the bottom, a name that made my blood run cold.

NORA BELLAMY.

The date was three years before I met Julian.

I stared at my own name.

Someone had been tracking me long before I knew any of these people.

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