I can hear the workers arranging chairs in the courtyard. Their voices drift up to the attic window in soft echoes. They think I am sleeping in the guest room, resting before tonight’s celebration. They have no idea I am watching everything from this hidden place. They have no idea that the program for tonight’s event is resting on my lap. They have no idea that the program bears my name beneath the phrase they reserve for the dead.
My name is Celia Hartwell. I am the founder and chief executive of Hartwell Maritime Solutions, one of the largest shipping coordination firms along the eastern coast of the country. My husband, Brandt Hartwell, likes to say he retired from ambition the moment he married me. He calls himself “the gentleman of the house” with a laugh that others find charming. I used to find it charming too.
Two weeks ago, Brandt suggested that for our eleventh wedding anniversary, we should host a lavish gathering at our home in Brighton Ridge, a quiet coastal suburb known for its glass front mansions and manicured lawns. I rarely participate in social events these days because business occupies every waking hour, so I welcomed his enthusiasm.
“Celia, this night is for you,” he said last night while kneading my shoulders. “You have carried the company on your back. Let me carry something for once. You will be honored the way you deserve.”
His voice was warm and his hands gentle. I believed him. This morning, Brandt insisted I spend the afternoon at a spa in Riverpoint. “Take the whole day to relax,” he told me with a kiss. “Do not come home until seven. You will spoil the surprise.”
I obeyed. I even smiled as I left our driveway. But halfway through the massage, I remembered that my secondary phone was still in the glove compartment of Brandt’s car. I had used it last night to check internal reports from our Singapore branch. I could not leave confidential information in an unlocked vehicle during an event with dozens of guests.
I booked a car service back home, careful not to alert Brandt. I wanted to slip in quietly. I did not want to ruin what he had worked so hard to prepare.
From the street, the house looked joyful. Caterers carried trays of ingredients into the garden kitchen. A florist arranged lilac colored hydrangeas along the stair rails. Musicians were testing soft classical notes in the courtyard. Everything radiated celebration.