Updated Oct 29, 2025 • ~8 min read
David was in a meeting when his assistant interrupted.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Astor, but a courier just delivered these. They said it was urgent.”
David took the envelope, irritated. Legal documents. He dismissed his assistant, opened them at his desk.
Ashford v. Ashford – Civil Complaint for Recovery of Stolen Property
He scanned the first page. Then the second. By the third page, his jaw had clenched.
Someone was suing Vivienne for the emerald necklace.
Jane Mercer, plaintiff, claims rightful ownership of heirloom emerald necklace (appraised value $300,000) currently in possession of defendant Vivienne Ashford. Said necklace was bequeathed to plaintiff by Eleanor Ashford (deceased) with explicit instructions that item remain with direct blood heirs…
David read through the entire complaint twice. Then he picked up his phone.
“Get to my office. Now.”
Vivienne arrived twenty minutes later, breathless. “What’s wrong?”
David handed her the papers without a word.
He watched her face as she read. Watched the color drain. Watched her hands start to shake.
“I don’t understand,” Vivienne said. “Who is Jane Mercer? I’ve never heard that name.”
“Neither have I.” David took the papers back. “But whoever she is, she knows everything about that necklace. The provenance. Eleanor’s will. The Ashford family history.”
“How is that possible?”
“That’s what I want to know.” David walked to the window, looked out at the city. His city. His life. Everything he’d built. “Someone with intimate knowledge of Celeste’s family is coming after us.”
“But Celeste is dead—”
“Is she?” David turned back. “We never found a body. The car burned, but there was a witness who said someone pulled her out. Remember?”
Vivienne’s face went white. “You think—no. That’s impossible. The police said—”
“The police assumed.” David’s mind was racing. “They assumed the person pulled from the car died later. But what if they didn’t? What if Celeste survived?”
“Then where has she been for eight months? Why wait until now?”
Good question. David sat back down, read through the complaint again. The language was careful. Precise. Emotionally detached but with an underlying current of anger.
The defendant willfully and knowingly removed said item from plaintiff’s jewelry box without permission. The defendant has since worn said item publicly despite knowing it was not lawfully hers to possess. The defendant’s actions constitute theft and willful emotional distress…
Willful emotional distress. That phrase snagged in David’s memory.
Celeste had used that exact phrase once. Years ago, during their prenup negotiations. She’d objected to a clause, called it “willful emotional distress disguised as legal protection.”
Her lawyer had laughed. Said she sounded like she’d gone to law school herself.
She hadn’t. But her grandmother had. Eleanor Ashford had been one of the first female attorneys in Connecticut. Had taught Celeste legal thinking from childhood.
David read the complaint a third time. Looking for Celeste’s voice in the language. In the structure. In the way arguments were built.
And he found it.
The formal tone that couldn’t quite hide righteous anger. The meticulous documentation. The strategic timing designed to cause maximum damage.
This was Celeste’s style. Her approach. Her voice.
“Oh my God,” he said quietly.
“What?” Vivienne moved closer. “David, what is it?”
“She’s alive.” David looked up, meeting Vivienne’s eyes. “Celeste is alive. And she’s coming for us.”
“That’s insane. How could she—”
“I don’t know. But this lawsuit—” He tapped the papers. “This is her. I know how she thinks. How she operates. This is exactly how she’d move. Careful. Strategic. Hitting where it hurts.”
Vivienne sank into a chair. “If she’s alive, if she knows about us—”
“Then we have a problem.” David stood, paced. “A significant problem.”
“What do we do?”
David’s mind was already working. Calculating. Planning. “First, we find out who Jane Mercer really is. Where she came from. What she wants.”
“And if it’s Celeste?”
“Then we deal with her. Permanently this time.” David pulled out his phone, scrolled through contacts. “I know someone. A private investigator. Discreet. Thorough. Doesn’t ask questions.”
“David—”
“What? You want to wait and see what she does next? If she’s alive, if she’s been planning this, she’s not going to stop with the necklace.” He selected a contact, hit call. “She’s going to want everything. Revenge for the affair. For the accident. For—” He stopped.
For everything they’d done to her.
Vivienne wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the weight of guilt she’d been carrying for months. Ever since the memorial service where she’d cried real tears—not for show, but because somewhere deep down, she’d known. Known that David had done something terrible. Known that she was complicit. And done nothing.
The call connected. “Archer. It’s David Astor. I need you to find someone. Jane Mercer. I’ll send you everything I have.”
He listened for a moment. “Money’s not an issue. I need this yesterday. And Archer? Keep this quiet. No one can know I’m looking for her.”
He ended the call.
Vivienne was staring at him. “What if the investigator finds her? What if she really is alive?”
“Then we know where she is. And we can—” David stopped. “We can deal with the situation appropriately.”
“You mean kill her.” Vivienne’s voice was barely a whisper. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it? You tried once and failed. Now you’ll try again.”
“I’ll do whatever’s necessary to protect us. To protect what we’ve built.”
“What you’ve built. On lies and my sister’s—” Vivienne stood abruptly. “I can’t do this. I can’t be part of this.”
“You already are part of this.” David’s voice was cold. “You slept with your sister’s husband. You stole her necklace. You helped me cover up her disappearance. You’re in this as deep as I am.”
“I didn’t try to kill her!”
“No, you just drove her to desperation. Broke her heart. Betrayed her trust.” David moved closer. “Don’t pretend you’re innocent in this, Vivienne. We both destroyed her. Together.”
Vivienne’s eyes filled with tears. “I loved her. She was my sister.”
“Then you should have thought about that before you climbed into my bed.”
The words were cruel. Designed to hurt. David watched them land, watched Vivienne flinch.
Good. She needed to understand. They were both culpable. Both trapped.
Both going down together if Celeste exposed them.
“Give me the necklace,” David said.
“What?”
“The emerald. Give it to me. If this goes to court, we can’t have evidence.”
“But if I don’t have it, it proves I stole it—”
“And if you do have it, it proves the lawsuit is valid. Give it to me. I’ll hide it somewhere Celeste can never find it.”
Vivienne hesitated. Then pulled out her phone. “It’s in my apartment. I’ll have it sent over.”
“Do it now.”
While Vivienne made arrangements, David returned to his desk. Opened his laptop. Started researching Jane Mercer.
The search came up empty. No social media. No employment records. No address history. Nothing.
Like she didn’t exist.
Or like she’d been created specifically for this purpose.
David leaned back, thinking. If Celeste was alive—and he was increasingly certain she was—where had she been? How had she survived? Who was helping her?
Gabriel.
The thought came suddenly. His brother had been acting strange for months. Avoiding family business. Making excuses. And he’d been the one who’d seemed most affected by Celeste’s “death.”
What if Gabriel knew? What if he’d found her somehow?
David pulled out his phone again. Called Gabriel’s number.
It rang four times before going to voicemail.
“Gabriel. Call me. We need to talk about the estate. Some legal issues have come up.”
He ended the call. Stared at the phone.
If Gabriel was helping Celeste, if they were working together—
David smiled. Cold and calculating.
Then he had leverage. Because Gabriel wouldn’t let anything happen to Celeste or risk exposing her.
His phone rang. Archer, the investigator.
“That was fast,” David said.
“Initial search shows Jane Mercer is a ghost. No digital footprint before eight months ago. Address history starts in Maine. Seabrook Bay.”
Maine. Where David’s resort project was happening. Where Gabriel had been spending time.
Too many coincidences.
“Dig deeper,” David said. “Find out everything. Who she’s connected to. Where she’s living now. And—” He paused. “See if there’s any connection to Gabriel Astor.”
“Your brother?”
“Just check. I need to know.”
“Will do. Give me forty-eight hours.”
David ended the call. Looked at Vivienne, who was watching him with growing fear.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” she said quietly.
“This is manageable.” David’s voice was calm. Controlled. “As long as we stay smart. Stay ahead of her.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we make sure she disappears. For good this time.”
Vivienne wrapped her arms around herself. “I never wanted this. Any of this.”
“Too late for regrets.” David returned to reading the complaint. Looking for clues. For mistakes. For anything he could use.
Because if Celeste thought she could destroy him, she was wrong.
He’d destroyed her once. Broken her down piece by piece until she was desperate enough to leave.
He could do it again.
And this time, he’d make sure she stayed dead.
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