Chapter 4 - HE TOOK MY DAUGHTERS
My mother drove straight to Evelyn’s house.
I wanted to go with her.
The nurse practically laughed at me when I tried to swing my legs over the side of the hospital bed.
“You delivered a baby this morning.”
“My husband took my daughters.”
Her expression changed immediately.
I told her just enough.
Not the money.
Not the trust.
Only that there was a family disagreement and that my husband had removed our four daughters from my mother’s home without telling me.
“Are they in danger?”
That question stopped me.
Physical danger?
I didn’t believe so.
Julian had never hit them.
Never hit me.
He had never screamed at the girls.
He helped Sophie with math homework. He braided Lily’s hair badly when I had the flu. He carried Emma upstairs when she fell asleep in the car.
That was what made everything so confusing.
“I don’t know.”
The nurse nodded.
“Then call someone you trust and stay here.”
My mother called twenty minutes later.
“They’re okay.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can I talk to them?”
“Yes. But Natalie…”
“What?”
“Julian won’t let me take them.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Put him on.”
“Natalie—”
“Put him on.”
Several seconds later, Julian’s voice came through.
“You should be resting.”
“Send the girls back with Mom.”
“They wanted to see Grandma.”
“At ten o’clock at night?”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“Julian.”
“They’re staying here.”
“You took them without asking me.”
“They are my children.”
“And mine.”
“Exactly. Which means you don’t get unilateral control.”
I almost laughed at the hypocrisy.
“You’re making a point.”
“I’m taking care of my daughters while their mother recovers.”
“Then why did you tell Sophie you were bringing Noah there tomorrow?”
Silence.
“You went through her phone?”
“She texted me.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Natalie, this has become ridiculous.”
“Noah and I are going to Mom’s house.”
“No, you aren’t.”
The certainty in his voice frightened me.
“Excuse me?”
“The girls live at our house. You live at our house. Noah will live at our house.”
“You don’t decide where I recover.”
“I’m your husband.”
“That sentence is starting to sound less reassuring every time you say it.”
His tone lowered.
“Think about what you’re doing to the girls.”
I shut my eyes.
Again.
The same weapon.
The girls.
His favorite shield.
“Let me speak to Sophie.”
He was silent.
“Now.”
A minute later, her little voice came through.
“Mommy?”
My anger dissolved.
“Hi, baby.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Is Noah cute?”
“The cutest.”
She giggled.
I nearly cried.
“When can we see him?”
“Soon.”
“Daddy said tomorrow.”
I looked at the dark hospital window.
“We’ll figure it out.”
Sophie lowered her voice.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Daddy was mad.”
My body stiffened.
“At you?”
“I think so.”
“What did he say?”
“He told Grandma that you were trying to ruin everything.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did he say anything else?”
“He said you always get sentimental when you should be grateful.”
My throat tightened.
Then Sophie whispered something that changed everything.
“Grandma said if you don’t cooperate, Daddy should do what Grandpa Robert did.”
I sat upright despite the pain.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Sophie tried to remember.
“She said, ‘If Natalie won’t cooperate, you know what your father did when I became difficult.’”
My pulse thundered.
“Did Daddy answer?”
“Yeah.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘I’m not there yet.’”
Cold traveled across my skin.
“Sophie, listen to me. Stay close to your sisters tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Do not go anywhere with anyone except Daddy or Grandma until I tell you differently.”
“Okay.”
“And if you ever feel scared, call me. Any time.”
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
When the call ended, I immediately phoned Rachel.
She answered on the second ring.
I repeated the conversation.
Rachel became silent.
“Who is Robert?”
“Julian’s father.”
“Alive?”
“No. He died four years ago.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
“And Evelyn said Robert ‘did something’ when she became difficult?”
“Yes.”
Rachel sighed.
“That could mean anything. Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“I know.”
“But document it.”
I started a note on my phone.
Date.
Time.
Exact language.
Rachel then asked, “Do you have access to your home security cameras?”
“Yes.”
That hadn’t occurred to me.
We had cameras at the front entrance, driveway, kitchen, and backyard.
I opened the app.
PASSWORD INCORRECT.
I tried again.
Same result.
My stomach dropped.
“Julian changed the password.”
Rachel’s voice sharpened.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have cloud access through another account?”
“No.”
“Document that too.”
I stared at the error message.
This wasn’t a spontaneous marital fight anymore.
Julian was locking doors.
Digitally first.
What else?
“Can he lock me out of bank accounts?”
“Joint accounts generally can be accessed by both owners, but he may move funds. Check immediately.”
I opened our banking app.
Checking: $18,412.
Savings: $62,880.
I refreshed.
The numbers remained.
Then I checked the investment account.
Error.
I tried the password.
Error.
“What account?” Rachel asked.
“Brokerage.”
“Joint?”
“I thought so.”
“Call them tomorrow.”
I didn’t sleep much.
At 7:30 the next morning, Rachel arrived at the hospital.
She was forty, composed, wearing a charcoal suit and carrying a leather portfolio.
She didn’t waste time.
“I ran a preliminary property search.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Our house is jointly titled, correct?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The deed lists Julian Mercer Family Holdings LLC.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“That’s impossible.”
“Did you contribute money to the purchase?”
“My grandmother left me eighty thousand dollars. We used it for the down payment.”
“Do you have records?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I swallowed.
“He told me my name was on the house.”
Rachel’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes did.
“There’s more.”
Of course there was.
“The LLC was formed six days before closing.”
I stared at her.
“Who owns it?”
“According to state records, Julian.”
I thought about the kitchen where I had painted yellow stars above the breakfast nook because Sophie loved astronomy.
The garden beds I planted.
The nursery walls.
The height marks penciled inside the pantry door.
Our house.
Except apparently it had never been ours.
Rachel opened another page.
“I also located a recorded second mortgage.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
I stared.
Our house had cost $1.1 million.
We still owed nearly $600,000 on the primary mortgage.
“Why would he borrow that much?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She handed me the property report.
The second mortgage had been recorded fourteen months earlier.
I had been pregnant with Grace.
I remembered that month.
Julian had taken me to Charleston for our anniversary.
He had told me business was better than ever.
I suddenly felt physically sick.
Rachel noticed.
“Water?”
I nodded.
She poured a cup.
Then she pulled another document from her folder.
“This is the preliminary corporate trust information.”
“You found the Mercer trust?”
“Not the private document itself. But Mercer Industrial has litigation history. Several filings reference the Robert Mercer Descendant Trust.”
“Robert? Julian’s father?”
“Yes.”
“I thought his grandfather created it.”
“So did I, based on what you told me.”
My heartbeat slowed in a strange, ominous way.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Julian may not have told you the truth about who created the controlling trust.”
She flipped a page.
“One lawsuit from six years ago contains a quoted clause.”
I read the line.
Then read it again.
The trust did mention descendants.
But not male descendants.
It said:
Control shall pass upon the birth of the fifth living biological descendant of Robert A. Mercer.
I looked up.
“Fifth?”
Rachel nodded.
My mind raced.
Sophie.
Lily.
Emma.
Grace.
Noah.
Five.
“This isn’t about a son.”
“Apparently not.”
“But Julian said it required a male heir.”
“That’s what he told you.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why?”
Rachel leaned back.
“That is now the most important question.”
At that exact moment, someone knocked.
A hospital administrator entered carrying an envelope.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
“Yes?”
“This was delivered by courier. We need your signature.”
Rachel stood.
“From whom?”
The administrator checked.
“Bennett & Cole. Family counsel.”
Harold.
I took the envelope.
Inside was a twelve-page legal document.
At the top:
ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF QUALIFYING DESCENDANT AND RELEASE OF VOTING CONTROL.
Rachel read the first page.
Then the second.
On the third, she stopped.
Her eyes narrowed.
“What?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she turned the document toward me and pointed to a paragraph.
I read it.
Once.
Twice.
Then a third time.
The signature wasn’t merely acknowledging Noah’s birth.
It was also releasing any claim I or my children might have against the trust.
All five children.
Including my four daughters.
“They’re trying to make me sign away the girls’ rights.”
Rachel looked at me.
“Yes.”
And suddenly Julian’s first words to Noah made perfect sense.
May you like
Finally.
Now the girls don’t matter.
