Chapter 4 - THE MAN WHO KNEW EVERY ONE OF MY SECRETS
"Grant had nothing to do with this," my father said.
Too quickly.
Too confidently.
I looked at him.
"Interesting. I didn't accuse him of anything specific."
My father pressed his lips together.
Chloe glanced toward our mother, waiting for instructions.
But Celeste Mercer had gone completely still.
For the first time that evening, she looked uncertain.
That frightened me more than her lies.
My mother had always been the strongest person in our family.
She never raised her voice when she could control a room with silence.
She organized everything.
Birthdays.
Charity galas.
Family vacations.
Apparently, attempted murders.
I folded the medical assessment.
"I need all three of you to remain here until the investigators arrive."
My mother laughed.
"You can't imprison us in our own home."
"No," I replied. "And I'm not going to. You're free to leave. But I wouldn't recommend destroying anything on your way out."
My father picked up his coat.
"We should speak privately."
"No more private conversations."
He hesitated.
Then he followed my mother toward the staircase.
Chloe remained behind.
For a moment, we were alone.
"Elias."
I turned.
She had begun twisting the thin gold bracelet around her wrist.
Our grandmother had given her that bracelet when she turned eighteen.
I remembered saving money for months to buy Chloe a matching jewelry box.
She had cried when she opened it.
Once, we'd been close.
Before the money.
Before the comparisons.
Before our parents turned every accomplishment into a competition.
"Why?" I asked.
Chloe's face crumpled.
"You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She looked toward the staircase.
"Mom said there wasn't another way."
The words landed heavily.
"Another way to do what?"
Chloe shook her head.
Then she walked away.
Twenty minutes later, Mara entered through the side entrance with two members of my security team.
She found me standing beside the fireplace.
"Your shoulder?"
"Feels like somebody hit it with a truck."
"You need a doctor."
"I'll go after we preserve the evidence."
She didn't argue.
Instead, she placed a tablet on the table.
"I've confirmed something about Grant."
My chest tightened.
"Tell me."
"He accessed your restricted corporate files eleven times over the past month."
"That doesn't prove anything. He has financial oversight responsibilities."
"Not over your personal estate documents."
She turned the screen toward me.
The access logs showed Grant retrieving files labeled EMERGENCY CONTROL, BENEFICIARY STRUCTURE, and PERSONAL HOLDINGS.
Then Mara opened another record.
A security image from Northline's Manhattan headquarters.
Grant was standing beside a woman in a beige trench coat.
My mother.
The timestamp showed 10:42 p.m., three weeks earlier.
I stared at it.
"What were they doing there?"
Mara enlarged the image.
My mother was holding a dark green folder.
I recognized it immediately.
It had belonged to Grandma Beatrice.
For years, that folder had remained in my private office.
It contained old photographs, handwritten letters, and documents from the Mercer family's shipping business.
I hadn't opened it in ages.
"That folder is supposed to be in my locked cabinet," I said.
"Apparently, someone removed it."
Something about the photograph bothered me.
I zoomed in.
My mother wasn't simply holding the folder.
She was showing Grant a small, yellowed photograph.
The corner was bent.
I recognized that too.
A picture taken at the old Mercer shipyard.
My grandmother stood in the center.
Beside her was my aunt June.
And standing behind them was a younger version of my father.
I hadn't seen that photograph since I was twenty.
It had disappeared shortly after my grandmother died.
Mara noticed my expression.
"What is it?"
"My aunt."
"June Mercer?"
I nodded.
Aunt June had once been Grandma's closest confidante.
She managed employee assistance programs at the old shipyard.
Then, eighteen years earlier, she was accused of stealing money from a family charitable fund.
My father claimed she had betrayed everyone.
Grandma stopped speaking to her.
And I, young and foolish, believed the story.
June disappeared from our lives.
For years, I'd assumed she was guilty.
Until now.
"Can you find out where my aunt lives?" I asked.
Mara studied me.
"Why?"
"Because my mother has spent twenty years making sure I never speak to her."
Before Mara could answer, my phone displayed a notification.
It came from Northline's internal governance system.
A special board session had been scheduled for 8:00 a.m.
The subject line read:
EMERGENCY REVIEW OF FOUNDER FITNESS AND LEADERSHIP CONTROL.
Grant Reeves had called the meeting.
My mother hadn't merely prepared a way to take my money after I died.
She had prepared a way to take it while I was still alive.
Then Mara scrolled to the list of supporting witnesses.
The first name was Grant Reeves.
The second was the physician.
The third made my stomach drop.
Chloe Mercer — Family Witness to Founder Instability.
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My own sister had agreed to testify that I was unfit to run my company.
Less than twelve hours after trying to kill me.
