Chapter 7 - THE MAN WHO PAID MERCER
Daniel tackled Mercer before he reached the elevator.
For a sixty-eight-year-old man, he moved surprisingly fast.
Mercer hit the marble floor hard.
Security officers pinned him while Sebastian called the detectives already waiting outside.
Mercer did not resist after that.
He only looked at Agnes Bell.
“You should have stayed dead.”
Agnes smiled faintly.
“So should half the people in this family, apparently.”
Even Daniel almost laughed.
Megan could not.
Her father was alive.
Three months ago, he had been sitting ten feet from Isabella Rinaldi.
And her mother knew.
Again.
Megan turned on Agnes.
“Where are they?”
Agnes looked at her gently.
“Megan—”
“No gentle voice.”
Agnes stopped.
“No protecting me. No telling me people lied because they loved me.”
Her voice shook.
“I am forty years old. I have an eight-year-old daughter who was taken from school today because every adult in this story decided secrets were safer than truth.”
Agnes lowered her eyes.
“You’re right.”
“Where are they?”
“Thomas is in Wisconsin.”
“And my mother?”
“With Isabella.”
“Where?”
“Not Wisconsin.”
Megan almost screamed.
Sebastian stepped beside her.
Agnes opened her handbag again.
This time she removed a small red rosary.
Sebastian recognized it.
“My mother carried that.”
“She still does.”
“Why do you have it?”
“Because she wants you to follow one instruction before she sees you.”
Sebastian’s face hardened.
“No more tests.”
“It isn’t a test.”
Agnes looked toward Mercer, now handcuffed.
“It’s protection.”
Detectives took Mercer into a private office.
Sebastian insisted Megan come with him.
Daniel and Vanessa remained outside.
Mercer sat at the table.
For the first time, he looked tired.
Not elegant.
Not powerful.
Old.
One detective placed the microfilm photographs in front of him.
“Who paid you?”
Mercer smiled.
“You already decided I’m guilty.”
“You falsified medical records,” Sebastian said.
“You helped fake my mother’s death.”
“You manipulated Vanessa into drugging me.”
“You were involved in my father’s death investigation.”
Mercer looked up.
“Involved is a careful word.”
“Use a less careful one.”
Mercer sighed.
“I covered it up.”
Megan leaned forward.
“Who paid you?”
“Your father.”
She froze.
Thomas.
“No.”
Mercer watched her.
“Thomas Cole paid me for years.”
“To do what?”
“Keep Isabella invisible.”
Megan stared.
That answer was not what she expected.
Sebastian frowned.
“So Thomas paid you to protect my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then why expose the relocated families?”
“I didn’t.”
“Antonio believed you did.”
“Antonio believed whatever Isabella told him.”
Mercer leaned back.
“Your mother was brilliant, Sebastian. She was also terrified. Fear makes brilliant people suspicious.”
“Who was the leak?”
Mercer looked toward the door.
“Daniel knows.”
Sebastian stood.
Daniel was brought inside.
Mercer looked at him.
“Tell them.”
Daniel’s jaw tightened.
“I never had proof.”
“Twenty-two years and still hiding behind that sentence.”
Sebastian slammed his palm against the table.
“Who?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“My sister.”
Sebastian froze.
Megan looked between them.
“You have a sister?”
Sebastian’s voice was flat.
“Had.”
Daniel sat.
“Catherine.”
Sebastian stared.
“Aunt Catherine died when I was six.”
Daniel laughed bitterly.
“Apparently death became a family hobby.”
“She’s alive?”
“No.”
This time his certainty was absolute.
“She died in 2007.”
Mercer nodded.
“Cancer.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.
“Why would Catherine sell Isabella’s families?”
Daniel rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Money.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Daniel looked ashamed.
“She believed Isabella was destroying the family.”
The motive was painfully ordinary.
Not madness.
Not revenge.
Fear of losing status.
Inheritance.
Control.
“Catherine had two children,” Daniel continued. “A bad marriage. Debts her husband hid from everyone. She convinced herself Isabella’s escape fund was theft from the family.”
“So she sold addresses.”
“At first to private investigators working for men Isabella had helped people escape from.”
Megan felt sick.
“Families running from violent men?”
“Yes.”
“And Catherine gave them back?”
Daniel’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
Sebastian looked at Mercer.
“Your role?”
“I discovered Catherine’s access to medical files.”
“And?”
“She paid me to alter dates, diagnoses, identification information.”
“Why?”
“To make relocated people easier to trace.”
Megan stared at him.
“You helped her.”
Mercer did not hide behind language.
“Yes.”
“For money?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Mercer looked toward the rosary Agnes held outside the glass room.
“Later because Catherine had records proving I had helped.”
Blackmail.
Again, not innocence.
But motive.
“What happened when Antonio found out?”
Mercer folded his hands.
“He confronted Catherine.”
“On March 14?”
“Yes.”
“Was she at the mansion?”
“Yes.”
Sebastian’s voice dropped.
“Did she kill him?”
Mercer hesitated.
“No.”
Everyone stared.
“Who did?”
“He fell.”
Daniel shook his head.
“There was blood.”
“He was struck first.”
“By Catherine?”
“No.”
Mercer looked at Daniel.
“You.”
Silence.
Daniel’s face went white.
Sebastian stepped backward.
Daniel whispered, “I hit him.”
Megan closed her eyes.
Another piece.
Daniel looked at Sebastian.
“We argued. Antonio accused me of protecting Catherine.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
“You hit him.”
“He shoved me first.”
The words sounded pathetic the instant they left his mouth.
Daniel knew it.
“He said he was going to police. Catherine would go to prison. Our father’s crimes would come out. The company could collapse. I panicked.”
Sebastian said nothing.
Daniel’s voice cracked.
“I hit him once.”
“With what?”
“A brass fireplace tool.”
Megan remembered the recording.
The crash.
Heavy breathing.
Daniel continued.
“He fell against the coal-lift housing. His head hit the edge.”
Sebastian’s hands curled into fists.
“You killed him.”
“No.”
Mercer interrupted.
“He was alive when I arrived.”
Sebastian turned.
“You could have saved him.”
“I might have.”
“Might?”
“He had severe intracranial bleeding.”
“But you didn’t call an ambulance.”
“No.”
“Because Daniel asked you not to?”
Mercer looked at Daniel.
“No.”
Daniel stared.
“I told you to call someone.”
“You told me to keep it quiet.”
“I meant private emergency care.”
Mercer laughed bitterly.
“You were hysterical.”
Sebastian leaned across the table.
“Then who told you not to call?”
Mercer’s face changed.
There.
Fear again.
Agnes, watching through the glass, closed her eyes.
She knew.
Megan saw it.
“Agnes.”
The older woman entered slowly.
Sebastian turned to her.
“You know.”
Agnes gripped the strap of her handbag.
“Yes.”
“Who stopped the ambulance?”
Agnes looked at him.
“Your mother.”
Nobody spoke.
Sebastian seemed to stop breathing.
“My mother let him die?”
Agnes shook her head quickly.
“No. She was told Antonio was already dead.”
“By who?”
Agnes looked at Mercer.
Mercer looked at the table.
Megan understood before anyone said it.
“You lied to Isabella.”
Mercer’s voice was almost inaudible.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Catherine ordered me to.”
Sebastian sat.
For the first time all night, he looked defeated.
Not angry.
Not powerful.
A son learning that almost every adult around him had helped construct the worst night of his life.
Agnes placed the rosary in front of him.
“Your mother has lived with believing she abandoned a dead husband.”
“She abandoned me.”
Agnes nodded.
“Yes.”
“She gets to answer for that herself.”
“Yes.”
No excuses.
Megan appreciated Agnes for that.
Sebastian picked up the rosary.
“What instruction?”
Agnes answered.
“Go home.”
He frowned.
“That’s it?”
“She said the truth ends where it started.”
“The mansion?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Sebastian looked toward Megan.
She understood.
Isabella was coming back.
They returned to the estate shortly before sunrise.
Lily ran into Megan’s arms in the foyer.
“Pancakes!”
Megan laughed and cried at the same time.
“Pancakes.”
She lifted her daughter despite the pain in her ribs.
Behind them, Sebastian stopped beneath Isabella’s portrait.
It had been returned to its place.
He looked up at his mother’s painted face.
Then the front door opened.
No guards announced anyone.
No dramatic entrance.
A woman simply walked inside.
Silver hair.
Dark coat.
Same eyes as the portrait.
Sebastian turned.
Isabella Rinaldi looked at her son for the first time in thirty years.
Neither moved.
Lily whispered into Megan’s shoulder:
“Is that the lady from the picture?”
Megan nodded.
Isabella’s eyes filled.
“Sebastian.”
He stared at her.
Then asked only one thing.
“Was I ever worth coming back for?”
Isabella’s face broke.
And behind her, another man entered the foyer.
Megan looked up.
The world stopped.
Her father stood ten feet away.
May you like
Thomas Cole whispered:
“Meggie?”
