Chapter 10 - THE FOUNDATION
The strangest part was discovering Sloane had been watching my work too.
Every teenager I helped.
Every court appearance.
Every nonprofit fundraiser.
Every grant application.
The folder contained hundreds of pages.
And one recurring note.
SUBJECT DISPLAYS STRONG ATTACHMENT TO HARBOR HOUSE YOUTH SERVICES.
Harbor House was my workplace.
A small nonprofit helping teenagers leaving abusive homes, foster placements, trafficking situations, and unstable housing.
For years, our largest anonymous donor had been something called the A.M. Foundation.
Alexandra Mercer.
Anna Mercer.
My mother.
She had been supporting my work without knowing consciously why.
Investigators found that during lucid periods, Alexandra had gained limited access to a small inheritance account Sloane had missed.
She donated almost all of it.
When I told her, she stared out the window.
“I dreamed about a little girl.”
“Me?”
“I don’t know.”
Her smile broke.
“She always walked away from a big house.”
I sat beside her.
“Maybe you wanted her to.”
Alexandra looked at me.
“Did they hurt you?”
The question destroyed me more than I expected.
“Yes.”
Her face crumpled.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do it.”
“I gave you to Eleanor.”
“To save me.”
“I chose wrong.”
“No.”
I took a breath.
“You chose with the information you had.”
I could offer Alexandra compassion.
I still could not offer Eleanor forgiveness.
Those were different things.
That evening, Madison appeared at my hotel.
I almost shut the door.
“Please.”
“What?”
“I have Mom’s burner phone.”
I stared at her.
“How?”
“She hid it in my apartment.”
“Why?”
“I think she wanted me blamed.”
That sounded like Eleanor.
Madison handed it over.
“I already called Ruiz.”
I looked at her.
“Why help now?”
She swallowed.
“Because I was awful to you.”
“That’s not new.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And I thought being Mom’s favorite meant she loved me.”
Her eyes filled.
“She used my apartment to hide evidence.”
I said nothing.
Madison’s voice cracked.
“She used both of us.”
“No.”
I corrected her quietly.
“She used you.”
Madison looked at me.
“She abused me.”
The distinction hurt her.
It needed to.
The phone contained messages from Victor.
One stood out.
DINNER MUST PRODUCE A DOCUMENTED INCIDENT. PROVOKE SUBJECT IF NECESSARY.
Another:
COLE’S PRESENCE IMPROVES CREDIBILITY.
And then:
IF SHE PRESENTS THE PENDANT, CONTACT ME IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT LET COLE LEAVE.
I looked up.
“Why would the pendant matter?”
Ruiz answered after examining the phone.
“Because it is evidence.”
Evidence not merely of family identity.
The pendant had been catalogued in Alexandra’s trust documents.
Its unique jade composition.
Its crest.
Its serial engraving.
It had been legally designated a family identification artifact decades earlier.
Sloane knew that if the pendant resurfaced, the missing-heir claim became much harder to bury.
Then another message arrived on Eleanor’s phone.
New.
Live.
MIDNIGHT TOMORROW. OLD VALE HOUSE. BRING EMILY AND GREENSTONE.
Second message.
OR ALEXANDRA DISAPPEARS AGAIN.
Victor Sloane had finally made a mistake.
May you like
He believed Eleanor still controlled me.
He had no idea federal investigators were reading every word.
