Chapter 6 - The Man Who Had Been at Every Funeral
Martin Vale climbed the stairs like he belonged there.
In many ways, he did.
He had been my grandfather’s attorney.
My mother’s adviser.
My father’s negotiator.
My wedding guest.
When I was seventeen, he helped me apply to college.
When I was twenty-three, he toasted my engagement to Grant.
At twenty-eight, he had helped my husband steal my future.
He stopped outside my childhood bedroom.
“Claire.”
His eyes moved toward Mom.
“You both look frightened.”
Mom stepped in front of me.
“What do you want?”
Martin smiled.
“I came because you stopped answering my calls.”
“You entered my house.”
“You gave me an emergency key fifteen years ago.”
“Give it back.”
His smile remained.
“Of course.”
He placed the key on the dresser.
Calm.
Polite.
That was what frightened me.
“Did you take my locket?”
Martin looked at me.
“What locket?”
I almost smiled.
“You taught me something when I was a teenager.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Never answer a question too quickly when you’re surprised.”
For the first time, his expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Mom whispered:
“Martin, what did you do?”
He looked at her.
“Everything Arthur was too weak to do.”
“You altered the Covenant.”
“That is a serious accusation.”
“Vivienne recorded everything.”
That was a bluff.
The video had accused him but did not contain everything.
Martin studied us.
Then he sighed.
“Vivienne has always been emotional.”
I felt cold.
“You know where she is.”
“She’s an adult.”
“Where is she?”
“I suggest you focus on your marriage.”
“Grant already told me about Friday.”
Another tiny flicker.
Good.
Martin hadn’t known that.
Mom stepped closer.
“Arthur trusted you.”
Martin looked genuinely offended.
“I saved Arthur’s company.”
“You stole from him.”
“I protected value.”
“By transferring assets to yourself?”
“Aurelian was a contingency structure.”
I laughed.
“That sounds expensive enough to be criminal.”
He looked at me.
“You have Jonathan’s flair.”
“Apparently that’s not a compliment either.”
His smile vanished.
“Your father destroyed everything he touched.”
“So why help him stay alive?”
“Because prison would have exposed the Mercer name.”
“And exposed you.”
Silence.
There it was.
Martin straightened his cuffs.
“Friday is happening.”
“No.”
My voice surprised even me.
“You no longer have authority.”
“You’re twenty-eight.”
“For another day.”
“Exactly.”
He looked almost sorry.
“You have no idea what inheriting those shares will do to you.”
“Everybody keeps telling me that.”
“Because everybody knows more than you.”
The sentence ignited something inside me.
For years, men in tailored suits had managed my life through explanations I wasn’t allowed to hear.
My grandfather.
My father.
Grant.
Martin.
Enough.
“You’re wrong.”
Martin tilted his head.
“About what?”
“I know exactly what happens Friday.”
He watched me.
“I take control.”
“No.”
His voice became colder.
“You inherit liability.”
“Then let me.”
“You would destroy Mercer.”
“If owning Mercer means protecting people like you, maybe it deserves to be destroyed.”
Mom inhaled.
Martin’s face hardened.
For the first time, the grandfatherly mask slipped.
“You sound like Eleanor.”
“Good.”
He stepped closer.
My security guard appeared in the doorway behind him.
“Ms. Whitmore?”
Martin stopped.
I smiled.
“You should leave.”
His eyes moved from the guard to me.
Then he leaned close enough that only Mom and I could hear.
“Ask your mother what happened the night Arthur had his stroke.”
Mom went white.
Martin smiled.
“Then decide who you trust.”
He walked away.
The front door closed minutes later.
I turned toward Mom.
“What happened the night Grandpa had his stroke?”
She stared at the floor.
“Claire.”
“No.”
I felt exhausted.
“No more delayed truths.”
Mom sat on the bed.
“I argued with him.”
“That’s not what Martin meant.”
“No.”
She took a breath.
“I found him unconscious.”
“And?”
“Jonathan was there.”
My blood chilled.
“Dad?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing?”
“Standing over Arthur’s desk.”
“With what?”
“A document.”
“The codicil?”
“I think so.”
“Did he cause the stroke?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told me Grandpa collapsed alone.”
“I lied.”
Of course she had.
“Why?”
“Because Jonathan disappeared with the document.”
I stared at her.
“And Martin knew?”
“Yes.”
“So Dad has had the original codicil for eighteen years.”
“Maybe.”
“What does my locket have to do with it?”
Mom looked toward the empty jewelry box.
“I don’t know.”
Then Rebecca called.
“We found Vivienne.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“A hospital in Queens.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s alive.”
A pause.
“But she says she won’t speak to police.”
“Why?”
“She says Martin isn’t the person she’s afraid of anymore.”
My heart sank.
“Who is?”
May you like
Rebecca answered.
“Jonathan.”
