Chapter 9 - My Father Offered Me My Own Company Back
Jonathan chose an abandoned Mercer showroom on Madison Avenue.
Closed for nearly fifteen years.
Dust covered the display cases.
Old logos remained etched into the glass.
My father stood where sales associates once displayed million-dollar pieces.
“You brought the ring?”
I held up a velvet box.
Inside was a replica Rebecca arranged overnight.
“Yes.”
His eyes lingered on it.
“Give it to me.”
“First give me my locket.”
He smiled.
“You always were difficult.”
“You missed eighteen years of practice.”
He placed the locket on the counter.
I didn’t reach for it.
“Why did you approve forging my signature?”
His smile disappeared.
“Vivienne talks too much.”
“Answer.”
“I needed leverage.”
“You stole from your daughter.”
“I was preventing you from inheriting a disaster.”
“You could have called.”
“And said what?”
He laughed bitterly.
“Hello, Peanut, I’m alive, your mother lied, your grandfather was corrupt, and by the way, your husband is bankrupt?”
“Yes.”
He studied me.
“You really believe truth fixes everything.”
“No.”
I leaned closer.
“But lies clearly didn’t.”
Dad looked older then.
Not weaker.
Just tired.
“Martin has controlled this family for thirty years.”
“And you worked with him.”
“Sometimes survival requires ugly alliances.”
“Another family motto.”
He ignored that.
“I can still protect you.”
“How?”
“Sign your shares voluntarily.”
I laughed.
He did not.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Give them to whom?”
“A new trust.”
“Controlled by?”
“Me.”
There it was.
The entire speech reduced to one sentence.
Give me your inheritance.
“You let me believe you were dead so you could come back and ask me for my company?”
“It should have been mine.”
His voice sharpened.
There he was.
Not Dad.
Jonathan Mercer.
The man my grandfather feared.
“Arthur stole it.”
“He created it.”
“I built it.”
“And Claire is the beneficiary.”
Dad turned.
Martin stepped out of the shadows.
My blood ran cold.
They were together.
Vivienne had said Jonathan planned to betray Martin.
Apparently not yet.
Martin smiled.
“Claire.”
I stared at Dad.
“You brought him?”
“You brought security outside.”
My heart jumped.
How did he know?
Martin answered the question.
“We’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive.”
I kept my expression neutral.
My security team had anticipated surveillance.
The real backup wasn’t outside.
Rebecca was listening remotely through a device sewn into my coat.
I needed them to talk.
“Which one of you forged my signature?”
Martin smiled.
“Peter Lang was careless.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Jonathan sighed.
“Martin arranged it.”
“And you approved.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt even though I already knew.
“What about Grant?”
“A useful fool.”
Martin’s answer came casually.
I remembered Grant on his knees.
Maybe he was exactly that.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Jonathan stepped closer.
“You sign.”
“No.”
“Then Grant’s proxy and the existing authorization move the sale forward.”
“The authorization is contested.”
“Not resolved.”
Martin smiled.
“That is all we need.”
“And afterward?”
Jonathan’s eyes brightened.
“Aurelian takes Mercer Legacy.”
“Which you own.”
Martin and Jonathan looked at one another.
Interesting.
“Who owns Aurelian?”
Neither answered.
I smiled.
“You don’t trust each other.”
Martin’s expression hardened.
Jonathan said:
“That is irrelevant.”
“No.”
I felt the balance shift slightly.
“It’s everything.”
I looked at Martin.
“Dad thinks he gets Mercer back.”
Then Jonathan.
“Martin thinks you take the blame.”
Silence.
I continued.
“Vivienne told me.”
Jonathan’s face changed.
Martin’s changed more.
Good.
“She said Dad plans to expose you after the sale.”
Martin looked at Jonathan.
“Did she?”
Jonathan stared at me.
“You’re lying.”
“Maybe.”
I smiled.
“But now Martin has to wonder.”
For the first time, the two men weren’t united.
I reached for the locket.
Dad grabbed my wrist.
Not hard.
But enough.
“Give me the ring.”
I looked down at his hand.
“Let go.”
He did.
Slowly.
I placed the velvet box on the counter.
Martin opened it.
He examined the replica.
His face tightened.
“This isn’t it.”
Jonathan stared at me.
I smiled.
“The real ring is with police.”
Dad’s expression went cold.
“Why?”
“Because my husband slapped me beside it.”
Martin cursed.
The polished mask finally cracked.
I stepped backward.
“You needed the ring to locate Geneva Vault 11.”
Jonathan stared.
My answer was enough.
He knew I knew.
I turned toward the door.
Dad called after me.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
“If you open that vault, you will destroy your mother.”
I looked back.
“Why?”
May you like
He smiled sadly.
“Because Eleanor’s name is on the first page.”
