Chapter 1 - The Man at the Door
“Because Mark just came back.”
Rosa’s warning had barely left her mouth when the front doors opened.
Cold morning air swept through the marble foyer.
Mark Mercer stepped inside.
He was thirty-three, two years younger than David, with the same dark Mercer eyes but none of his brother’s carefully controlled appearance.
His black coat was wet from the rain.
There was mud on one knee of his trousers.
And in his right hand—
was a pair of heavy wire cutters.
Claire’s fingers closed around the banister.
David moved in front of her.
“Don’t take another step.”
Mark stopped.
His eyes moved from David to Rosa.
Then to Claire’s pregnant belly.
Finally, he looked down.
At the nearly invisible wire stretched across the staircase.
His expression changed.
Not guilt.
Shock.
Real, unmistakable shock.
“What the hell is that?”
David gave a humorless laugh.
“You tell me.”
Mark looked at the cutters in his own hand.
Then back at David.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.”
Rosa retreated one step.
“I saw you here this morning.”
Mark’s eyes snapped toward her.
“You saw me in the hallway.”
“You were beside the stairs.”
“For maybe ten seconds.”
“With those.”
Rosa pointed at the cutters.
David descended the last two steps.
Claire caught his sleeve.
“David.”
He gently removed her hand.
Then walked directly toward his brother.
“Why were you near my wife’s staircase with wire cutters?”
Mark’s jaw tightened.
“Because I found a piece of wire behind the east wall.”
David grabbed his coat.
Claire gasped.
“David!”
Mark did not fight him.
Instead, he stared into David’s face.
“You think I tried to make Claire fall?”
“You’ve spent six months fighting Dad over the inheritance.”
“So?”
“So you found out our baby changes the trust.”
Something flashed across Mark’s face.
That was enough for David.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
Mark lowered his voice.
“But not from Dad.”
“Then from whom?”
Mark looked toward the second-floor gallery.
“That’s what you should be asking.”
David tightened his grip.
“Answer me.”
“I got an envelope yesterday.”
“What envelope?”
“No return address.”
“What was inside?”
Mark did not answer immediately.
Claire descended carefully until Rosa stopped her.
“Stay there, ma’am.”
Claire looked at Mark.
“What was inside?”
His eyes met hers.
“A photograph of you.”
Claire’s stomach contracted with fear.
“What kind of photograph?”
“You standing at the top of these stairs.”
David released him.
“When?”
“Yesterday morning.”
Claire felt the child inside her move.
She placed both hands over her belly.
Mark continued.
“The photo was taken from somewhere inside this house.”
David’s anger shifted.
“Who sent it?”
“I don’t know.”
Mark reached carefully into his coat.
David tensed.
“It’s just my phone.”
He opened an image.
Claire recognized herself immediately.
Same cream maternity sweater.
Same dark skirt.
Same loose knot of brown hair.
She was standing where she had stood almost every morning for the past month.
At the top of the main staircase.
On the photograph, someone had drawn a thin red line across the third stair from the bottom.
Beneath it were four handwritten words.
SHE WON’T REACH SUNDAY.
Claire stared.
Today was Friday.
David looked at Mark.
“You received this yesterday and didn’t tell us?”
“I was trying to figure out whether it was a threat or some sick joke.”
“My pregnant wife was photographed inside our home.”
“I know.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I came here this morning.”
“With cutters?”
Mark nodded toward the wall beside the staircase.
“There was wire behind the paneling.”
David stared.
“What wire?”
Mark pointed.
“Have security open that panel.”
David called for Nolan Briggs, the estate’s head of security.
Nolan appeared less than a minute later.
He was fifty-six, broad-shouldered, gray-haired, and had worked for the Mercer family for more than a decade.
“What’s wrong?”
David pointed at the tripwire.
Nolan’s face changed.
“Jesus.”
“Don’t touch it.”
Then David pointed toward the decorative panel beside the stairs.
“Open that.”
Nolan hesitated.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
A maintenance worker removed the panel.
Everyone stepped closer.
Inside the hollow wall were several feet of thin steel wire.
The same kind stretched across the staircase.
Mark looked at David.
“That’s what I found this morning.”
Claire’s pulse accelerated.
“Why would someone hide wire inside the wall?”
No one answered.
Nolan crouched.
His expression grew darker.
“This isn’t construction wire.”
“What is it?” David asked.
“Security cable.”
Mark frowned.
“From where?”
Nolan stood.
“From our camera system.”
David looked toward the camera mounted above the foyer.
Its tiny green indicator light was dark.
“When did that camera stop working?”
Nolan stared upward.
“It shouldn’t be off.”
“Check.”
Nolan hurried toward the security office.
Claire looked around the enormous foyer.
The Mercer estate had always seemed almost absurdly safe.
Cameras.
Guards.
Gates.
A staff of twelve.
Now every closed door seemed like a possible hiding place.
Mark looked at Rosa.
“When exactly did you see me?”
“A little before seven.”
“And what was I doing?”
“You were looking at the wall.”
“Not tying anything to the stair?”
Rosa hesitated.
“No.”
David noticed.
“You said he was kneeling.”
“He was.”
Mark nodded.
“I was examining where the cable had been cut.”
Claire looked down.
“Then why did you leave?”
Mark’s expression changed again.
“I heard someone upstairs.”
David followed his gaze.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you hear?”
“A door close.”
“Which door?”
“The old nursery hallway.”
Claire went cold.
That hallway led directly toward the bedroom she and David had converted into their baby’s nursery.
David immediately headed upstairs.
Mark caught his arm.
“You’re not going alone.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Then take security.”
David pulled away.
Before he could move, Nolan returned.
He looked shaken.
“What?”
David demanded.
“The footage is gone.”
“How much?”
“From 5:52 this morning until 8:13.”
“Gone how?”
“Deleted.”
Mark looked at Claire.
David asked the obvious question.
“Who can delete footage?”
Nolan said nothing.
“Nolan.”
“Four people.”
“Name them.”
“Me.”
He swallowed.
“Mr. Henry Mercer.”
David’s father.
“Gordon Shaw.”
The family attorney.
“And?”
Nolan hesitated.
“You.”
David stared.
Claire slowly looked at her husband.
Mark gave a bitter laugh.
“Interesting.”
David turned on him.
“Shut up.”
A door opened upstairs.
Every head snapped upward.
Henry Mercer stood on the gallery.
At seventy-one, he remained imposing.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Perfectly dressed.
“What is happening down here?”
David pointed toward the tripwire.
“Someone tried to make Claire fall.”
Henry’s expression drained.
“What?”
Then his eyes landed on Mark.
And the wire cutters.
His jaw tightened.
“Of course.”
Mark stared at him.
“That’s all it takes?”
“You’ve been threatening this family for months.”
“I threatened your lawyers.”
“You threatened the trust.”
“I demanded access to documents that belong to me.”
Henry descended.
Claire watched his face carefully.
He looked angry.
Frightened.
But not surprised enough.
That bothered her.
“Henry,” Claire said.
He looked at her.
“Did you know someone photographed me on the stairs yesterday?”
His expression changed.
A fraction.
But Claire saw it.
“No.”
Mark held up the picture.
Henry looked at it.
Then looked away too quickly.
David noticed too.
“You’ve seen it.”
Henry said nothing.
“Dad.”
“I received a copy.”
Silence.
Claire felt the floor move beneath her.
“When?”
“Last night.”
David stared at him.
“And you didn’t tell us?”
Henry’s lips tightened.
“I thought it was connected to Mark.”
Mark actually laughed.
“You thought I sent you a photograph proving I was planning to murder Claire?”
“There was another message.”
“What message?”
Henry hesitated.
Then took out his phone.
He opened an email.
No sender information.
Only one sentence.
THE WRONG HEIR IS ABOUT TO BE BORN.
Claire’s hand moved to her stomach.
David stared at the message.
“What does that mean?”
Henry looked toward Mark.
But Claire was watching Henry.
“Not him.”
Henry turned toward her.
“What?”
“You know more.”
“I don’t.”
“You knew about the photograph.”
“I told you—”
“You knew someone was threatening me, and instead of warning your pregnant daughter-in-law, you decided to watch Mark.”
Henry’s face hardened.
“You don’t understand this family.”
Claire’s fear disappeared.
Something colder replaced it.
“That seems to be the problem.”
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Everyone looked at it.
David shook his head.
“Don’t answer.”
Claire answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
Slow.
Close.
A distorted voice whispered:
“Rosa should have let you take the step.”
Rosa covered her mouth.
The caller continued.
“Now we have to do it another way.”
The line went dead.
Claire stared at the screen.
No one spoke.
Then something crashed upstairs.
From the nursery.
David ran.
This time Mark ran with him.
Claire followed as quickly as Rosa allowed.
They reached the nursery.
The window was open.
Curtains blowing inward.
The crib had been overturned.
Baby clothes covered the floor.
And across the white wall above the crib, someone had written a message in black marker.
SUNDAY BELONGS TO THE FIRST SON.
David stared.
Claire whispered:
“What does that mean?”
Henry had followed them upstairs.
When he saw the words, his face turned gray.
Mark looked at him.
“You know.”
Henry backed away.
“Dad.”
David stepped toward him.
“What happens Sunday?”
Henry closed his eyes.
Then answered.
“Samuel Mercer’s trust changes hands.”
Claire looked at her stomach.
“And our baby?”
Henry opened his eyes.
“If your child is born alive…”
May you like
His voice dropped.
“…everything changes.”
