Chapter 7: The Confrontation They Didn't Expect
Grace told me to stay away from the Mercer house.
I lasted until noon.
Not because I was reckless.
Because Daniel called me eleven times between eight and eleven, and on the twelfth call, he left a voicemail that changed things.
"Emma, please.
I need to talk to you before this goes any further.
There are things my mother did that I didn't know about.
I swear to you I didn't know about Sylvia.
I didn't know about the notary.
Please.
Just — come to the house.
Come alone.
I need to show you something."
I played it for Grace.
She listened with her eyes closed.
"He says he didn't know about Sylvia," she said.
"I heard."
"Do you believe him?"
I thought about Daniel's face the night before.
The way he had looked at his mother before answering me.
The way he had said *I was going to fix it* like a man reciting a line he had practiced.
"I believe he knew about the money," I said.
"I don't know yet how much he knew about the rest."
"Going back there is a risk."
"I know.
But if he has something to show me, I want to see it before his mother has a chance to make it disappear."
Grace was quiet for a moment.
"I'm coming with you."
"He said come alone."
"I heard what he said." She picked up her coat.
"I'm coming with you."
We arrived at the Mercer house at twelve-thirty.
Daniel opened the door before we reached it.
He looked like he hadn't slept.
His shirt was the same one from the night before.
He saw Grace and his jaw tightened.
"I said come alone."
"And I said no," I told him.
"What did you want to show me?"
He hesitated.
Then he stepped back and let us in.
The house was quiet.
No Vivian.
No Caroline.
"Where is your mother?" I asked.
"I asked her to leave this morning." He walked toward the study.
"She didn't go quietly."
He opened the study door.
On the desk was a manila folder, a USB drive, and a printed email chain.
"I found these in her room," he said.
"She keeps a lockbox under the bed.
I've known about it for years.
I never looked inside until this morning."
Grace stepped forward and looked at the documents without touching them.
"What are we looking at?" I said.
"The email chain is between my mother and Sylvia Crane.
It goes back two years." Daniel's voice was flat.
"They planned this together.
The account structure, the transfers, the notarization.
Sylvia handled the execution.
My mother provided your documents."
"My documents."
"She photographed your passport and social security card.
She had access to the safe.
She made copies." He stopped.
"Emma, I knew about the bridge loan.
I agreed to that.
I thought it was a short-term fix and that the money was coming from a Mercer Holdings line of credit.
I didn't know it was coming from your personal account.
I didn't know about the forgery.
I didn't know about Sylvia."
Grace looked at him.
"Mr.
Mercer, I need you to understand that what you're telling us, if true, means your mother committed identity fraud, forgery, and financial cr*me against your wife.
And that you were, at minimum, a knowing participant in the unauthorized use of her funds."
Daniel didn't flinch.
"I know."
"Are you prepared to provide a full statement to that effect?"
A long pause.
"Yes," he said.
"I'll give you whatever you need."
I looked at the folder on the desk.
At the USB drive.
At the email chain that represented two years of planning against me by my husband's mother and a woman I had met once at a gala.
"Daniel," I said.
"Where is Sylvia Crane right now?"
He looked up.
"That's the problem," he said.
"I called her this morning.
Her number is disconnected.
Her office says she hasn't been in since Monday."
Grace already had her phone out.
"She's running," I said.
"She won't get far," Grace said.
"Not with what we have."
But the folder on the desk had one more page I hadn't seen yet.
Grace turned it over.
It was a wire transfer confirmation.
Dated that morning.
From the Mercer Development Holdings subsidiary account.
$310,000.
May you like
Sent to an account in the Cayman Islands.
Sylvia Crane had moved the money before she disappeared.
