Chapter 2 - Someone Had Signed Reid’s NameReid reached Westport less than two hours later.
By then police had already taken statements.
Mavis had not been arrested.
Not yet.
The slap was captured clearly, as was her threat about the documents, but investigators wanted the paperwork reviewed before deciding whether additional offenses had occurred.
Mavis sat in the formal living room with an officer nearby.
Reid walked past her without speaking.
“Reid.”
He kept going.
“Reid, listen to me.”
He turned.
Mavis had lived in the Mercer estate for seventeen years.
She had married Reid’s father, Everett, late in his life.
She was never Reid’s mother.
Never even tried to be.
Landon had once asked whether he should call her Grandma.
Mavis said no.
“Mavis is fine.”
Now Reid understood how much distance she had always wanted.
“You hit my one-year-old son.”
Her face tightened.
“He would not eat.”
“He’s one.”
“He needs structure.”
Reid stared.
“That sentence is going to sound fantastic on the recording.”
Her composure cracked.
“You think I’m a monster?”
“I think you put your hand on my baby.”
“I lost patience.”
“And called him a bastard.”
Silence.
Reid stepped closer.
“Why?”
Mavis looked away.
“Why that word?”
“It meant nothing.”
“Then why use it?”
She said nothing.
Reid felt anger climbing again.
Before he could continue, Landon ran from the hallway.
“Dad!”
Reid immediately crouched.
Landon collided with him.
Reid held him.
Hard.
“You okay?”
Landon nodded.
“Evan?”
“With Ms. Reyes.”
Their neighbor, Dr. Angela Reyes, had come over after security called.
“She checked his cheek.”
Reid closed his eyes briefly.
“Good.”
Landon whispered:
“I turned the camera on.”
Reid looked at him.
“I know.”
“Are you mad?”
“What?”
“Mavis said you’d be mad if I touched security stuff.”
Reid felt something break inside him.
“No.”
He held Landon’s face gently.
“I’m glad you did.”
“I thought she was lying.”
“About the camera?”
“About lots of stuff.”
Reid stared.
“What stuff?”
Landon looked toward Mavis.
She immediately interrupted.
“Do not interrogate a child.”
Reid stood.
“Officer?”
The officer stepped between them.
“Mavis, let him speak to his son.”
She folded her arms.
Landon lowered his voice.
“She tells Evan stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“He doesn’t understand.”
“I know. Tell me anyway.”
“She says we’re going to leave.”
Reid felt cold.
“Leave where?”
“I don’t know.”
“She says Dad works too much, Dad doesn’t know what babies need, Dad’s always gone.”
Mavis laughed bitterly.
“None of that is false.”
Reid looked at her.
“I work in Manhattan three days a week.”
“You leave before breakfast.”
“And return before bedtime.”
“Usually.”
The officer raised a hand.
“Let’s keep this controlled.”
Reid took a breath.
Landon continued.
“She took pictures.”
Reid turned back.
“Pictures of what?”
“When Evan spilled stuff.”
“When I got that bruise at soccer.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
Reid remembered.
Landon collided with another player.
School nurse called.
Routine.
“Mavis took a picture?”
“Lots.”
“Why?”
“She said insurance.”
Reid looked at Mavis.
She stared back.
“Documentation.”
“For what?”
She didn’t answer.
The blue folder sat on the dining table.
Reid walked toward it.
His attorney, Beth Kramer, was already driving from Stamford.
He had promised not to remove or alter anything until she arrived.
But he could read.
The petition described him as:
“Frequently absent.”
“Emotionally unstable following spousal bereavement.”
“Potentially impaired in judgment.”
“Unable to provide consistent nutritional and medical supervision.”
Reid’s hands began shaking.
His wife, Nora, had died ten months earlier.
A pulmonary embolism six weeks after Evan’s birth.
It nearly destroyed him.
For three months, he barely slept.
He attended grief therapy.
Reduced his workload.
Asked family for help.
Mavis volunteered.
That generosity now sat in front of him as evidence against him.
One statement claimed:
“Infant routinely appears underfed.”
Another:
“Minor child Landon demonstrates anxiety associated with paternal unpredictability.”
Reid looked at Landon.
“Did anyone ask you about me?”
Landon thought.
“A man.”
“When?”
“At school.”
Reid froze.
“What man?”
“He said he worked with the family.”
Mavis looked toward the window.
Reid saw it.
“What man?”
Landon shrugged.
“Mr. Pike?”
Reid knew no Mr. Pike.
The officer immediately started writing.
“What did he ask?”
“If you yell.”
“If you forget to feed us.”
“If I’m scared when you drive.”
Reid stared at his son.
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“Anything else?”
“He kept asking.”
“What?”
“If Mom dying made you different.”
Reid looked at Mavis.
“Who sent him?”
She whispered:
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“No.”
The front door opened.
Beth Kramer entered carrying a briefcase.
She was fifty-three, sharp, patient, and almost impossible to intimidate.
She looked at Reid.
Then Mavis.
Then the documents.
“What happened?”
Reid pointed.
“Someone is trying to take my children.”
Beth read for ten minutes without speaking.
Then she reached page nine.
Stopped.
“Reid.”
“What?”
She turned the document toward him.
A signature.
REID ALEXANDER MERCER.
It looked nearly perfect.
Beth asked:
“Is that yours?”
“No.”
“Certain?”
“Yes.”
She inspected another page.
A notarization block.
Notary stamp.
Connecticut.
Dated three weeks earlier.
The notary supposedly witnessed Reid consenting to “temporary transfer of educational, medical, and residential decision-making authority.”
Beth looked at him.
“Where were you on July twenty-ninth?”
Reid thought.
“Chicago.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Hotel. Flights. Client meeting.”
“Good.”
Mavis went pale.
Beth noticed.
Then she turned to the proposed guardian section.
Nolan Mercer.
Reid’s half-brother.
CFO of Mercer Dynamics.
Mavis’s son.
Beth looked at her.
“Does Nolan know about this?”
Mavis said nothing.
Reid pulled out his phone.
He called Nolan.
The call rang five times.
Then voicemail.
Reid tried again.
Nothing.
Beth continued reading.
Then she froze.
“What?”
She turned to a second packet.
Not guardianship.
Trust administration.
A clause stated that if Reid’s parental authority were suspended, his voting proxy over Landon and Evan’s shares in Mercer Dynamics would terminate immediately.
The replacement proxy named:
Nolan Mercer.
Reid stared.
The children owned twenty-eight percent of the company through his father’s trust.
Reid controlled the voting rights until they reached adulthood.
Nolan had been trying to convince him for six months to approve a sale to a private-equity group.
Reid had refused.
Without Reid’s votes, Nolan could never get enough shareholder approval.
Beth whispered:
“This isn’t just about custody.”
Reid looked at Mavis.
Her expression told him she knew.
Beth turned another page.
Attached was a draft corporate consent.
If the guardianship petition succeeded—
May you like
Nolan would gain control of the children’s votes.
And the $640 million sale Reid had blocked could go through.
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