Chapter 9 - The Family NameThomas Mercer had been dead for six years.
Grant had spent most of his adult life trying to become a different kind of man.
Thomas had built the first Mercer real-estate company through ruthless negotiation, relentless work, and a belief that family loyalty mattered more than law.
Grant remembered one sentence from childhood.
A Mercer never lets outsiders decide Mercer business.
When Grant took control, he modernized the company.
Independent audits.
Outside counsel.
Professional finance teams.
Spencer had helped him.
Or Grant had believed he had.
Now Serena’s records showed North Channel had originally been controlled by Thomas.
Grant stared at Evelyn.
“Why didn’t Serena tell me this?”
“She intended to.”
“When?”
“After she proved what it was.”
“And did she?”
“No.”
Rachel examined the historical banking documents.
“North Channel received money from your father’s private entities.”
Grant nodded.
“That could be legitimate.”
“It also made payments to Spencer.”
Everyone stopped.
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand in the first year. Then fifty. Then seventy-five.”
Grant looked physically ill.
“Spencer was twenty-eight.”
“Working under your father?”
“Yes.”
Rachel leaned back.
“This may have started as something your father created.”
Grant shook his head.
“For what?”
No one knew.
The drive back to Connecticut was quiet.
Ayla slept against the window.
Kiara sat beside her.
Grant sat in front reading Serena’s letter again.
Every sentence exposed something he had mistaken for strength.
Delegation.
Trust.
Avoiding conflict.
Working constantly.
He had called them virtues because they built companies.
Inside a family, they had created empty spaces.
Melanie had filled them.
When they reached Hawthorne Ridge, two police cars were outside.
Grant immediately turned.
“What happened?”
Officer Morales approached.
“Someone entered the property.”
Grant looked toward the house.
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Melanie?”
“We don’t know.”
The alarm had been disarmed using a valid household code.
One camera near the rear entrance had gone offline.
Nothing obvious was stolen.
Then Ayla ran upstairs.
Grant followed.
She stopped in Serena’s room.
The loose floorboard had been lifted again.
The cavity was empty.
“They came for the memory card,” Ayla said.
Bell arrived soon afterward.
“Which is already preserved.”
Kiara nodded.
“So whoever came doesn’t know that.”
Grant looked around.
“What else could they want?”
Ayla suddenly turned.
“Mom’s box.”
“It’s with Evelyn.”
“No.”
She pointed toward Serena’s dresser.
“The little box.”
Grant frowned.
“What little box?”
Ayla opened the bottom drawer.
Empty.
“There was a music box.”
Grant remembered it.
Small cedar box.
Serena kept jewelry inside.
“Ayla, that was just your mother’s—”
“No.”
Ayla shook her head.
“She told me never to throw it away.”
“When?”
“Before she went to the hospital.”
Grant’s chest tightened.
“What exactly did she say?”
Ayla thought.
“She said, ‘Even if it stops playing, keep it.’”
Bell asked, “Did it stop playing?”
“Yes.”
Grant and Kiara looked at each other.
Serena never said unnecessary things.
Bell asked what the box looked like.
Ayla described it.
Photographs existed.
They circulated the description.
But whoever entered the mansion had taken it.
That evening, Melanie’s attorney contacted Grant.
She denied criminal wrongdoing.
Denied intentionally endangering Ayla.
Denied involvement with any financial misconduct.
Then came the demand.
Melanie wanted access to her clothing, jewelry, and personal effects.
Grant almost refused everything.
Rachel stopped him.
“Follow the process.”
So an escorted retrieval was arranged for the next afternoon.
Melanie arrived wearing sunglasses.
She looked composed.
Ayla remained upstairs with Kiara.
Grant met Melanie in the foyer with counsel present.
For several seconds, husband and wife stared at one another.
Melanie spoke first.
“You look terrible.”
Grant almost laughed.
“You locked my daughter in a freezer.”
“You’re going to repeat that forever?”
“As long as you keep pretending it was normal.”
Her lips tightened.
“What happened to us?”
“You tell me.”
Grant placed a printed photograph on the table.
Melanie kissing Spencer.
She barely glanced at it.
“That isn’t what you think.”
“It’s exactly what I think.”
“You stopped seeing me two years ago.”
“And that made fraud necessary?”
Her eyes flickered.
Grant saw it.
“North Channel.”
Melanie’s face changed for less than a second.
Enough.
Grant leaned forward.
“You know the name.”
“No.”
“You do.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“Serena knew the name too.”
That hit her.
Melanie’s composure cracked.
“What did you say?”
“Serena.”
Grant stepped closer.
“My dead wife knew about North Channel four years before you supposedly formed it.”
Melanie stared.
For the first time, Grant saw genuine confusion.
Not performance.
Not manipulation.
Confusion.
“Spencer told me he created North Channel for us.”
Grant froze.
Melanie realized she had said too much.
Her attorney immediately stepped between them.
“This conversation is over.”
But Grant no longer heard him.
Melanie had believed North Channel belonged to her and Spencer.
Which meant Spencer had lied to Melanie too.
And whoever stole Serena’s music box might not have been protecting Melanie.
May you like
Spencer was protecting something older.
Something that started with Thomas Mercer.
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