Chapter 1 - The Camera Loretta Thought Was DeadLoretta Mercer believed the camera was off.
That was the mistake that destroyed everything.
One-year-old Rory sat trapped in his high chair, crying so hard his little shoulders shook.
His face was wet with tears.
Oatmeal covered his mouth, chin, and bib.
Every time the spoon approached, he turned his head away.
Loretta caught his chin.
“Eat.”
Rory twisted again.
The spoon scraped across his cheek, leaving another smear of oatmeal.
“I said eat!”
He cried louder.
Loretta’s patience snapped.
Her hand moved.
A sharp slap struck the side of Rory’s face.
The baby startled.
For half a second, he stopped breathing from shock.
Then he screamed.
Eleven-year-old Griffin heard him from upstairs.
He ran.
“AUNT LORETTA!”
Loretta turned as Griffin appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“STOP!”
Griffin rushed toward his brother.
Loretta stepped between them.
“Stay where you are.”
“He doesn’t want it!”
“He needs to eat.”
“You hit him!”
Loretta’s eyes narrowed.
“You two have no idea how much trouble you cause.”
Griffin stared at her.
Rory kept crying behind her.
Loretta pointed toward the staircase.
“Your father is working himself to death because of you.”
“That’s not true.”
“You think he enjoys rushing home because you’re scared? You think he enjoys paying people to take care of you?”
Griffin’s eyes filled with anger.
“He loves us.”
Loretta laughed.
“You’re eleven. What do you know about love?”
Griffin looked toward the small security camera mounted above the kitchen entrance.
“Dad will see.”
Loretta followed his eyes.
Then smiled.
She walked toward the wall controls and tapped the screen.
“I turned it off twenty minutes ago.”
Griffin’s stomach dropped.
Loretta came closer.
“You think I’m stupid?”
He said nothing.
She lowered her voice.
“You and that screaming baby are nothing but burdens to my brother.”
“Don’t call him that.”
“What?”
“A burden.”
Loretta smiled.
“Oh, Griffin.”
She glanced toward Rory.
“None of this will matter much longer anyway.”
Griffin frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Loretta turned away.
Then she made the mistake.
“Once the new will is signed, neither of you will have anything left to fight over.”
Griffin froze.
“What will?”
Loretta stopped.
Silence.
Her face changed.
Only for a second.
But Griffin saw it.
“What will?” he repeated.
Loretta’s expression hardened.
“Go upstairs.”
“No.”
“Now.”
Griffin looked toward the camera again.
Loretta had turned off the wall monitor.
But Griffin knew something she didn’t.
His father had shown him how to reset the system after a storm two weeks earlier.
The camera itself had a manual reconnect button behind the small decorative panel beside the pantry.
Loretta turned back toward Rory.
Griffin moved.
Slowly.
Casually.
He crossed behind the kitchen island.
Loretta didn’t notice.
He slid one finger beneath the panel.
Found the button.
Pressed.
A tiny blue light blinked above the camera.
Connected.
At Mercer Development Group’s Manhattan office, Vincent Mercer’s phone vibrated.
KITCHEN CAMERA — LIVE CONNECTION RESTORED.
He almost ignored it.
He was in a conference room with six executives.
Then he heard Rory.
Even through the small phone speaker, he recognized that cry.
Vincent opened the feed.
His body went still.
Rory sat in the high chair, face covered in oatmeal and tears.
Griffin stood nearby.
Loretta was speaking.
Vincent increased the volume.
“…when the new will is signed, it won’t matter what they want.”
Vincent stopped breathing.
Will?
What will?
Then Griffin said:
“You shouldn’t have hit him.”
Vincent stood so fast his chair rolled backward.
Everyone at the conference table looked up.
On-screen, Loretta grabbed the oatmeal bowl.
Vincent tapped the microphone icon.
His voice exploded through the kitchen speaker.
“LORETTA.”
Loretta froze.
The bowl stopped in midair.
Griffin looked toward the camera.
“Dad?”
Vincent’s voice shook.
“Griffin, take Rory out of the high chair.”
Loretta stared at the camera.
Impossible.
She looked toward the control panel.
Still showing OFF.
Then back at the camera.
Vincent heard himself ask:
“What will?”
Loretta said nothing.
“What new will are you talking about?”
Her eyes moved.
Not toward Griffin.
Not toward Rory.
Toward the dining table.
Vincent followed her gaze through the camera.
A thick cream-colored document envelope sat beneath a stack of mail.
Loretta realized what she had done.
She moved toward it.
Vincent shouted:
“DON’T TOUCH THAT ENVELOPE.”
She stopped.
Griffin stared at the envelope too.
Loretta recovered quickly.
“You misunderstood.”
“I saw you hit my son.”
“Vincent—”
“And I heard what you said.”
“He was refusing breakfast.”
“He is one year old!”
Loretta lowered her voice.
“You don’t know what happens here when you’re gone.”
That sentence hit Vincent differently.
Because some part of it was true.
He had been gone too much.
Since Elena died seven months earlier, he buried himself in work because the house felt unbearable without her.
Loretta moved in “temporarily” to help.
Temporary became permanent.
Vincent had thanked her constantly.
Griffin interrupted.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Come home.”
Something in his son’s voice broke through every other thought.
Not anger.
Fear.
“I’m coming.”
Loretta reached toward the envelope again.
Vincent saw it.
“Griffin.”
His son looked at the camera.
“Take Rory upstairs. Lock yourself in my bedroom.”
Loretta snapped:
“Don’t you dare.”
Vincent’s voice became colder.
“Griffin. Now.”
The boy unfastened Rory and lifted him awkwardly but carefully.
Rory buried his wet face against his brother.
Loretta stepped forward.
Griffin backed away.
“You’re not taking him.”
Vincent grabbed his laptop and keys.
“I’ve already called security.”
Loretta’s eyes widened.
He hadn’t.
Not yet.
He did now.
Then he called the police.
By the time he reached the elevator, his security app had automatically archived the previous twenty minutes of footage.
He replayed the last minute.
Again.
Loretta:
Once the new will is signed, neither of you will have anything left to fight over.
Then her eyes.
Straight toward the envelope.
Vincent stopped outside the elevator.
He zoomed in.
There was writing visible beneath the flap.
Three words.
EVERETT MERCER ESTATE
Vincent’s father.
His seventy-nine-year-old father.
The man recovering from a stroke at Hawthorne House Rehabilitation Center.
Vincent stared at the screen.
His father already had a will.
A will Vincent had reviewed two years earlier.
A will that left most of the family estate in trust for Griffin and Rory.
The elevator doors opened.
Vincent stepped inside.
Then another thought hit him.
Everett had called him two nights ago.
His speech was still slow after the stroke.
He had tried repeatedly to say something Vincent couldn’t understand.
Finally, frustrated, Everett had whispered:
“Loretta.”
Vincent had assumed his father wanted his daughter to visit.
Now he wondered if Everett had been trying to warn him.
The elevator doors closed.
And back at the mansion, Loretta looked directly into the camera.
May you like
For the first time, she no longer looked angry.
She looked terrified.
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