Chapter 3 - The Evidence Loretta Was ManufacturingVincent understood the plan only when he saw the second photograph.
Griffin sitting alone on the front steps.
The image had been taken at 7:12 p.m.
Beneath it:
Minor child unsupervised after dark.
Vincent remembered that evening.
He had been inside.
Ten feet away.
Griffin had gone outside because his school bus driver found a glove under the seat and dropped it off.
The photograph cropped the doorway.
It made Griffin look abandoned.
The third photograph showed dirty dishes in the sink.
The fourth showed Rory crying.
The fifth showed Griffin eating cereal at almost ten at night.
All ordinary moments.
Except each had been separated from context.
Labeled.
Dated.
Rewritten.
Detective Ruiz laid them across the table.
Vincent felt sick.
“How long?”
Loretta’s attorney had arrived now.
A sharp-faced man named Douglas Crane.
He placed one hand on Loretta’s shoulder.
“My client will not answer questions.”
Vincent ignored him.
“How long have you been building this?”
Douglas repeated:
“Mr. Mercer—”
Loretta suddenly said:
“You weren’t there.”
Her lawyer turned.
“Loretta.”
But she looked directly at Vincent.
“You have no idea what it’s been like.”
Vincent stared.
“Then explain the photograph.”
“You leave before breakfast.”
“Not every day.”
“You come home after they’re asleep.”
“Sometimes.”
“You take calls during dinner.”
“I run a company.”
“And Elena died, and you disappeared into work.”
That landed.
Because it was true.
Vincent’s anger did not disappear.
But it stopped feeling simple.
Loretta continued:
“I was the one here.”
“With my children.”
“Yes.”
“You offered.”
“Because someone had to.”
Douglas quietly told her again to stop.
Loretta ignored him.
“You think buying them things makes you present?”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Do not turn what you did to Rory into a discussion about my work schedule.”
“I didn’t say it excused anything.”
“You photographed him crying.”
“I was documenting what happens.”
“After you hit him.”
Loretta looked away.
Vincent continued:
“You created the thing you planned to blame me for.”
Silence.
That was the pattern.
Cause distress.
Photograph distress.
Call it evidence.
Detective Ruiz asked that the children be evaluated separately by child protective services.
Vincent agreed.
The words scared him.
CPS.
Even knowing Loretta was the subject of concern, he felt the instinctive fear of any parent whose home had just become evidence.
A pediatrician examined Rory later that afternoon.
No significant physical injury.
But feeding behavior concerned her.
Rory became visibly distressed when a spoon approached.
He turned his head and raised his hands defensively.
The doctor asked:
“How long has feeding been difficult?”
Vincent answered:
“I thought two months.”
Griffin corrected him quietly.
“Longer.”
Vincent looked at him.
“How much longer?”
“Since Aunt Loretta started feeding him every morning.”
“When?”
“After Mom died.”
The words hurt.
Elena had died seven months earlier.
Suddenly.
An undiagnosed heart condition.
One normal Thursday morning.
One emergency room.
Then Vincent came home without his wife.
Rory had been five months old.
Griffin ten.
Vincent remembered the first weeks afterward as disconnected images.
Funeral flowers.
Frozen casseroles.
Rory crying at 3 a.m.
Griffin refusing school.
Loretta arriving with suitcases.
“I’ll stay until you can breathe.”
Vincent had cried against his sister’s shoulder.
He trusted her because she was family.
He trusted her because he needed someone to trust.
At the hospital, Griffin sat beside him.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you mad at me?”
Vincent turned.
“For what?”
“I should’ve told you sooner.”
The question broke something inside him.
“You tried.”
Griffin looked down.
“I didn’t really.”
“What do you mean?”
“I started to.”
“When?”
“A lot.”
Vincent waited.
Griffin rubbed his palms against his jeans.
“One time I said Rory cries when Loretta feeds him.”
Vincent remembered.
He had been leaving for Boston.
His son said:
“Rory hates breakfast with Aunt Loretta.”
Vincent replied:
“He hates breakfast with everyone.”
Then kissed Griffin’s head and left.
Another time Griffin said:
“Aunt Loretta turns the camera off.”
Vincent told him:
“She probably wants privacy.”
Another:
“She says Grandpa’s money causes problems.”
Vincent laughed and said:
“Grandpa says the same thing.”
Each clue had reached him.
Just not loudly enough.
Because Vincent had already decided what Loretta was.
Helpful.
Sacrificing.
Reliable.
New information had to fight the identity he had given her.
“I’m sorry,” Vincent said.
Griffin shrugged.
“You were sad.”
“That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have listened.”
Griffin’s eyes filled.
“She said you didn’t want more problems.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Of course.
Loretta had used his grief as a wall.
Griffin continued:
“She said if I bothered you too much, you might send us to Grandpa.”
“What?”
“For a while.”
“Griffin.”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
But his voice said otherwise.
Vincent took his son’s hand.
“I will never send you away because you tell me something difficult.”
Griffin nodded.
Then:
“What if you don’t believe me?”
Vincent had no easy answer.
So he gave the hard one.
“Then you tell me again.”
Griffin looked at him.
“And if I still don’t listen, you tell someone else you trust.”
“Aunt Sarah?”
Elena’s older sister.
“Yes.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“Even the police?”
“If you think you or Rory are in danger, yes.”
Griffin seemed relieved.
That scared Vincent too.
Children should not need escalation plans for adults.
His phone rang.
Everett’s rehabilitation center.
Vincent answered immediately.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Olivia Grant, the nursing supervisor at Hawthorne House.”
“What happened?”
“Your father is physically fine.”
Vincent exhaled.
“But we need to discuss tomorrow’s appointment.”
“What appointment?”
A pause.
“The private legal signing arranged by your sister.”
Vincent’s stomach tightened.
“When?”
“Ten tomorrow morning.”
“For the will?”
“I don’t know the documents.”
“Who arranged it?”
“Ms. Mercer and an attorney named Grant Bellamy.”
There.
A name.
Vincent knew Grant Bellamy.
His father’s estate lawyer for almost eighteen years.
The man who had drafted Everett’s current will.
Vincent asked:
“Did my father request this?”
Olivia hesitated.
“That’s why I’m calling.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Mercer became extremely agitated when we told him the attorney was coming.”
Vincent stood.
“What did he say?”
“His speech is limited.”
“I know.”
“But he kept repeating one word.”
Vincent waited.
May you like
Olivia answered:
“‘No.’”
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