Chapter 3 - Margaret Said She Turned Off the Cameras for PrivacyMargaret did not deny touching the tablet.
She changed the reason.
That happened less than thirty minutes after Detective Cole showed Grant the image.
Margaret stood in a small interview room at the hospital with her attorney, Patricia Lowell, beside her.
Grant remained near the door.
“You disabled the cameras.”
Margaret looked tired.
“I did.”
Grant felt something settle.
“Why?”
“Because Clara and I had been arguing.”
“So?”
“I didn't want household staff recording private family disputes.”
Grant almost laughed.
“The cameras don't belong to Clara.”
“She watches them.”
“Everyone with authorization can.”
Margaret folded her hands.
“I wanted privacy.”
“Fourteen minutes before Liam was on the floor.”
“I didn't know that would happen.”
Grant stared.
“Which version are we on now?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Excuse me?”
“You said Clara attacked Liam.”
“She did.”
“You said you tried to stop her.”
“I did.”
“But you turned off the cameras before the attack.”
Margaret’s attorney interrupted.
“Mr. Mercer, this is becoming accusatory.”
Grant looked at Patricia.
“My son had high-proof alcohol splashed across his face while someone restrained him.”
Patricia went quiet.
Grant turned back.
“Why did you turn off only the living room and hallway?”
Margaret sighed.
“Because that’s where Clara and I were talking.”
“What about?”
“Her behavior.”
“Toward who?”
“Me.”
Grant heard Liam’s account in his head.
Clara told Grandma she couldn't yell at me.
Margaret continued.
“She’s become disrespectful.”
“Did she tell you not to yell at Liam?”
Margaret froze.
Only slightly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she interferes.”
“Did you break the blue vase?”
Margaret stared at him.
“What?”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did Liam?”
“Yes.”
“He says he didn’t.”
Margaret laughed softly.
“Grant, he’s ten.”
“And?”
“He lies.”
There.
The sentence landed harder than Grant expected.
Not because children never lied.
Because Margaret said it so comfortably.
As if she had been waiting to define him.
“He says you forced him to take responsibility.”
“He’s confused.”
“He says you told him nobody would believe him over you.”
Margaret’s face changed.
“Clara has been filling his head.”
“Clara wasn't there when he told me.”
Margaret looked toward Patricia.
Grant noticed.
Always checking.
Always recalculating.
“Mom.”
She looked back.
“Why was Liam’s name on papers in the library?”
For the first time, Margaret became genuinely still.
“What papers?”
“He said there was a red folder.”
Margaret’s voice came carefully.
“I have no idea what he means.”
“Was there a red folder?”
“There are hundreds of folders in this house.”
“Did one have Liam’s name?”
“I don’t know.”
Grant stared.
That was not how Margaret usually answered.
She loved precision.
She corrected waiters on wine years.
She remembered birthdays nobody else did.
She knew exactly which drawer held silver serving spoons from 1989.
Now she didn't know whether she had documents bearing her grandson’s name.
“Where is the folder?”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“I don't know what folder you mean.”
Grant turned toward the door.
“Then police can find it.”
Margaret’s voice sharpened.
“Do not let strangers tear apart this house.”
He stopped.
“Our house.”
“What?”
“You keep saying this house like it’s yours.”
Her mouth tightened.
“It is the family home.”
“It belongs to me.”
Margaret stood.
“It belonged to your father before you.”
“And he left it to me.”
“You were never supposed to turn it into some museum for Nora.”
Grant stared.
There it was.
Nora.
He rarely heard Margaret say his late wife’s name without contempt.
“Why did you bring her into this?”
Margaret looked away.
“I didn't.”
“You just did.”
Patricia gently touched Margaret’s arm.
“We should stop.”
Margaret ignored her.
“Nora filled Liam’s head with the idea that everyone was trying to take something from him.”
Grant's stomach tightened.
“Liam was six when she died.”
“She left recordings.”
He froze.
“What recordings?”
Margaret realized too late.
Grant stepped closer.
“What recordings?”
She said nothing.
Nora had recorded birthday messages for Liam before she died.
Grant knew that.
But Margaret’s tone suggested more.
“Mom.”
Patricia interrupted.
“We are done.”
Margaret gathered her purse.
Grant didn't move.
“Where are the recordings?”
“Ask Clara.”
That was too fast.
Another attempt to redirect.
Grant stepped aside and let them leave.
Detective Cole waited in the hallway.
“You heard?”
“Yes.”
“What recordings?”
“I don't know.”
Cole watched Margaret disappear around the corner.
Then:
“We searched the library.”
“And?”
“No red folder.”
Grant’s chest tightened.
“Someone moved it.”
“Possibly.”
“What did you find?”
“A locked lower cabinet.”
Grant frowned.
“I don't keep that locked.”
“Someone does now.”
“Did you open it?”
“We're obtaining consent from you formally and documenting the search.”
“You have it.”
Cole nodded.
“And there’s one other thing.”
“What?”
“In the trash outside the service entrance, an officer found shredded paper.”
Grant felt his pulse change.
“Can it be reconstructed?”
“Some.”
“Anything readable?”
Cole showed him a photograph.
A strip of paper.
Three printed words.
MERCER MINOR TRUST.
Grant stared.
Liam had a trust.
Nora had created it before she died.
Grant managed it.
Margaret had no reason to possess working copies.
“What else?”
Cole swiped.
Another strip.
TRANSFER AUTHORIZATION.
Grant stopped breathing.
May you like
The red folder was real.
And someone had started shredding whatever Liam had discovered before Grant ever walked through the door.
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