Chapter 3 - What Brooke Was Supposed to BurnRebecca did not open the cabinet immediately.
That surprised Graham.
He had expected panic.
Instead, she walked downstairs and called her attorney.
Not the family attorney.
Her attorney.
Rachel Kim had represented Rebecca personally since her father died.
“Rebecca?”
“I need you at the house.”
Rachel heard something in her voice.
“How soon?”
“Now.”
“Is Oliver okay?”
“Yes.”
“Are you?”
Rebecca looked toward Graham standing in the doorway.
“No.”
Rachel didn't ask another question.
“I'll be there.”
Rebecca hung up.
Graham laughed bitterly.
“You're calling lawyers before talking to your husband?”
“I tried talking to my husband.”
She glanced toward Brooke.
“I found the housekeeper instead.”
Brooke looked down.
Graham paced.
“This is exactly why I didn't tell you.”
Rebecca stared.
“Tell me you were sleeping with her?”
“About the financial problem.”
There.
Finally.
Something real.
“What problem?”
Graham rubbed both hands over his face.
“My firm lost money.”
Graham Caldwell ran a private investment company called Caldwell Strategic Partners.
He had built it before marrying Rebecca.
Or at least that's how he described it.
Rebecca never involved herself in his business.
She had her own responsibilities as chairwoman of the Mercer Family Foundation and a board member of Mercer Development, the real-estate company her father created.
“How much?”
Graham didn't answer.
“Graham.”
“It's complicated.”
“How much?”
“Eight million.”
Rebecca stopped.
Brooke's eyes widened too.
Rebecca had expected hundreds of thousands.
Maybe a million.
Not eight.
“Does your company owe eight million dollars?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does exactly look like?”
“Certain investments failed.”
“So you lost investor money.”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
“Several clients.”
“Did you tell them?”
“We're restructuring.”
Rebecca stared.
“That means no.”
Graham looked angry.
“You don't understand the industry.”
“I understand eight million dollars.”
He looked away.
Rebecca thought about the cabinet.
“Why would anything in Dad's study fix this?”
“It wouldn't.”
“Then why were you searching?”
“I wasn't.”
Brooke stepped forward.
“Yes, you were.”
Graham turned.
“You were paid to clean this house. Don't pretend you understand private conversations.”
Brooke's face reddened.
“You told me everything when you wanted me to think we had a future.”
Rebecca felt that one.
Brooke continued.
“You said Arthur hid proof that Rebecca owned more of Mercer Development than she knew.”
Rebecca frowned.
“What?”
Graham went still.
Brooke realized she had said something Rebecca genuinely didn't know.
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
Rebecca looked at Graham.
“What is she talking about?”
He said nothing.
Brooke continued carefully.
“Graham said your father changed the voting trust before he died.”
Rebecca's pulse increased.
She owned thirty-eight percent of Mercer Development personally.
Her younger brother Nathan owned twenty-two.
The remainder sat inside a family trust that voted through a three-person board.
Graham had always complained the structure was outdated.
“What changed?”
Brooke shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Then why did he want the papers?”
“He said there might be a signed amendment giving you direct control when Oliver turned seven.”
Rebecca stared.
Oliver had turned seven three months earlier.
Why would her father structure something around his grandson's birthday?
Graham interrupted.
“That is not what I said.”
Brooke looked at him.
“You said Arthur didn't want Rebecca to know until Oliver was old enough.”
“Stop repeating things you barely understood.”
Rebecca raised the brass key.
“Then explain it correctly.”
Graham said nothing.
She turned toward the study.
He moved in front of her.
“You don't want to do this.”
Rebecca almost smiled.
“That's an interesting sentence.”
“If Arthur left something, there may be reasons he didn't show it to you.”
“He's dead.”
“I know.”
“So unless you plan to call him, move.”
Graham didn't.
Brooke watched.
Rebecca's voice lowered.
“Move.”
After several seconds, Graham stepped aside.
The three entered Arthur Mercer's old study.
Dark walnut shelves lined the walls.
His desk remained exactly where he'd left it.
Behind it stood a built-in cabinet with two small brass locks.
Rebecca inserted the key.
It turned.
The door opened.
Empty shelves.
Nothing.
She stared.
Brooke whispered:
“No.”
Rebecca turned.
“What?”
“It wasn't empty.”
Graham's expression changed.
Rebecca saw it.
“When were you last in here?”
Brooke looked at Graham.
“Yesterday.”
Rebecca's heartbeat accelerated.
“What was inside?”
“A blue folder.”
“The one he wanted?”
“I think so.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Brooke slowly pointed at Graham.
He shook his head.
“She is lying.”
Brooke stepped toward him.
“You came in after me.”
“Because you said you'd found something.”
“You took it.”
“You took it,” he snapped.
Rebecca stood between them.
“What was in the folder?”
Brooke swallowed.
“I only saw the first page.”
“What did it say?”
She tried to remember.
“Mercer Family Trust.”
Rebecca waited.
“And?”
“Amendment.”
Graham's jaw tightened.
Brooke continued.
“There was a date.”
“What date?”
“Three months before your father died.”
Rebecca's breathing slowed.
“Anything else?”
“One sentence.”
“What sentence?”
Brooke looked frightened.
“It said something like…”
She paused.
“…under no circumstances shall Graham Caldwell exercise control over Rebecca's shares.”
Silence.
Rebecca looked at her husband.
Graham's face had become unreadable.
Then a small voice sounded behind them.
“Mom?”
Everyone turned.
Oliver stood in the study doorway.
Rebecca softened instantly.
“Sweetheart, I told you to stay upstairs.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the empty cabinet.
Then at his father.
“Is that the blue paper Dad burned?”
Rebecca stopped breathing.
Graham closed his eyes.
Brooke whispered:
“Oh my God.”
Rebecca crouched in front of her son.
“What did you say?”
Oliver looked confused by everyone's reaction.
“The paper.”
“What paper?”
“The blue one Dad burned outside.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Rebecca's eyes moved toward Graham.
Oliver continued.
“He told me it was old trash.”
Rebecca stood very slowly.
“Where did he burn it?”
May you like
Oliver pointed toward the backyard.
“In Grandpa's fire pit.”
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