Chapter 3 - MY FATHER THREATENED THE WOMAN EVERYONE BLAMED FOR “STEALING” MY LILY—SO THE THREE PEOPLE HE EXPECTED TO TURN AGAINST ME WALKED INTO HIS TRAP TOGETHER
Sophie didn't cry when I told her.
That frightened me.
“Where is my mother?”
“We don't know yet.”
“What does he want?”
“Me.”
“Then give him you.”
Graham flinched.
Adrian didn't.
I understood.
Sophie loved her mother.
I would have said the same.
“We're going to get her back.”
“How?”
“Carefully.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Don't give me rich-people words.”
I almost smiled.
“Fair.”
Rebecca traced Victor's message to Bellarose.
A Mercer warehouse near the old rail yard.
Sophie’s mother, June Lane, had been taken from a vacation property where she was cleaning.
One security camera caught two men.
Both Mercer employees.
Federal agents prepared.
I wanted to go.
Rebecca said no.
Adrian said:
“Your choice.”
Graham said:
“Absolutely not.”
I looked at him.
He stopped.
Then corrected himself.
“I don't think you should.”
Progress came slowly.
I went.
Not inside initially.
Rebecca fitted me with a wire.
Adrian insisted on accompanying me only to the perimeter.
Graham did too.
“Why?”
I asked him.
“Because this started with me.”
“No.”
“It didn't.”
“Elena—”
“My father created this twenty-one years ago.”
“You made one selfish choice.”
“Don't make yourself the center of everything.”
He stared.
Then laughed.
“You're right.”
“I hate how often people say that lately.”
Adrian said dryly:
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Graham looked at him.
“I still don't like you.”
“Mutual.”
“Children,” I said.
Both stopped.
Ridiculous.
I entered the warehouse alone.
Victor waited.
Catherine stood beside him.
June Lane sat in a chair.
Not tied.
Two armed men behind her.
My father looked older.
Not weaker.
“Welcome home.”
“This isn't home.”
His mouth tightened.
“You've become dramatic.”
“Learned from family.”
Catherine rolled her eyes.
“Sign the documents.”
She placed papers on a table.
Transfer of Hart Coastal shares.
My nine percent.
If I signed, I returned to forty-two.
Then marriage to Adrian would transfer temporary control.
Victor believed Adrian was cooperating.
“Where's the engagement contract?”
I asked.
Victor smiled.
“Blackwood has it.”
“No.”
His smile faded.
“He burned it.”
Catherine stared.
“What?”
“He doesn't want the shares.”
Victor's face changed.
There.
Fear.
I had never seen my father afraid of me.
It was intoxicating.
Also dangerous.
“You're lying.”
“No.”
“I own fifty-one percent.”
“Not yet.”
“Legally, yes.”
“You don't control Evelyn's trust until thirty.”
“Ten months.”
“A lot can happen in ten months.”
June made a small sound.
Victor looked at her.
I stepped forward.
“Let her go.”
“Sign.”
“No.”
One of the men raised his gun.
I heard Rebecca through my earpiece.
Keep him talking.
“What happened to Mom?”
Victor's expression emptied.
Catherine became very still.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“She overdosed.”
“No.”
I placed the toxicology report on the table.
Victor didn't look.
Catherine did.
Her face changed.
Interesting.
“You didn't know,” I whispered.
Catherine snapped:
“Know what?”
I looked at my father.
“He killed her.”
Catherine turned.
Victor said:
“Don't be stupid.”
“She was going to expose you.”
“She was unstable.”
“She owned the company.”
“I built the company!”
His voice echoed.
There.
The real man.
Not polished Victor Mercer.
Not philanthropist.
Not father.
A man furious that another person could own something he believed should be his.
“Evelyn would have destroyed everything.”
I whispered:
“So you killed her.”
Silence.
Rebecca heard it.
But confession by implication wasn't enough.
Victor smiled.
“You always were too much like her.”
“Good.”
“She thought being right made her powerful.”
“It didn't.”
“What did?”
“The pills?”
His eyes flickered.
Catherine stared.
“Victor.”
He ignored her.
“She should have signed.”
My skin went cold.
“What did you give her?”
“Enough to make the death believable.”
Catherine stepped away.
“You told me she was already using.”
Victor finally looked at his wife.
“She was.”
“You said you found her.”
“I did.”
“You killed her?”
He sighed.
“Don't become sentimental.”
Catherine slapped him.
Hard.
One armed man looked away.
The other shifted.
Rebecca whispered:
We have enough.
Then everything happened.
June grabbed the table.
Flipped it.
I dropped.
Gunfire.
Federal agents entered.
Catherine screamed.
Victor ran toward a side door.
Graham appeared there.
Idiot.
Absolute idiot.
Victor raised a gun.
Adrian hit him from the side.
Another shot exploded.
Graham went down.
“GRAHAM!”
I crawled toward him.
Blood.
Shoulder.
Alive.
Adrian disarmed Victor.
He could have shot him.
Didn't.
Agents surrounded us.
Catherine stood frozen.
June ran to me.
“Where's Sophie?”
“Safe.”
She started crying.
Victor was handcuffed.
He looked at me.
“You think this company will follow you?”
I stood.
My dress was dirty.
My hands shaking.
Graham bleeding behind me.
Adrian beside him applying pressure to the wound.
For once, the men weren't standing in front of me.
I didn't need them to.
I looked at my father.
“No.”
“I think they'll follow the bylaws.”
Rebecca laughed.
Victor didn't.
He was charged with murder, kidnapping, trafficking, fraud, conspiracy, and dozens of financial offenses.
Catherine cooperated.
She had participated in fraud.
Signed false invoices.
Helped pressure me into marriage.
But she hadn't known Victor murdered my mother.
That didn't make her innocent.
It made guilt complicated.
She pleaded guilty later.
Twenty-eight months.
June Lane survived unharmed.
Sophie came to the hospital.
She hugged her mother.
Then me.
Then, unexpectedly, Graham.
He was drugged.
“Is this the woman who stole my flower?”
Sophie stared.
I covered my face.
“Please ignore him.”
She laughed.
“I gave it back.”
Graham frowned.
“Why?”
“Because apparently flowers ruin lives.”
He fell asleep.
Adrian stood beside me.
“You love him.”
I looked at Graham.
Childhood.
Promises.
Betrayal.
A bullet wound.
Apologies.
History.
“Yes.”
Adrian nodded.
My heart tightened.
“But not the way I thought.”
His eyes met mine.
Something passed between us.
Dangerous.
Quiet.
I looked away first.
Ten months later, I turned thirty.
At 9:00 a.m., Mercer Logistics held an emergency shareholder meeting.
At 9:17, I exercised fifty-one percent voting control.
At 9:22, I removed Victor Mercer as chairman.
At 9:31, I ordered a complete independent audit.
At 9:40, I terminated every executive implicated in trafficking.
At 10:05, I walked into my father's old office.
Then closed the door.
Alone.
I expected victory to feel louder.
It didn't.
It felt like silence.
My mother should have been there.
A knock came.
“Come in.”
Graham entered.
His shoulder had healed.
He carried something.
A white lily.
I stared.
“No.”
He laughed.
“Not what you think.”
He placed it on the desk.
“I wanted to return this.”
“You already apologized.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I've spent ten months thinking about what I did.”
He sat.
“I kept telling myself I was kind to Sophie.”
“I was.”
“She needed kindness.”
“But I used kindness as an excuse not to think about what I'd promised you.”
I listened.
“You asked me for protection because you were afraid.”
“I decided your fear was less important than the way I wanted to see myself.”
“The good guy.”
“The generous guy.”
“The man who rescued the scholarship girl from feeling invisible.”
He looked down.
“I made your pain the price of my kindness.”
“That wasn't kindness.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I loved you.”
Past tense.
My chest hurt.
“I know.”
“I think part of me still does.”
“Probably.”
He smiled sadly.
“But I don't think we should marry.”
“No.”
He laughed.
“Could you pretend to hesitate?”
“No.”
“Cruel.”
“Growth.”
He stood.
At the door, I said:
“Graham.”
He turned.
“I forgive you.”
His face changed.
“But?”
“No but.”
I looked at the lily.
“Forgiveness isn't an invitation back into the same role.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
This time, I believed him.
He left.
Five minutes later, Adrian entered.
He looked at the lily.
“Should I be worried?”
“Terrified.”
“I usually am.”
“You hide it.”
“So do you.”
He placed coffee on my desk.
Solicited.
By now he knew my order.
“You're officially terrifying,” he said.
“Fifty-one percent.”
“Very attractive.”
I stared.
He looked innocent.
“You're flirting.”
“Yes.”
“You said you weren't going to pressure me.”
“Flirting and pressure aren't synonymous.”
“Debatable.”
“I can stop.”
I thought about it.
“No.”
His smile was slow.
“Good.”
That was the beginning.
Not the marriage contract.
Not the rescue.
Not the warehouse.
Coffee.
A joke.
May you like
Permission.
A beginning I chose.
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