Chapter 8 - The Third Name
I stared at Ethan.
For the first time in my life, my younger brother looked genuinely afraid.
“Who was it?”
His lips moved.
No sound came out.
I leaned closer.
“Ethan.”
The monitor began beeping faster.
A nurse entered.
“You need to step back.”
Ethan grabbed my wrist.
His fingers were weak but desperate.
“Father.”
One word.
Then his hand dropped.
My entire body went cold.
Our father had been dead for seven years.
Richard Mercer built the company from nothing.
He had been ruthless in business.
Demanding.
Controlling.
But dead men did not poison hospital patients.
The doctor pushed me from the room as Ethan’s blood pressure collapsed.
Grace followed me into the hall.
“Did he say father?”
“Yes.”
She looked confused.
“Your father died before Claire discovered the fraud.”
I stared through the hospital glass.
“Maybe he wasn’t talking about mine.”
My phone vibrated.
A text from an unknown number.
STOP LOOKING INTO CLAIRE OR NOAH WILL LOSE MORE THAN HIS INHERITANCE.
I showed Grace.
Her expression changed instantly.
Police traced the number.
Burner phone.
No immediate location.
We returned to the estate under increased security.
Noah was staying temporarily with my attorney Rachel and her husband.
I hated being separated from him.
But until we knew who else was involved, the estate no longer felt safe.
That evening, Grace and I reviewed Claire’s documents again.
One financial statement included several payments to something called the Father’s Foundation.
I had seen the name before.
It was a charity Ethan supported.
Grace searched corporate filings.
The foundation’s chairman was Senator Malcolm Reeves.
Paul Reeves’s father.
I stared at the screen.
“That can’t be coincidence.”
Grace called Paul.
He answered on the second ring.
When we asked about his father, silence followed.
“My father has nothing to do with this.”
“Ethan just said father before somebody tried to kill him.”
Paul breathed heavily.
“You need to leave that alone.”
“Why?”
“Because my father doesn’t lose.”
Grace leaned closer to the phone.
“Paul, what did Marcus know?”
Another pause.
“My father used Ethan.”
“For what?”
“To move money through Mercer companies.”
My jaw tightened.
“Political money?”
“Some.”
“Bribes?”
“Some.”
“What else?”
Paul’s voice dropped.
“Money that never officially existed.”
Then the call disconnected.
I tried calling back.
Nothing.
Ten minutes later, police called.
Paul Reeves had disappeared from protective custody.
The officer guarding his room had been found unconscious.
Security footage showed Paul leaving voluntarily with an older man.
The man wore a long dark coat.
His face was hidden.
But when he turned slightly toward the camera, Grace froze.
“What?”
She pointed.
A gold signet ring was visible on his hand.
I recognized it.
I had seen that ring hundreds of times at charity dinners.
May you like
Senator Malcolm Reeves wore it in every public photograph.
And six years earlier, he had served as executor of my father’s estate.
