Chapter 8 - The Night He Buried HerGrant Mercer looked smaller than I remembered.
We met in Rachel Sloan’s office with two detectives present.
Mercer was seventy-eight.
Thin.
Pale.
An oxygen tube rested beneath his nose.
Mom refused to sit near him.
I didn’t blame her.
Mercer placed an old digital storage drive on the table.
“This was transferred from videotape years ago.”
Mom stared at him.
“You stood beside Victor.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened me.”
“Yes.”
“You watched my son cry at an empty coffin.”
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
Mom’s voice hardened.
“And now you want forgiveness because you’re sick?”
“No.”
Mercer looked at her.
“I want the truth recorded before I die.”
Rachel connected the drive.
The video was grainy.
A date appeared.
December 14, 1993.
Two days before the funeral.
My father appeared on the screen.
Young.
Handsome.
Terrifyingly familiar.
Mercer’s younger voice came from behind the camera.
“This is insane, Victor.”
Dad poured himself a drink.
“She won’t stop.”
“She’s your wife.”
“She’s a liability.”
“What about Daniel?”
“He’ll adjust.”
My stomach clenched.
Mercer said, “You can’t tell a nine-year-old his mother died.”
Dad looked directly toward the camera.
“I can tell my son anything I need him to believe.”
Mom began crying silently beside me.
I took her hand.
On screen, Mercer asked, “And Margaret?”
“She disappears.”
“How?”
“I don’t care.”
“Victor—”
“She can leave the state, change her name, sleep under a bridge.”
Dad took a drink.
“But if she comes near Daniel again, we bury her for real.”
No one in Rachel’s office moved.
The recording ended.
Mercer covered his face.
“I should have stopped him.”
Mom stared at him.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“You helped him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money.”
His answer was immediate.
No excuses.
“Victor paid me more in one year than I normally earned in five.”
Mom stood.
“I lost my child because you wanted money.”
Mercer’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
She leaned toward him.
“You went home after that funeral.”
Her voice shook.
“You ate dinner.”
“You slept in your bed.”
“You woke up the next morning knowing exactly where your children were.”
Mercer started crying.
“I know.”
“No.”
Mom stepped back.
“You know you did something wrong.”
She touched her chest.
“You do not know what it cost.”
I had never seen her look stronger.
Mercer handed detectives additional records.
Payments.
Letters.
Copies of fabricated medical affidavits.
A signed statement from Dr. Greer recorded before Greer’s death.
Everything.
Detective Alvarez closed the final folder.
“This changes things.”
“How?”
“It corroborates a pattern.”
I looked at him.
“Will Victor be arrested?”
“We’re taking this to the prosecutor.”
Again, no promises.
But this time I saw something different.
Momentum.
Outside, Mom stood beneath the courthouse steps and breathed deeply.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I nodded.
“Neither am I.”
She looked at me.
“But I will be.”
Those words meant everything.
Back at the company, the forensic audit uncovered enough to remove Dad permanently.
The board named me interim chairman.
I refused.
Helen looked shocked.
“Daniel, the company needs stability.”
“It needs honesty.”
“That’s why we need you.”
“Then appoint a committee until the investigation ends.”
Andrew looked at me.
“You don’t want it?”
“I don’t want anything Dad stole.”
Helen nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
Andrew cleared his throat.
“There’s another issue.”
He placed Dad’s DNA report on the table.
I had asked him whether he was sure.
He said yes.
“I need answers.”
Mom stared at the report.
Then at Andrew.
“I knew Caroline.”
He turned.
“You did?”
“Before you were born.”
My stomach tightened.
Mom continued.
“She worked at Hayes Manufacturing.”
Andrew sat down.
“Was she seeing Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Was she seeing someone else?”
Mom hesitated.
“I don’t know.”
Then she remembered something.
“There was a man.”
Andrew leaned forward.
“Who?”
“David Cole.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Mom frowned.
“He worked in maintenance.”
Andrew searched the company archive.
David Cole.
Employee from 1987 to 1994.
Then Andrew froze.
“What?”
He turned the screen.
An old employee photograph appeared.
The resemblance was undeniable.
Same eyes.
Same chin.
Same crooked smile.
Andrew whispered, “Oh my God.”
I squeezed his shoulder.
“We don’t know anything yet.”
“He looks like me.”
“Yes.”
Andrew searched further.
David Cole had left the company thirty-two years ago.
Last known address—
Arizona.
Then a current contact record appeared from an old pension account.
Andrew stared at the phone number.
“You don’t have to call today,” I said.
He nodded.
Then picked up his phone anyway.
“I’ve spent enough of my life letting Victor decide what truth I can handle.”
He dialed.
A man answered.
“Hello?”
Andrew’s face went pale.
“Is this David Cole?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Andrew Hayes.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Andrew looked at me.
Then David spoke.
His voice shook.
“Caroline’s boy?”
Andrew stopped breathing.
“You know who I am?”
May you like
David began crying on the other end of the line.
“I’ve been waiting thirty-four years for this call.”
