Chapter 2 - The Offer With My Father’s Name On It
The next morning, I was sitting at the marble island in my penthouse when NorthBridge Health Partners called.
I almost ignored it.
My coffee had gone cold. The sun was rising between the buildings across Midtown, turning the windows gold, but all I could think about was Ethan’s voice.
Dad’s in trouble.
I answered on the fourth ring.
“Claire Mercer?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Rebecca Sloan, COO of NorthBridge.”
I knew Rebecca from two years earlier, when NorthBridge had tried to invest in MedAxis, the healthcare software company Marcus and I had built from a rented apartment.
Rebecca was sharp, direct, and almost impossible to intimidate.
“Still refusing to join the corporate world?” she asked.
“I lasted three years in medical school.”
“That doesn’t count.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
Then her tone changed.
“I’m calling about New Jersey.”
My fingers tightened around the mug.
“What about New Jersey?”
“We’re evaluating several urgent-care assets. Three clinics owned by Mercer Immediate Health.”
My father’s company.
I stared at the skyline.
“How far along are you?”
“Far enough that I was going to ask whether you’d consider advising us.”
I said nothing.
Rebecca continued.
“Your software handled outpatient billing better than anything I’ve seen. These clinics are drowning in rejected claims, unusual vendor expenses, and debt. Something doesn’t add up.”
My chest tightened.
“Unusual how?”
“Too early to say. But our analysts believe the business should be healthier than the financials suggest.”
That was worse.
Debt could be explained.
Bad management could be fixed.
But money disappearing without explanation meant something else.
Rebecca paused.
“You know the owner?”
“He’s my father.”
Silence.
Then, very quietly, she said, “Well. That complicates things.”
“You have no idea.”
I told her not to mention my relationship to anyone yet.
She agreed.
Then she sent me the preliminary acquisition file.
Mercer Immediate Health owed nearly $6.8 million across mortgages, equipment leases, a revolving credit line, and vendor debt.
But the number that stopped me was buried on page forty-three.
Consulting and administrative payments: $1.74 million over eighteen months.
Payable to a company called Lawson Strategic Services.
I recognized the name.
Peter Lawson.
My father’s business partner.
Peter had been at every barbecue, every Christmas party, every clinic opening.
He had known me since I was fourteen.
Dad called him “the brother I never had.”
I called Ethan.
He answered immediately.
“Where’s Dad?”
“At work.”
“Does Peter Lawson still handle the finances?”
A pause.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Does Dad trust him?”
“More than anybody.”
That was exactly what I was afraid of.
“Claire, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Are you going to help?”
I looked at the acquisition file.
Three weeks earlier, my father had thrown my suitcase onto the porch.
He had told me never to ask him for anything.
Now I was staring at financial documents that could determine whether he lost his home, his business, and everything he had spent thirty years building.
“I’m going to find out what happened first.”
Around noon, Marcus arrived.
He walked into the penthouse carrying two paper bags of Chinese food and looked around dramatically.
“I still can’t believe you bought this place and kept your old coffee machine.”
“It makes good coffee.”
“It makes brown sadness.”
I handed him the NorthBridge report.
His joking expression disappeared within minutes.
“Claire.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
He pointed at a spreadsheet.
“Look here. Lawson Strategic received payments during months when the clinics were already missing loan covenants.”
“So?”
“So any competent financial manager would freeze nonessential consulting payments while the company was in distress.”
“Unless the payments weren’t optional.”
Marcus looked at me.
“Or unless Lawson controlled the books.”
My phone rang.
Mom.
I hadn’t spoken to her since she stood beside Dad while he threw me out.
I let it ring twice before answering.
“Claire?”
Her voice sounded smaller than I remembered.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Where are you?”
“Safe.”
“Your father wants to talk to you.”
I almost laughed.
“Does he?”
“He’s scared.”
That surprised me.
Daniel Mercer did not admit fear.
Not to anyone.
“He hasn’t slept,” Mom whispered. “The bank gave him until Friday.”
“For what?”
“To produce two million dollars in liquidity.”
I closed my eyes.
Friday was three days away.
“If he can’t?”
“They start enforcement proceedings.”
Meaning foreclosure.
Forced sale.
Possibly bankruptcy.
Mom started crying.
“Claire, I know what happened was terrible.”
I waited.
“But your father was angry.”
My eyes opened.
“There’s always a reason when Dad hurts someone.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes, it is.”
She went quiet.
Then came the sentence I had expected.
“Can you come home?”
“No.”
“Claire—”
“I’m not coming back to beg him to forgive me for making my own decision.”
“He doesn’t want an apology.”
“Then what does he want?”
Before she could answer, I heard my father in the background.
“Give me the phone.”
There was a rustling sound.
Then his voice.
Hard.
Controlled.
“Claire.”
“Dad.”
“I heard you may know people in healthcare finance.”
I nearly admired the way he avoided saying help.
“I do.”
“There’s a company trying to steal my clinics.”
“NorthBridge.”
Silence.
“How do you know?”
“I know the industry.”
He exhaled sharply.
“They offered eleven million. The properties alone are worth more.”
“Not with the debt attached.”
Another silence.
Then he said, “So you’ve looked into it.”
I realized my mistake.
He heard it too.
“Claire,” he said slowly. “What exactly have you been doing since you left medical school?”
I looked at Marcus.
He raised one eyebrow.
“Building my life.”
Dad scoffed.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting today.”
He became angry.
“I am still your father.”
“And three weeks ago, I was still your daughter.”
The line went silent.
For once, Daniel Mercer had nothing to say.
Then I asked the question that mattered.
“Dad, why did you pay Peter Lawson almost two million dollars while your company was failing?”
His breathing stopped.
“How do you know about that?”
The fear in his voice was unmistakable.
And suddenly I understood.
May you like
My father had not merely been hiding losses.
He had been hiding Peter Lawson.
