Chapter 5 - My Father’s Greatest Mistake
We returned to the townhouse after midnight.
I did not let my father escape into his study.
“Tell me.”
“Evelyn—”
“No more protecting me.”
He stopped.
For sixty-three years, Charles Mercer had been a man who could command a room simply by entering it.
That night, he looked old.
“I made a mistake.”
“How large?”
His laugh was painful.
“Large enough that your mother never fully forgave me.”
Years earlier, Mercer Holdings had been expanding aggressively.
Gavin found investors.
Dad built hospitals.
Mom controlled risk.
Then Gavin proposed an acquisition of a pharmaceutical distributor called Northstar Medical.
Mom opposed it.
Dad approved it.
The company later discovered Northstar had been hiding safety complaints involving one of its medications.
“My mother found out?”
“Yes.”
“And Gavin knew?”
Dad stared at the floor.
“He knew before the acquisition.”
I felt cold.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did Mom believe you?”
“No.”
There it was.
The wound beneath everything.
Dad had trusted Gavin over his wife.
Not maliciously.
But completely.
“When Katherine discovered the concealed reports, she wanted Gavin removed and the matter reported immediately.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked for forty-eight hours to investigate.”
“You didn’t believe her.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“No.”
The next night, my mother overdosed on medication she had not been prescribed.
Dr. Voss blamed confusion caused by chemotherapy.
Afterward, Gavin argued that her judgment was deteriorating.
Dad accepted the explanation.
“For how long?”
“Three weeks.”
“Three weeks?”
“Then I found evidence she was right.”
I stood.
“You let everyone think she was losing her mind for three weeks?”
“I was trying to save the company.”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“You were trying to save yourself from admitting you had trusted the wrong man.”
Dad did not deny it.
I left him standing there.
At two in the morning, I found Noah in the kitchen.
He handed me tea.
I stared at it.
He immediately froze.
“Sorry.”
It was absurd.
But I started laughing.
Then crying.
Then both.
Noah poured the tea into the sink and opened a bottle of water instead.
We sat quietly.
“I feel stupid,” I said.
“For what?”
“For loving Damon.”
“You loved the person he designed for you.”
“That’s worse.”
“No. It means he studied what a good man would look like and performed it.”
I looked at Noah.
“And I believed the performance.”
“So did your father with Gavin.”
That irritated me.
“Don’t defend him.”
“I’m not.”
Noah leaned back.
“I’m saying intelligent people can be deceived when the liar has time.”
I thought about that.
Damon had three years.
Gavin had forty.
The next morning, the district attorney charged Damon with additional counts based on the video.
Administering medication without consent.
Evidence tampering.
Conspiracy.
Gavin had not yet been charged.
His attorneys claimed he had been discussing a legitimate corporate restructuring.
The video was damaging, but apparently not enough.
Then Damon made bail.
The news broke at noon.
By twelve-fifteen, paparazzi were outside.
By one, someone had leaked parts of my forged psychiatric file.
Online headlines appeared.
BILLIONAIRE HEIRESS’ PRIVATE MENTAL HEALTH CRISIS.
PREGNANT SOCIALITE’S MARRIAGE COLLAPSES.
Some articles questioned whether the kennel story had been exaggerated.
I stared at my phone.
“That was fast.”
Noah looked over my shoulder.
“Gavin.”
“Or Damon.”
“Same machine.”
At three, Lacey released a statement.
She claimed she and Damon had become romantically involved only after our marriage was “already emotionally over.”
She claimed she had never seen him harm me.
I threw my phone across the sofa.
It hit a cushion.
Dad entered.
“What happened?”
“Lacey.”
His mouth tightened.
“She’s trying to protect herself.”
“No. She’s helping him destroy me.”
Dad sat opposite me.
“Then we don’t fight them in the press.”
“What do we do?”
“We prove what they did.”
A courier arrived fifteen minutes later.
No return address.
Inside was a white box.
My mother’s silk robe.
Folded carefully.
On top lay a note in Lacey’s handwriting.
I’m sorry.
Under the robe was a flash drive.
Noah plugged it into an isolated laptop.
There was one audio file.
Lacey’s voice came first.
“You told me nobody would get hurt.”
Then Damon.
“She isn’t hurt.”
“You locked her outside.”
“She needed to understand.”
“What if the baby—”
“The baby is the only reason she’s still useful.”
I closed my eyes.
The recording continued.
Lacey asked, “And after the trust transfers?”
Damon answered without hesitation.
“Then accidents happen.”
Dad stood.
Noah froze the audio.
Nobody moved.
“Is that enough?” I asked.
Noah looked grim.
“It’s powerful evidence of intent.”
“Intent to what?”
He looked at my stomach.
I already knew.
Then a second file appeared.
A photograph.
Lacey standing in a parking garage beside Gavin.
The timestamp was four months earlier.
On the back of the digital image metadata was a note.
$2,000,000 UPON COMPLETION.
Dad stared.
“She wasn’t just sleeping with Damon.”
Noah nodded.
“Gavin was paying her.”
I remembered Lacey entering my college dorm room fourteen years earlier.
We had shared secrets.
Clothes.
Breakups.
Holidays.
She held my hand at Mom’s funeral.
And someone had put a price on betraying me.
Two million dollars.
My phone rang.
Lacey again.
This time, I answered immediately.
“Why did you send it?”
Her voice shook.
“Because Damon is going to kill me.”
“Why would I care?”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Then why call?”
“Because Gavin changed the plan.”
My heart began pounding.
“What plan?”
“He knows Nora gave you the amendment.”
“So?”
“So the trust is useless to them now.”
I heard traffic behind her.
“They need a different way to control the company.”
“What way?”
Lacey began crying.
“Through your daughter.”
I stood.
“What does that mean?”
“Damon filed something this morning.”
“What?”
“A paternity challenge.”
The room disappeared around me.
“He’s claiming the baby isn’t his.”
I almost laughed.
“That hurts him, not me.”
“No.”
Lacey whispered the next words.
“He already has a man prepared to claim he’s the father.”
My blood turned cold.
“Who?”
She answered.
“Gavin Shaw’s son.”
I stared at my father.
Dad stared back.
May you like
Gavin didn’t have a son.
At least, not one we knew existed.
