Chapter 4 - SOMEONE INSIDE THE MANSION WANTED THE CHILD GONE
Grant locked down the estate within ten minutes.
No staff member left.
No vehicle moved.
No deliveries entered.
Daniel shut down the internal network while two technicians created forensic copies of every relevant system.
Grant’s people had handled kidnappings, extortion attempts, stolen shipments, and federal surveillance over the years.
But Hannah had never seen the mansion like this.
Doors secured.
Radios whispering.
Men she normally saw wearing kitchen uniforms revealing earpieces she had never noticed.
Grant Mercer’s home had always looked peaceful because enormous effort existed beneath the surface to keep it that way.
Lucy sat on Hannah’s bed playing with wooden animals.
Hannah packed.
Not because Grant had fired her.
Because she intended to leave.
Grant appeared in the doorway without knocking.
His cane struck once against the frame.
“What are you doing?”
“Packing.”
“No.”
Hannah folded Lucy’s sweater.
“That wasn’t a question.”
“It should have been.”
“You can’t leave.”
She turned.
“You don’t get to tell me that.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“Someone accessed your daughter’s preschool information.”
“Exactly.”
“And leaving the estate puts her where?”
“Anywhere that isn’t connected to you.”
The sentence hurt more than Hannah intended.
Grant became very still.
She softened.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
His voice remained quiet.
“You’re not wrong.”
Hannah stopped packing.
Grant continued:
“My house became dangerous because someone is using access to me.”
“That is not your fault.”
“It is still my responsibility.”
“Grant—”
“Give me twenty-four hours.”
She stared.
“For what?”
“To identify who accessed your file.”
“And if you can’t?”
“I put you and Lucy somewhere nobody associated with Mercer can find.”
Hannah gave him a bitter smile.
“You say that like normal people have invisible houses.”
“I have three.”
She blinked.
Grant almost smiled.
“Maybe four.”
“You don’t know how many houses you own?”
“Daniel handles property.”
From the hallway Daniel called:
“Five.”
Grant frowned.
“You’re listening?”
“You’re loud when arguing.”
Hannah laughed despite herself.
Lucy looked up.
“Are we moving?”
Hannah crouched.
“Maybe.”
Lucy frowned.
“I like Mr. Grant’s cookies.”
“They are not my cookies.”
Grant said.
“You own house.”
“That logic is concerning.”
Lucy went back to playing.
Daniel entered.
“We found the terminal.”
Grant turned.
“Where?”
“Household office.”
Hannah stiffened.
“That’s downstairs.”
“Yes.”
“Camera?”
“Hallway only.”
“Who entered?”
Daniel held up his phone.
“Four people between one-thirty and three.”
“Names.”
“Mrs. Donnelly.”
“Chef Laurent.”
“Evan Price.”
“And Lydia Marks.”
Hannah knew them all.
Mrs. Donnelly had been Grant’s head housekeeper for fourteen years.
Chef Laurent was almost sixty and hated computers.
Evan Price managed the estate grounds.
Lydia Marks was Grant’s executive household coordinator.
Thirty-four.
Efficient.
Immaculate.
She controlled vendor schedules, payroll, travel arrangements, maintenance access, and guest lists.
Hannah’s stomach tightened.
“She can access employee files.”
“Yes.”
Daniel said.
“But she wouldn’t need your password.”
Grant understood.
“If Lydia wanted your records, she already had them.”
“Which means somebody used Hannah’s credentials specifically to create a trail.”
Daniel nodded.
“Exactly.”
Grant’s phone rang.
A security officer at the north gate.
Daniel answered.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
Grant asked.
“A package.”
“From?”
“No return name.”
“Bomb squad.”
“Already called.”
The package was small.
Too small to ignore.
Too strange to open.
Two hours later, authorities determined it contained no explosive.
Inside was a child’s yellow flashlight.
Identical to Lucy’s.
Except this one had been broken in half.
There was a note.
STOP LOOKING.
Hannah went cold.
Grant held the note between gloved fingers after Daniel described it.
“Handwriting?”
“Printed.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Probably not.”
Hannah looked at Lucy, who was eating apple slices across the room and knew nothing about the package.
“This is because of her.”
Grant turned toward Hannah’s voice.
“No.”
“Grant.”
“This is because of what someone did to me.”
“Lucy exposed it accidentally.”
“That makes her a target.”
“Yes.”
He did not soften the truth.
Hannah hated that.
She appreciated it too.
“I’m leaving tonight.”
Grant nodded.
“All right.”
She blinked.
“All right?”
“Yes.”
“But not alone.”
By sunset, arrangements were made.
Hannah and Lucy would stay at an apartment in Manhattan owned through one of Daniel’s unrelated companies.
Mrs. Donnelly would accompany them.
Two guards would remain downstairs.
Grant insisted.
Hannah refused the guards.
Grant ignored the refusal.
They compromised by pretending Hannah had agreed.
At seven p.m., Lucy ran into the library to say goodbye.
Grant was sitting where the story had begun.
Same chair.
Same fireplace.
No yellow flashlight this time.
Lucy climbed onto his knee.
Hannah opened her mouth.
Grant shook his head slightly.
He let the child settle.
“Going vacation.”
Lucy announced.
“So I heard.”
“Mommy says secret apartment.”
“That sounds less like vacation.”
“Can you come?”
Grant’s expression changed.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I have work.”
Lucy played with his tie.
“Eye work?”
“Some.”
“Bad doctor work?”
Hannah winced.
Grant answered:
“Some of that too.”
Lucy leaned closer.
“Don’t let him make eyes sleep.”
Grant swallowed.
“I won’t.”
She kissed his cheek.
Then jumped down.
Hannah stood near the door.
“Thank you.”
Grant tilted his head.
“For what?”
“Believing me.”
“I didn’t have to believe you.”
She stiffened.
Grant continued.
“The evidence did.”
Hannah smiled.
“Very romantic.”
Grant frowned.
“I wasn’t trying to be romantic.”
“I know.”
That made it worse somehow.
She turned to leave.
“Hannah.”
She stopped.
“Yes?”
Grant’s voice lowered.
“Be careful.”
Something in his tone made her chest tighten.
“You too.”
She left.
Grant listened until her footsteps disappeared.
Daniel entered ten seconds later.
“You like her.”
Grant’s expression became stone.
“No.”
Daniel sat opposite him.
“I’ve known you twenty-seven years.”
“That should have taught you when to stop talking.”
“It did not.”
“Clearly.”
Daniel smiled.
Then became serious.
“We found something in Hale’s finances.”
Grant leaned forward.
“What?”
“For five years, one consulting company has transferred money into a trust connected to his medical practice.”
“How much?”
“Six point four million.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“From whom?”
“Shells.”
“I’m tracing them.”
Daniel put a folder on the table.
“But one company name appeared in a shipping contract.”
Grant waited.
“Vane Maritime Holdings.”
His face changed.
Marcus Vane.
The name had not been spoken inside the Mercer estate in nearly five years.
Once, Marcus Vane had been Grant’s closest business partner.
Then rival.
Then enemy.
Three months before the Pier 17 explosion, Vane disappeared from New York.
People assumed he fled to Europe after Grant discovered millions missing from joint waterfront ventures.
Grant had believed the matter closed.
“Vane is alive?”
Daniel said:
“I never found a body.”
Grant stood.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“But money connected to companies he controlled eventually reached Hale.”
Grant’s cane struck the floor.
“Before or after the explosion?”
Daniel’s answer came quietly.
“Starting six weeks before.”
Grant stopped.
The room changed.
Six weeks before Caroline and Emma died.
Six weeks before Grant went blind.
“What else?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Grant…”
“What else?”
“I reopened the Pier 17 file.”
Grant’s voice turned hard.
“I told you five years ago not to.”
“You were half-dead.”
“You told me to bury everyone responsible.”
“And?”
“And I found something the original investigators missed.”
Grant waited.
“Security footage from a warehouse across the channel.”
“Why wasn’t it reviewed?”
“The camera belonged to a private storage company that went bankrupt two weeks after the explosion.”
Daniel placed a tablet on the table.
“I recovered an archived copy from their insurer.”
Grant almost laughed bitterly.
“Describe it.”
Daniel swallowed.
“Pier 17.”
“9:42 p.m.”
“Your car arrived.”
“You.”
“Caroline.”
“Emma.”
Grant’s throat tightened.
“Continue.”
“At 9:51, a second vehicle entered through the service gate.”
“Who?”
“Plate is unreadable.”
“Driver?”
“Not visible.”
“But a passenger exits.”
Grant waited.
Daniel’s voice changed.
“He’s carrying a medical case.”
The room went silent.
Grant’s hands curled.
“Describe him.”
“Male.”
“Approximately six feet.”
“Gray coat.”
“Walks with a slight right-sided limp.”
Grant knew.
Vernon Hale had broken his ankle skiing twenty years earlier.
The limp remained when he was tired.
Grant’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Hale was at the pier.”
“Yes.”
“He told police he was at home.”
“Yes.”
Grant remembered waking in the hospital.
Hale’s voice.
Calm.
Familiar.
You’ve been through something terrible.
Your eyes suffered catastrophic trauma.
I’m sorry, Grant.
Grant had cried in front of only one person after Daniel told him Caroline and Emma were dead.
Vernon Hale.
The man may have been at the scene before the explosion.
Grant reached for his cane.
“Bring him to me.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
Grant turned.
“What?”
“We don’t know what he did there.”
“He lied.”
“Yes.”
“He drugged my eyes for five years.”
“Probably.”
“He took millions from Vane.”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to wait?”
Daniel’s voice hardened.
“I want you alive long enough to learn the whole truth.”
Grant stared into darkness.
His oldest friend rarely challenged him.
When Daniel did, there was usually a reason.
“What do you suggest?”
“Watch Hale.”
“Trace Vane.”
“Get law enforcement we can trust.”
Grant gave a humorless smile.
“That last part will be difficult.”
“I know.”
Grant turned toward the fireplace.
His right eye felt strange.
Not painful.
Different.
Since stopping the drops, occasional impressions had come and gone.
A lessening of blackness.
A sense of direction.
Nothing recognizable.
He closed his eyes.
Then opened them.
A faint pale smear hovered somewhere to his left.
Grant froze.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Is the fire lit?”
Daniel stared.
“Yes.”
Grant’s pulse exploded.
He lifted one hand.
“Where?”
“Your left.”
Grant slowly turned his head.
The pale smear shifted toward the center of his darkness.
His breath caught.
Daniel stood.
“Grant?”
“I can’t see the fire.”
“But?”
Grant’s voice trembled.
“I can see that something is there.”
Daniel’s eyes filled.
Neither man spoke.
Then Daniel’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Cross.”
Silence.
His face changed.
“What?”
Grant heard Hannah screaming through the phone.
Not speaking.
Screaming.
Daniel hit speaker.
“Hannah!”
Her voice broke through.
“Someone is in the apartment!”
Grant’s entire body turned to ice.
A crash sounded.
Lucy cried.
Then a man’s voice:
“Give me the flashlight girl.”
Grant grabbed Daniel’s arm.
“Hannah!”
The line went dead.
For one terrible second, the room returned to absolute darkness.
Then Grant’s voice became the one New York’s waterfront had feared for twenty years.
“Find my child.”
Daniel stared at him.
Grant did not correct himself.
May you like
Neither did Daniel.
---
Related Stories
