Chapter 4
Frank’s journals were the last private pieces of him I had left.
He had written in them every night for thirty-two years.
They contained business decisions, letters he never sent, and pages about raising Jackson.
Natalie knew exactly what threatening them would do to me.
Detective Ortiz ordered us not to go near the lake house.
I ignored her for almost thirty seconds.
Then she took my car keys.
“If you rush there, you become leverage,” she said. “Let us handle it.”
“They may burn everything.”
“And they may be waiting to hurt you.”
Jackson stood beside me.
“She’s right.”
I looked at him.
Hours earlier, he had defended Natalie.
Now he could barely say her name.
Police surrounded the lake house before dawn.
Natalie and Grant were gone.
They had left the back door open and the journals scattered across the living room floor.
Nothing had been burned.
My grandmother’s pearls lay across Frank’s favorite chair.
Beside them was a tablet displaying a video.
Detective Ortiz played it after warning us that it might be upsetting.
Natalie appeared on-screen without makeup, still wearing the catering uniform.
“If you are watching this, Evelyn refused to cooperate.”
She smiled.
“You always believed Jackson loved you more than he loved me. By the time I am finished, he will lose both of us.”
The video changed.
Now I saw Jackson sitting in a restaurant with Grant six months earlier.
Money passed across the table.
My son went pale.
“That isn’t what it looks like.”
Natalie’s voice continued over the footage.
“Jackson paid my brother fifty thousand dollars. Ask him why.”
I turned toward him.
He could not meet my eyes.
“Why?”
Jackson sank onto the sofa.
“Grant contacted me before the engagement. He said Natalie had stolen from a previous employer. He threatened to expose her unless I paid him.”
“And you paid?”
“I thought I was protecting her.”
“You did not tell Natalie?”
“No. I told Grant to disappear.”
Detective Ortiz paused the video.
“So Grant blackmailed you, then later worked with his sister.”
“I guess.”
The video resumed.
Natalie held up a folder bearing the Mercer company logo.
“Frank knew secrets too. He was not the saint Evelyn pretends he was.”
My heart began pounding.
She claimed Frank had created an illegal offshore account and hidden twelve million dollars from me.
She said proof was inside his journals.
Jackson watched my face.
“Mom, did you know?”
“No.”
Natalie continued.
“The guardianship petition is only the beginning. If Evelyn fights me, evidence of Frank’s crimes goes to federal investigators.”
The screen went black.
I picked up the nearest journal.
Several pages had been removed.
Samuel examined the torn bindings.
“They took specific entries.”
Detective Ortiz asked whether Frank could have hidden money.
I wanted to say no.
But Frank had managed overseas contracts during the company’s fastest expansion. He had handled matters I never questioned because I trusted him completely.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
That answer broke something inside me.
Natalie had already made me doubt my son.
Now she was reaching into my marriage.
We returned to the city for the emergency guardianship hearing.
Jackson formally withdrew the petition and stated under oath that he had never authorized it.
The judge suspended the filing but refused to dismiss the matter until my mental condition could be independently evaluated.
I sat in court while strangers discussed whether I could dress myself, remember dates, and understand money.
Natalie’s attorney appeared remotely.
He claimed he did not know where she was.
He presented affidavits saying I had displayed paranoia and aggression at the wedding.
Several guests had signed them.
Most had only witnessed my toast.
None had seen what happened inside my home.
Then a doctor named Peter Lang testified that he had examined me twice.
“I have never met you,” I said.
He looked directly at me.
“Mrs. Mercer, forgetting our appointments supports my diagnosis.”
A chill ran through the courtroom.
Samuel attacked his records, but the dates, notes, and signatures appeared convincing.
The judge ordered a full evaluation and temporarily restricted transfers exceeding five million dollars.
The one hundred twenty million remained protected, but so did the rest of my fortune—from me.
Outside court, reporters surrounded us.
Someone had leaked everything.
Questions struck like stones.
“Did you stage the attack?”
“Is your son trying to control your company?”
“Did your husband hide illegal funds?”
Jackson tried to shield me.
I pushed through the crowd with Judith.
At the car, I noticed a woman standing alone across the street.
She wore a gray coat and held a red folder.
When our eyes met, she hurried toward me.
“My name is Claire Bennett,” she said. “Natalie destroyed my father too.”
She handed me the folder.
Inside were photographs of an older man lying unconscious in a hospital bed.
Claire explained that Natalie had worked as his private assistant four years earlier.
“She convinced everyone he had dementia,” Claire said. “Then money disappeared.”
“How much?”
“Eleven million dollars.”
My throat tightened.
“What happened to your father?”
“He died believing I abandoned him.”
Claire opened the folder to a photograph of Natalie standing beside Dr. Peter Lang.
“They used the same doctor.”
A motorcycle roared toward us.
The rider wore a black helmet.
He reached out, grabbed the folder from my hands, and sped away.
But one photograph had fallen to the pavement.
I picked it up.
May you like
Natalie stood beside Dr. Lang and Grant.
Behind them was my son.
