Chapter 10 - THE DEAL GRANT OFFERED
Grant requested to speak with federal investigators the next morning.
This time, he offered cooperation.
In exchange, he wanted reduced charges.
His attorney claimed Grant could explain Samuel's disappearance, Harbor Nine, Northline Consulting, and Vanessa's role.
He had one condition.
He wanted to speak to me first.
Dad refused.
I agreed.
"Claire."
"I need answers."
"You don't owe him access to you."
"I'm not doing it for him."
That ended the argument.
Grant looked smaller behind the glass.
His hair was uncombed.
Purple shadows sat beneath his eyes.
He looked like a man who hadn't slept.
I wondered how many nights I had looked exactly like that after he hurt me and then rolled over peacefully beside me.
"Claire."
I sat.
No wedding ring.
His eyes went directly to my hand.
"You took it off."
"Yes."
Pain crossed his face.
I felt nothing.
Or maybe I felt too much.
"You look better."
"My ribs are still broken."
He lowered his eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"No."
He looked up.
"You don't get to use that word yet."
His mouth tightened.
"I deserve that."
"Why did you marry me?"
"Because I loved you."
"Wrong answer."
"It's true."
"Did you know about Harbor Nine when we met?"
"No."
I watched him.
He seemed sincere.
"When did you find out?"
"After our first anniversary."
"What happened?"
"I found one of Dad's storage units."
Richard.
"He had files."
"Did you know he was alive?"
"Not then."
"When did you learn?"
"Three years ago."
"Did you contact him?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted answers."
"So did I."
He flinched.
"Claire—"
"Did you marry me for money?"
"No."
"Did you stay married to me for money?"
Silence.
That one hurt.
Grant lowered his head.
"At some point, I stopped knowing why I was doing anything."
"That's convenient."
"I was drowning."
"In debt?"
"In everything."
He rubbed his hands together.
"Dad told me the Mercer fortune was built on lies."
"You mean theft."
"Yes."
"He asked you to recover Harbor Nine?"
"He said the archive belonged to our family."
"It doesn't."
"I know that now."
"Did you plan to kill me?"
"No."
"The map."
"Vanessa."
"Your handwriting."
"Because she made me write down scenarios."
"Why?"
"She wanted leverage."
"Against whom?"
"Me."
He looked at the camera in the corner.
"Vanessa recorded everything."
"Why?"
"Insurance."
I almost smiled at the irony.
"She told me if I ever abandoned the plan, she'd send police enough evidence to bury me."
"The plan to kill me?"
"The plan to make you disappear."
My heart stopped.
"Explain."
Grant swallowed.
"The Mexico ticket was supposed to establish a trail."
"And the lake?"
"You were supposed to be drugged."
My hands went cold.
"By whom?"
"Vanessa."
"You knew?"
"I knew she had something."
"What was supposed to happen after I was drugged?"
Grant closed his eyes.
"We'd move you."
"Where?"
"Out of the country."
"Alive?"
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"Why should I believe that?"
"Because killing you didn't solve the Harbor Nine problem."
That was true.
If I died, rights transferred to Northline.
Vanessa.
"So you wanted me alive."
"Until you turned thirty-five."
My stomach turned.
"Then what?"
"You'd sign control documents."
"And if I refused?"
Grant didn't answer.
I leaned closer.
"If I refused?"
"I don't know."
"Yes, you do."
His eyes filled.
"I told myself I'd convince you."
"Convince me while kidnapped?"
"I told myself a lot of things."
There it was.
Not redemption.
Cowardice.
Grant hadn't necessarily planned to murder me himself.
He had simply continued walking down a road where my safety mattered less and less.
"Why did you hit me?"
His face crumpled.
"Because Vanessa told me you had been talking to Arthur."
"I hadn't."
"I know."
"You believed her."
"Yes."
"And the baby?"
He shut his eyes.
"I knew."
Tears appeared.
For once, I didn't care.
"You knew."
"I saw the clinic charge."
"And you hit me anyway."
"I lost control."
"No."
He looked at me.
"You made six separate decisions."
His face went still.
"Every time your fist came back, you had another chance to stop."
He began crying silently.
I sat unmoved.
"That's what I'm finally understanding, Grant."
"What?"
"You keep describing yourself like things happened through you."
He stared.
"They didn't."
I stood slowly.
"You happened to me."
"Claire, please."
"Where is Samuel?"
His crying stopped.
"I don't know."
"Your attorney entered the safe house."
Grant looked genuinely confused.
"What?"
"Your attorney."
"Michael?"
"Yes."
He shook his head.
"No. Michael doesn't know anything about Samuel."
"Apparently he does."
Grant leaned toward the glass.
"Claire, listen to me. Michael was hired by Vanessa."
"What?"
"He became my attorney because she recommended him."
My stomach dropped.
"When?"
"Two years ago."
Vanessa again.
Grant continued urgently.
"Check his financial records."
The interview ended.
Federal investigators did exactly that.
Michael Trent, Grant's attorney, had received payments from Northline Consulting.
Attorney-client privilege complicated things.
Kidnapping did not.
Agents raided Trent's office.
He was gone.
So was Vanessa's primary attorney.
Vanessa herself remained in custody.
But someone was still moving pieces outside.
At 4:30 p.m., Dad's security team intercepted an attempted access to one of the old Harbor Nine facilities.
Three men fled.
One was arrested.
He carried a photograph of me.
And a set of architectural plans.
That evening, Agent Torres gathered everyone in Dad's library.
"We believe someone intends to enter the archive before Claire's thirty-fifth birthday."
"I thought she needs a key," Dad said.
"Two keys," Hale corrected.
"Claire's legal authority and mine."
Torres nodded.
"But whoever is behind this may not care about legal access anymore."
"Then destroy the archive," Dad said.
"No," I answered.
Everyone looked at me.
"Claire."
"Grandma protected it for decades."
"It has nearly gotten you killed."
"And maybe it contains evidence about people who did far worse to others."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"You're pregnant."
"I know."
"Your safety comes first."
"My safety does not require pretending evil never happened."
Hale nodded subtly.
Dad noticed.
He didn't like it.
But he understood.
Torres placed a photograph on the table.
"We found something else in Michael Trent's office."
A recent photo of Samuel Cole.
Alive.
He looked older.
Thin.
Gray beard.
But alive.
Vanessa's father.
Hale stared at it.
He had never met his father until three months ago.
Now the man was missing again.
Behind Samuel in the photo stood another person.
Vanessa.
"She found him?" I asked.
"Before Hale did," Torres said.
The date showed nearly a year earlier.
Vanessa knew her father was alive.
Yet she still told Grant that Arthur had killed him.
Why?
Because revenge had never been her real motive.
She had used Grant.
Used his resentment.
Used his debt.
Used me.
"Then what does she want?"
Hale looked at the archive plans.
"Whatever Samuel has been protecting."
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number again.
A video file.
Security immediately mirrored it to a safe device.
The screen showed Samuel sitting in a chair.
Alive.
Not visibly injured.
A voice spoke behind the camera.
Female.
Vanessa.
"Dad, say hello to Claire."
Samuel looked into the lens.
"Don't open the archive."
Vanessa laughed softly.
"That's not what we rehearsed."
Samuel ignored her.
"Claire, listen to me. Your grandmother made one mistake."
He leaned forward.
"The archive isn't evidence against old criminals."
A shadow crossed the screen.
"It's evidence against people who are still running this city."
Dad's face hardened.
Samuel continued.
"And one of them is standing inside Arthur Vance's house right now."
The video ended.
No one moved.
Dad's security men looked at each other.
Agent Torres reached slowly toward her weapon.
Hale did the same.
My father stared around his own library.
Friends.
Agents.
Security.
Staff.
Someone inside the house.
May you like
Someone Samuel feared.
Then every light went out.
