Chapter 8 - Where I First Learned to Tell the TruthThe Mercer debate building was almost empty at midnight.

Security knew me well enough to let me inside.

I walked through the hallway alone.

Every step echoed.

The old debate room still smelled faintly of dust and dry-erase markers.

I had spent hundreds of hours there.

Arguing.

Researching.

Learning how to build an argument from facts.

Grandpa had attended my first college debate.

He sat in the back.

Afterward, he'd said, "You don't win by being louder."

I'd asked what you win with.

"Evidence."

I walked to the podium.

Nothing.

Then I noticed the floor.

A small brass plate beneath the speaker stand.

I knelt.

There was a tiny screw.

I removed it.

A compartment opened.

Inside was a sealed packet.

My name was written on it.

I didn't open it immediately.

I called Evelyn.

"Found it."

"Open it."

I tore the seal.

Inside was a flash drive.

A key.

And three pages.

The first page contained a corporate structure.

The second contained bank accounts.

The third contained names.

I scanned the list.

Victor Hale.

Charles Whitmore.

Cole Whitmore.

Tiffany Whitmore.

My mother's name.

And beneath them, another name.

A name I had never seen.

Daniel Mercer.

Evelyn went silent when I told her.

"Who is Daniel Mercer?"

"I don't know."

"Then find out."

The corporate diagram was complicated.

But at the center was one company.

Whitmore Coastal Holdings.

Grandpa's company.

The one I'd never heard of.

It owned land.

Warehouses.

Commercial buildings.

Investment accounts.

And something else.

A majority interest in several private businesses.

Including Cole's restaurant.

I sat down.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Grandpa owned the restaurant."

"Indirectly."

"So Cole never actually owned it."

"Not completely."

"And he didn't know?"

Evelyn paused.

"He knew something."

"How much?"

"Enough to be dangerous."

I looked at the bank statements.

Money had been moved from Whitmore Coastal Holdings into companies controlled by Cole.

Then into companies controlled by my father.

Then toward a private account in Florida.

The Florida account belonged to Daniel Mercer.

My phone rang.

Unknown.

I answered.

"Hello?"

A man's voice.

"Congratulations."

"Who is this?"

"You finally found the ledger."

"Where's the missing page?"

Silence.

"You know about the ledger."

"I know about you."

"Then you know this isn't your fight."

"I disagree."

A laugh.

"You think your grandfather chose you because he trusted you."

"He did."

"He chose you because you were the easiest one to manipulate."

I frowned.

"Why?"

"Because you wanted his approval."

The words hit harder than I expected.

"You're wrong."

"Am I?"

The caller continued.

"You spent your whole life thinking he saw something special in you."

"And?"

"He saw something useful."

The call ended.

I stared at the phone.

Evelyn asked, "What did he say?"

I told her.

She was quiet.

Then said, "Don't believe him."

"I don't."

"But he's right about one thing."

"What?"

"Your grandfather chose you because you would keep digging."

I looked at the documents.

There was a final note from Grandpa.

Megan, you will be tempted to save them because they are family. Do not confuse love with surrender.

My eyes burned.

Then I saw the last line.

The person who betrayed me will try to make you choose between justice and family. There is no choice. The truth belongs to everyone.

I folded the note.

"We have enough."

Evelyn shook her head.

"Not yet."

"Why?"

"Because Daniel Mercer is still missing."

"Meaning?"

"He isn't in the records."

"What?"

"He disappears from the paper trail six months before Bernard's death."

"Then we find him."

Evelyn looked at me.

"There's something else."

"What?"

"Daniel Mercer isn't just a name."

She slid a photograph toward me.

The photograph showed a man outside a marina.

I stared.

I recognized him.

He had attended Mom's birthday party.

He'd left before the chili incident.

I'd seen him near the gate.

I knew his face.

My mother's oldest friend had introduced him as a financial consultant.

His name was...

I whispered it.

"Daniel Mercer."

Evelyn nodded.

"And tonight, he was here."

I felt my pulse jump.

"We need to get back to my parents' house."

We arrived twenty minutes later.

Police cars were outside.

My heart stopped.

"What happened?"

A patrol officer approached.

"There was a break-in."

I ran toward the house.

"Who's inside?"

The officer grabbed my arm.

"Nobody."

I looked through the doorway.

The place had been torn apart.

But this time they hadn't searched for the blue ledger.

They had gone straight for one room.

My mother's bedroom.

I turned toward Evelyn.

"Why her room?"

Then I saw the answer.

On the floor was an old jewelry box.

Open.

Empty.

Beside it was a folded photograph.

I picked it up.

Grandpa stood beside my mother.

On the back, in his handwriting:

She knows where the original is.

I looked at my mother.

She was standing in the hallway.

Crying.

I walked toward her.

"What original?"

She shook her head.

"I can't tell you."

"Mom."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because if I tell you, they'll kill you."

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The house went silent.

And from somewhere upstairs came the sound of a door slowly closing.