Chapter 7 - The Witness in the HospitalHe Had One Name Written on His Hand
The accountant’s name was Peter Sloan.
He had survived a gunshot, exposure, and fourteen hours in the Trinity River.
When we reached the hospital, two federal agents were outside his room.
They refused to let us in.
Then Victor walked down the hallway.
The agents recognized him.
One stepped aside.
Peter was conscious.
Barely.
His left hand was wrapped in gauze.
His right hand rested against his chest.
He looked at me.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
“Yes.”
“You have the sapphire?”
I nodded.
His face relaxed.
“Then we still have time.”
“Time for what?”
He tried to sit up.
An agent stopped him.
“Stay down.”
Peter ignored him.
“Nolan has been moving money for years.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He coughed.
“You don’t.”
I moved closer.
“What don't I know?”
“He didn’t start it.”
“Who did?”
Peter looked toward the agents.
Then at Victor.
Then at Reed.
Finally, he looked at me.
“Your husband inherited the operation.”
My skin prickled.
“From his father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother stopped them once.”
My heart hammered.
“How?”
Peter smiled faintly.
“She didn't stop them.”
He lifted his bandaged hand.
“She buried them.”
Victor’s expression changed.
“What does that mean?”
Peter looked at him.
“Eleanor knew.”
Victor froze.
“Your mother knew about the money?”
“She knew about the archive.”
Peter nodded.
“And she knew Margaret Whitaker had hidden the access credentials.”
I touched the sapphire.
“The necklace.”
“Yes.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Where is the second key?”
Peter looked at me.
“You have one.”
“One?”
“There are two.”
Reed asked:
“Where is the other?”
Peter’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling.
“Inside the Mercer family home.”
My blood ran cold.
“We were just there.”
“You didn’t find it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Nolan moved it.”
“When?”
“Three days ago.”
“What is it?”
Peter’s lips trembled.
“A ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“The Black Ledger.”
Victor closed his eyes.
Reed looked at him.
“You know this?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
Victor answered:
“Proof of every illegal transfer between the Vale, Mercer, and Whitaker networks.”
Peter whispered:
“And proof of who ordered them.”
I leaned closer.
“Who?”
Peter looked directly at me.
Then he reached for my wrist.
His fingers shook.
He wrote four numbers in blood.
8 1 4 2.
“Room?”
I stared.
“What does it mean?”
He whispered:
“Your wedding.”
Then his monitor started screaming.
Nurses rushed in.
We were pushed backward.
Victor pulled me toward the hallway.
“Camille.”
“What?”
“Your wedding date.”
I froze.
“August fourteenth.”
Reed looked at me.
“Eight-one-four-two.”
“Your wedding date,” Victor said.
Then he looked toward the elevators.
“Someone is coming.”
The elevator doors opened.
Nolan Mercer stepped out.
He was wearing the same tuxedo from the gala.
Calm.
Perfect.
Untouched.
And behind him stood six attorneys.
He looked directly at me.
“Camille.”
I stared back.
He smiled.
“You really should have stayed home.”
Then one of his lawyers handed me a document.
A temporary court order.
Effective immediately.
I was forbidden from contacting Mercer Dynamics employees.
Forbidden from accessing company accounts.
Forbidden from entering our home.
And forbidden from communicating with Nolan.
I looked up.
He smiled.
“See you in court.”
Then the hospital lights flickered.
The FBI agent beside Peter shouted:
“SECURE THE ROOM!”
May you like
I turned.
Peter’s bed was empty.
Related Stories
