Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO DISAPPEAREDDaniel Mercer had been gone for nine years.
At least, that's what I believed.
He had been my father's financial adviser.
Then, after my father died, Daniel became the man who handled everything.
Investments.
Trust accounts.
Tax documents.
Insurance.
Property.
My mother trusted him more than she trusted me.
When I once asked where my inheritance had gone, she told me I was too young to understand.
When I asked again at twenty-eight, she told me to stop being greedy.
When I finally demanded the records, Daniel had already disappeared.
Or so I thought.
Ethan called me through the secure line.
“Tell me everything you remember about Mercer.”
I sat on the edge of my hotel bed.
“He worked for my father.”
“How long?”
“About twelve years.”
“Did he ever have access to your signatures?”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because he prepared documents for your family.”
I closed my eyes.
There had always been a strange pattern.
Whenever something needed my signature, Daniel's office had already prepared it.
I would receive a stack of papers.
My mother would say, “Just sign here.”
I never read every page.
I was young.
I trusted them.
That trust suddenly felt like a loaded weapon sitting on a table.
Ethan continued.
“Did your father ever establish a trust?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who controlled it?”
“My mother.”
“Did Mercer have authority?”
“I don't know.”
Ethan paused.
“That matters.”
Meanwhile, back in Washington, Victoria was still in the penthouse.
She had stopped shouting.
She had started looking around.
At the walls.
At the furniture.
At the smart systems.
At everything she'd believed was Lauren's.
Ethan told her she could not remove anything until officers documented the scene.
Victoria crossed her arms.
“You're treating me like a criminal.”
“You entered private property using an invalid document.”
“I have children.”
“So does half the city.”
Her face twisted.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand exactly what happened.”
Then his radio crackled.
An officer had found something in Victoria's moving truck.
A locked metal case.
Victoria immediately stepped forward.
“That's mine.”
Ethan looked at her.
“Then you won't mind if we inspect it.”
“I have a right to privacy.”
“Not inside a vehicle connected to unlawful entry.”
Victoria looked toward the truck.
Then toward her mother.
Then at the camera.
Her face had gone pale again.
“Lauren?”
I answered.
“What?”
“Tell him to leave my things alone.”
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“Then open the case.”
She didn't move.
Ethan crouched beside it.
The lock was heavy.
Industrial.
Definitely not something a normal mover would use.
He asked the locksmith if the case belonged to Victoria.
The locksmith shook his head.
“I was paid to move furniture. She told me the case was confidential.”
Ethan looked at me through the camera.
“I'm opening it.”
The latch clicked.
Inside were six folders.
A laptop.
Three envelopes.
And a small red notebook.
Ethan opened the first folder.
Property records.
The second contained bank documents.
The third contained copies of my old tax returns.
My breathing stopped.
“Why does she have my private financial records?”
Ethan didn't answer.
He opened the red notebook.
Every page contained dates.
Amounts.
Initials.
Some entries went back fifteen years.
I recognized one repeated abbreviation.
LB.
My initials.
Another appeared beside it.
VM.
Victoria Mercer.
I stared at the screen.
“Victoria's middle name is Marie.”
Ethan shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed to the notebook.
“VM isn't Victoria.”
“Then who?”
He turned another page.
There was a full name written in block letters.
VERA MERCER.
I whispered the name.
“Who's Vera?”
Ethan looked at me.
“Daniel's wife.”
I hadn't known he was married.
Ethan kept reading.
Then his expression changed.
“Lauren.”
“What?”
“This notebook isn't accounting.”
“What is it?”
He turned the page toward the camera.
At the top, one sentence had been written:
PROPERTY TRANSFERS AFTER DEATH
Underneath it were names.
My father.
My grandmother.
An uncle I barely remembered.
Then mine.
Beside my name was a date.
2031.
I frowned.
“That doesn't make sense.”
Ethan's eyes narrowed.
“Exactly.”
Because 2031 was five years from now.
And beside that date was another phrase.
FINAL TRANSFER.
I stared at it.
“Transfer to whom?”
Ethan turned the page.
The name had been crossed out.
But underneath the black ink, another name was still visible.
Victoria Bennett.
My sister.
She hadn't broken into my penthouse because she thought she deserved it.
She had broken in because someone had told her it was already destined to become hers.
And the person who told her that might have had access to my family's finances for years.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
You were never supposed to find the red notebook.
Then another arrived.
Leave Washington tonight.
May you like
A final message appeared.
Or your sister won't be the one who gets hurt.
