Chapter 14 - The man standing in front of me was not Marcus Reed.Not entirely.
He removed a latex prosthetic from his cheek.
Then another from his jaw.
His face changed.
Older.
Sharper.
Familiar.
I had seen him in photographs.
My father's younger brother.
Thomas Mercer.
The uncle I had been told died in a boating accident before I was born.
I stared.
“You're Thomas.”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
My mother looked devastated.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I wanted you to think that.”
“Why?”
“Because your husband made me.”
I looked at him.
“My father?”
Thomas nodded.
“He discovered I had been stealing from the company.”
“So he faked your death?”
“No.”
Thomas's smile disappeared.
“I faked mine.”
“Why?”
“To protect myself.”
“From prison?”
“From him.”
I looked at my mother.
“What happened?”
She answered.
“Thomas and your father were partners.”
“Business partners?”
“Brothers.”
She looked at me.
“They built everything together.”
Thomas laughed.
“Then your father decided he was the genius.”
He stepped forward.
“He started buying property without telling me.”
“Bayfront?”
“Yes.”
“The trust?”
“Yes.”
“The foundation?”
“Yes.”
“He took everything?”
“No.”
Thomas looked at me.
“He gave everything away.”
“To me?”
“To you.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“Because he believed you were better than him.”
Thomas's expression hardened.
“And I hated him for it.”
“So you spent twenty years destroying my family.”
“I spent twenty years taking back what belonged to me.”
“You murdered him.”
Thomas shook his head.
“No.”
“Paul said—”
“Paul lied.”
“Victoria said—”
“She lied.”
“Then who killed my father?”
Thomas looked toward my mother.
She closed her eyes.
“It was me.”
Silence.
My mother whispered:
“I didn't mean to.”
“You poisoned him?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Thomas did.”
Thomas smiled.
“He was dying anyway.”
“What?”
“Your father had cancer.”
I froze.
“He had weeks left.”
Thomas continued.
“I gave him enough medication to make it look natural.”
I couldn't breathe.
My father had not died naturally.
But he had known.
He had left instructions.
He had built the trust.
He had prepared for everything.
Including his own murder.
I looked at Sabrina.
“Why bring her into this?”
Thomas laughed.
“Because she was the one thing Daniel would never abandon.”
He pointed at me.
“That made you predictable.”
“You destroyed the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“You forged documents.”
“Yes.”
“You staged my death.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to control Sabrina.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Thomas smiled.
“Because the final trust clause requires one simple thing.”
“What?”
“The original family heir must voluntarily surrender control.”
I stared.
“What does that mean?”
Thomas answered:
“You.”
He pulled out a document.
“All you need to do is sign.”
I laughed.
“You've spent twenty years trying to make me sign something.”
“Yes.”
“And if I refuse?”
He looked at Sabrina.
“Then she dies.”
Sabrina froze.
I stepped forward.
“No.”
Thomas raised his gun.
“Sign.”
My mother moved toward him.
“Thomas, stop.”
He shoved her aside.
I stared at the document.
It transferred control of everything.
The house.
The workshop.
Bayfront.
The $60 million inheritance.
The $110 million foundation account.
Everything.
I picked up the pen.
Sabrina shook her head.
“Dad, don't.”
I looked at her.
She was crying.
I smiled.
Then I signed.
Thomas laughed.
“Finally.”
I placed the pen down.
He reached for the document.
Then stopped.
“What is this?”
I smiled.
“You should read the final page.”
His expression changed.
He flipped the document.
A clause appeared.
Any transfer executed under coercion, threat, or duress is legally void.
Thomas looked at me.
“You…”
“I knew you would do this.”
He raised his gun.
Before he could fire, the warehouse lights came on.
Police surrounded the building.
The chief shouted:
“Drop the weapon!”
Thomas turned.
My mother tackled his arm.
The gun fell.
Officers rushed forward.
Thomas was arrested.
But he was laughing.
Even as they dragged him away.
“You still don't understand!”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He smiled.
“The money is already gone.”
My heart sank.
“How?”
“Every account you think you control…”
He laughed.
“…has been emptied.”
The police chief checked his phone.
His expression changed.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The foundation account.”
“How much?”
“Zero.”
I felt the blood leave my face.
Thomas smiled.
Then his final words echoed through the warehouse.
“You won the wedding.”
May you like
He paused.
“But I won the inheritance.”
