Chapter 4 - The Father Who Never DiedFor the next thirty minutes, nobody spoke.
My father's name alone had the power to turn the room into a tomb.
Daniel Mercer.
Founder of Mercer Holdings.
A billionaire who supposedly died from a heart attack eleven years ago.
I had held his hand in the hospital.
I had watched doctors pronounce him dead.
I had attended his funeral.
Or so I believed.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
Victoria wiped her tears.
“He never died.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Stop saying you don't know.”
“I swear.”
Ryan finally spoke.
“She was manipulated.”
I turned toward him.
“You knew?”
Ryan nodded.
“Daniel contacted me after Emily discovered the trust.”
“What did he want?”
“Control.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
Ryan explained that Daniel had secretly transferred ownership of key companies into offshore holding structures.
But the family trust was different.
Grandfather had deliberately placed safeguards Daniel couldn't bypass.
The money could only be released if three conditions were met.
One.
Nathan was alive.
Two.
Lily was alive.
Three.
Emily's legal status was unresolved.
That third condition had been the problem.
Daniel couldn't access the fortune as long as Emily remained officially connected to the trust.
So they staged her death.
“Then why keep Lily alive?”
Ryan answered:
“Because Lily is the final beneficiary.”
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Once Lily turns twenty-one, the trust becomes hers automatically.”
“And if she dies?”
“The money goes to you.”
Silence.
Fifty million dollars.
That number suddenly felt less like wealth and more like a loaded gun.
Victoria lowered her head.
“I was threatened.”
“By Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He threatened you with what?”
She looked at me.
“Your mother.”
My stomach twisted.
“My mother died six years ago.”
Victoria shook her head.
“No.”
I stepped back.
“She didn't.”
The words struck like another blow.
“No,” I whispered.
Victoria nodded.
“She's alive.”
My phone buzzed.
A new message.
No number.
Only a video.
I opened it.
The image showed an old woman sitting in a dark room.
My mother.
Her hands were tied.
A man stood behind her.
His face wasn't visible.
Then the camera moved.
A child's drawing was taped to the wall.
It showed a house.
A mother.
A father.
A little girl.
And a black figure standing behind them.
At the bottom, written in childish handwriting:
Daddy, don't let Grandpa find Mommy.
Lily.
She had drawn it.
I looked at her.
She was sitting beside Grace's empty chair.
She stared at the screen.
Then she whispered:
“That man has Mommy.”
I knelt.
“Where?”
She pointed toward the window.
“Under the red bridge.”
I frowned.
“What red bridge?”
Lily looked confused.
Then she said:
“The one Grandma told me never to talk about.”
My mother was alive.
Emily was alive.
My father was alive.
And everyone had been lying.
I stood up.
Marcus entered the room.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“There was a car outside the gate.”
“Whose?”
“We don't know.”
Then his expression changed.
“Sir…”
He handed me a photograph.
It showed Emily.
Standing beside a red bridge.
May you like
Alive.
And holding a gun.
