Chapter 2 - My Father Arrived With Two CarsMy father arrived in eleven minutes.
Not twelve.
Eleven.
I knew because I watched every second crawl across the clock above the hospital entrance.
A dark sedan stopped at the curb first.
Then another.
The back door of the first car opened, and Charles Whitmore stepped onto the sidewalk.
At sixty-three, my father still moved like a man who believed hesitation was an expensive habit. He wore gray slacks, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and no jacket.
That frightened me more than if he had arrived in a three-piece suit.
Charles Whitmore never left his office during business hours without a jacket.
Unless something mattered more than business.
His eyes found me immediately.
Then they dropped to Noah.
My father froze.
Seven months of silence vanished from his face.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I broke.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
One second I was standing, and the next my knees weakened.
Dad reached me before I fell.
One arm went around my shoulders while the other carefully supported Noah.
“Easy. Easy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We’re not doing apologies on a sidewalk.”
“I should have listened to you.”
“Not now.”
“He took the car.”
“I know.”
“He took the car seat.”
Dad’s eyes sharpened.
“He did what?”
I closed my eyes.
Even now, part of me wanted to protect Dominic.
That realization disgusted me.
“The seat is in the SUV.”
My father turned his head.
A woman stepped from the second car carrying a brand-new infant car seat still wrapped in plastic.
“I called ahead,” Dad said.
Of course he had.
That was my father.
Problems became lists.
Lists became phone calls.
Phone calls became solutions.
Within ten minutes, Jenna and another nurse had helped secure Noah into the new seat while Dad arranged pillows around me in the rear passenger seat.
I caught his hand before he closed the door.
“Don’t hurt him.”
My father stared at me.
“I mean Dominic.”
His expression became unreadable.
“Do you think that’s what I’m here to do?”
“I know what you can do.”
“No.” He leaned closer. “You know what he told you I could do.”
I went still.
Dad closed the door gently and walked around to the other side.
During the drive, Noah slept.
I didn’t.
Every time the sedan hit a bump, pain flared through my abdomen.
Dad watched me in silence for several blocks before asking, “Has Dominic ever hit you?”
“No.”
“Threatened you?”
“No.”
“Kept you from leaving?”
“No.”
“Controlled money?”
I hesitated.
Dad noticed.
“Audrey.”
“I didn’t think of it as control.”
“What did you think of it as?”
“Marriage.”
His jaw tightened.
I told him about closing my personal account.
I told him Dominic handled the household finances because I was preparing for the baby.
I told him the joint account had dropped from more than eighty thousand dollars to forty-three.
I told him Dominic discouraged me from returning to Whitmore Holdings after maternity leave.
Then I mentioned something I had almost forgotten.
“Last month, he had me sign some documents.”
Dad turned toward me.
“What documents?”
“He said they were insurance forms.”
“Did you read them?”
My silence answered him.
My father looked out the window.
He didn’t yell.
That was worse.
“Where are the copies?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Who witnessed your signature?”
“Dominic.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I thought back.
His mother had been there.
Vivian was drinking coffee at our kitchen island while Dominic slid papers across the counter.
“Vivian.”
Dad closed his eyes for one second.
Then he pulled out his phone.
“Martin.”
He had called his attorney.
“I need every filing associated with Audrey Whitmore Mercer in the last ninety days. Property, banking, corporate, trusts, powers of attorney, insurance. Everything.”
He listened.
“No, tomorrow is not acceptable.”
Another pause.
“Today.”
He ended the call.
“Dad, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I should have dragged you out of that house seven months ago.”
“You couldn’t have.”
“I know.”
For the first time, he looked old.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
“I tried to warn you so aggressively that I made it easier for him to convince you I was the enemy.”
That hurt because it was true.
When Dad questioned Dominic’s motives, Dominic said my father didn’t respect my choices.
When Dad asked why Dominic suddenly wanted access to family investments, Dominic said Dad was humiliating him.
When my father urged me not to abandon my career, Dominic asked why I needed a job if I trusted my husband.
Every conflict became proof that Dad wanted control.
Eventually I stopped taking Dad’s calls.
Dominic celebrated by booking us a weekend in Napa.
I had mistaken isolation for peace.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“My house.”
“No.”
Dad looked at me.
“I need to go home.”
“Why?”
“My things are there.”
“Things can be replaced.”
“Noah’s documents are there. His bassinet. My medication. And Dominic needs to understand that he can’t throw twenty dollars at me and then decide when I’m allowed back into my own life.”
Dad studied me.
Then nodded once.
“Your house.”
We reached the gated neighborhood twenty minutes later.
My stomach tightened when I saw the brick colonial at the end of Hawthorne Lane.
Dad had helped us purchase it after the wedding.
Or so I thought.
Dominic loved telling people we had bought it after his first major development deal.
He never mentioned the down payment came from a trust established by my grandmother.
A silver Mercedes I didn’t recognize sat in the driveway.
“So he’s home,” I said.
Dad glanced at the vehicle.
“That isn’t his.”
The front door opened before our driver reached the steps.
Vivian appeared.
She had changed clothes.
She was wearing one of my cashmere wraps.
Behind her came Dominic.
And behind Dominic came a blonde woman holding a folder.
I recognized her from Mercer Development’s Christmas party.
Sabrina Cole.
Company counsel.
Dad saw her too.
His face changed.
“Stay in the car.”
“No.”
“Audrey.”
“I’ve stayed quiet enough.”
I stepped out slowly.
Dominic marched toward us.
“What is he doing here?”
Not hello.
Not how are you?
Not where is my son?
He looked directly at my father.
Dad ignored him.
“Where is Audrey’s Range Rover?”
Dominic pointed toward the garage.
“Inside.”
“Then give her the keys.”
“What?”
“The vehicle is titled solely in Audrey’s name.”
Vivian laughed from the doorway.
“That’s a technicality.”
Dad finally looked at her.
“Most ownership is.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You don’t get to come into my house and issue orders.”
Dad’s eyebrows lifted.
“Your house?”
Something in his tone made Sabrina look down at the folder in her hands.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
Sabrina swallowed.
“Dominic, perhaps we should speak privately.”
He stared at her.
“Sabrina.”
My father’s attorney’s car pulled into the driveway behind us.
Martin Shaw stepped out holding a tablet.
That was when Dominic finally looked uncertain.
Martin came directly to me.
“Audrey, before anyone says anything else, I need to ask you a question.”
“Okay.”
“Did you knowingly sign a durable power of attorney granting Dominic complete control over your separate property?”
The world seemed to tilt.
“What?”
Dominic’s face drained.
Vivian stopped smiling.
Martin turned his tablet toward me.
At the bottom of the document was my signature.
Or something that looked exactly like it.
I stared at it.
“No.”
Dominic spoke immediately.
“You signed it.”
“I signed insurance paperwork.”
“It was all in the packet.”
“You told me it was insurance.”
“You should have read it.”
The words hung in the air.
Dominic realized what he had admitted a second too late.
My father’s voice was almost gentle.
“Yes.”
Everyone turned toward him.
“She should have read it.”
He looked directly at Dominic.
“And you should have prayed she never found out what you put between those pages.”
Vivian stepped forward.
“This is getting ridiculous.”
Martin swiped to another page.
“It gets considerably less ridiculous.”
Dominic’s breathing changed.
Martin continued.
“Two weeks after obtaining the disputed power of attorney, Dominic transferred seventy-nine thousand four hundred dollars from the joint account into an account controlled by Mercer Development.”
I stared at my husband.
“You took our money?”
“It was temporary.”
“For what?”
He looked at my father.
That told me everything.
Dad nodded slowly.
“Your company is in trouble.”
Dominic didn’t answer.
Sabrina did.
“The company has liquidity issues.”
“How bad?” Dad asked.
“That’s privileged.”
“Not anymore.”
Dad took his phone out and placed it on the hood of the car.
“Dominic, do you remember the investors you met at the Whitmore Foundation dinner?”
My husband stared at him.
“Three of them called me this afternoon. Apparently, they were already concerned about irregular reporting.”
Dominic’s face changed.
“You called them.”
“No.”
My father smiled without warmth.
“They called me.”
That distinction terrified Dominic.
“Dad,” I said quietly.
He turned.
“I don’t want revenge.”
“I know.”
“I want the truth.”
Dad nodded.
“That is considerably more dangerous.”
Noah began crying inside the car.
My body reacted instantly.
I turned toward him.
Dominic didn’t.
And somehow that hurt more than everything else.
I opened the rear door and carefully lifted my son.
When I turned back, I noticed Vivian whispering to Sabrina.
Sabrina shook her head.
Vivian whispered again.
More urgently.
Then Martin said something that made Vivian stop completely.
“There is one other document.”
“What document?” I asked.
Martin looked at me.
“A deed.”
My father’s gaze shifted to the house.
“What deed?”
Martin took a slow breath.
“According to county records, three weeks ago Dominic attempted to transfer Audrey’s ownership interest in this property.”
I felt cold.
“To whom?”
Martin looked directly at Vivian.
May you like
“His mother.”
And this time, nobody said a word.
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