Chapter 4 - The Second Hospital VisitI returned to St. Mary’s that night in an ambulance.
This time my husband did not come with me.
My father did.
Noah rode safely beside us in the car seat Dad had purchased hours earlier, accompanied by one of the nurses because I was being monitored for bleeding.
The incision had partially reopened.
Not dramatically enough for emergency surgery, thank God, but enough that Dr. Patel looked furious when she heard why I had stumbled.
“You need rest,” she told me after repairing the wound. “Actual rest. No stairs unless necessary. No lifting anything except your baby. No confrontations, no moving furniture, no pretending you’re fine.”
“I wasn’t pretending.”
She gave me the look doctors reserve for patients who lie badly.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
“Okay. Maybe a little.”
“A lot.”
Dad sat silently in the corner.
When Dr. Patel left, he stood.
“You and Noah are coming home with me.”
This time I didn’t argue.
“Okay.”
The word surprised both of us.
Dad nodded once.
Then he walked into the hall and made another call.
While Noah slept beside me, I opened my phone.
Thirty-seven notifications waited.
Dominic had called twelve times.
Vivian seven.
There were texts.
Dominic: This has gotten completely out of hand.
Dominic: You need to tell your father to back off.
Dominic: The bleeding was an accident.
Dominic: You stepped backward. I never touched you.
Then:
Dominic: We need to present a united front.
I read that one twice.
United front.
Five days after I gave birth, he abandoned me outside a hospital.
Hours later, after secretly moving my money and attempting to transfer my home, he wanted unity.
I typed:
Where is my passport?
He responded immediately.
We can talk tomorrow.
I wrote:
Where is my passport, Dominic?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Finally:
Mom may have moved it while organizing.
I took a screenshot.
Then I sent it to Martin.
My phone rang less than a minute later.
Martin.
“Good,” he said when I answered.
“What?”
“That message.”
“You think Vivian has it?”
“I think Dominic just put in writing that his mother may possess your passport without your permission.”
“Is that important?”
“Very.”
I looked through the glass wall toward the hallway.
Dad stood outside talking quietly to someone.
“Martin, how bad is Dominic’s company?”
There was a pause.
“Bad.”
“How bad?”
“I shouldn’t speculate until we have records.”
“Martin.”
He sighed.
“Mercer Development borrowed aggressively against two commercial projects. Construction costs increased. A major tenant withdrew from one property. There appear to be short-term obligations they cannot satisfy.”
“How much?”
“Possibly eight figures.”
My mouth went dry.
“And the five million?”
“Would have bought time.”
Suddenly I understood.
My money hadn’t disappeared because Dominic was greedy in some abstract way.
He was desperate.
“But why transfer the house?”
“Asset protection, perhaps.”
“To his mother?”
“If the company failed and creditors came after him, property appearing to belong to Vivian might be harder to reach.”
“But it was my property.”
“Which is one reason the transfer is unlikely to survive.”
I stared at Noah.
“What else?”
“What makes you think there’s more?”
“Because every answer today had another answer underneath it.”
Martin was silent.
Then he said, “The Range Rover was pledged as collateral on a private loan.”
I almost laughed again.
“My Range Rover?”
“Yes.”
“Can he do that?”
“Not legally without authority.”
“The power of attorney.”
“Exactly.”
I closed my eyes.
He had monetized my life.
My bank account.
My home.
My car.
My future inheritance.
How many dinners had I sat across from him while he kissed my forehead and asked how Noah was kicking?
How many nights had he rubbed my swollen feet while planning which asset to take next?
“Did he ever love me?”
Martin was quiet.
“That is the one question paperwork can’t answer.”
My father entered as I ended the call.
He sat beside the bed.
“Your mother would be furious with me.”
I looked at him.
Mom had died six years earlier.
Breast cancer.
She had adored Dominic at first.
Maybe that was why Dad’s later distrust seemed so harsh.
“You warned me.”
“I handled it badly.”
“You were right.”
“Those are not the same thing.”
I started crying.
Not because of Dominic.
Because my father reached across the bed and took my hand exactly the way he used to when I was ten.
“I cut you off,” I whispered.
“You were manipulated.”
“I said horrible things.”
“Yes.”
That surprised a watery laugh out of me.
Dad squeezed my hand.
“I’m not going to rewrite history because you’re hurting. You said horrible things. I said some too. Then seven months passed.”
“I thought you hated Dominic because he wasn’t rich enough.”
Dad actually snorted.
“Audrey, your mother married me when I owned one suit and a Chevrolet that needed to be pushed downhill to start.”
“Dominic said—”
“I know what Dominic said.”
“Why did you dislike him?”
Dad thought for a moment.
“Because he resented gratitude.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“When I introduced him to someone, he didn’t say thank you. He became angry that the introduction had been necessary. When you paid the larger share of the down payment, he didn’t appreciate your contribution. He resented that you could make it. He didn’t want partnership. He wanted the scoreboard corrected.”
I stared at the blanket.
“And I called that ambition.”
“You loved him.”
Before I could answer, Martin entered.
He looked grim.
“Charles.”
Dad stood.
“What?”
“We found Audrey’s passport.”
My heart jumped.
“Where?”
Martin hesitated.
“An airport.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“It was scanned yesterday.”
My father’s face went blank.
“Yesterday?”
“Logan International.”
“That’s impossible,” I said. “I was here.”
“I know.”
“Who used it?”
“We’re working on that.”
I remembered Vivian visiting me yesterday afternoon.
She brought soup.
She stayed twenty minutes.
Dominic was “at the office.”
“Could somebody travel under my passport?”
“Not easily. But passports can be presented in other contexts. Identification checks. International financial services. Private aviation documentation.”
Private aviation.
My father immediately called someone.
While he spoke, Martin came closer.
“There’s another issue.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“A charter service filed an itinerary using your name.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Destination?”
He looked at Dad before answering.
“The Cayman Islands.”
I went cold.
“Why?”
“We don’t know yet.”
But my father did.
I saw it in his face.
“Dad?”
He ended his call.
“Dominic has been trying to move money offshore.”
Martin nodded.
“Possibly.”
Using my identity.
My passport.
My signature.
My father sat down slowly.
“Who was on the charter?”
Martin looked at his tablet.
“The flight was canceled before departure.”
“Who booked it?”
“A holding company.”
“What holding company?”
“Bellweather Strategic Consulting.”
Dad frowned.
“I know that name.”
“So do I,” I whispered.
Both men looked at me.
“Why?” Dad asked.
I tried to remember.
Then it hit me.
“Dominic sends Bellweather money every month.”
Martin went still.
“How do you know?”
“I saw it once on a statement. Twenty thousand. Maybe twenty-five. I asked what it was. He said business consulting.”
“How often?”
“I don’t know.”
Martin was already typing.
Dad asked, “Who owns it?”
Martin searched.
Then his expression changed.
“What?”
He turned the tablet toward us.
The registered owner was Vivian Mercer.
My mother-in-law.
Dad exhaled slowly.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The pipeline.”
I stared at him.
He pointed at the screen.
“Mercer Development pays a consulting company controlled by Vivian. Your personal money goes into Mercer Development. Your assets are transferred toward Vivian. A five-million-dollar trust request is attempted under forged authorization.”
He leaned back.
“Dominic isn’t simply trying to save his company.”
“What is he doing?”
My father looked at me.
“He’s preparing for it to fail.”
I felt sick.
“And when it fails?”
“He wants the money somewhere creditors—and possibly you—cannot reach it.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from Dominic.
I’m coming to the hospital. We need to fix this before your father destroys our family.
I showed Dad.
He read it.
Then gave the phone back.
“No.”
“No?”
“He’s wrong.”
Dad looked at Noah sleeping beside me.
“Your family is already here.”
Twenty minutes later, hospital security called my room.
Dominic was downstairs.
May you like
And he wasn’t alone.
He had brought a police officer.
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