Chapter 2 - THE ACCOUNT THAT DIDN’T EXISTI didn’t scream.
That surprised Diane.
I could see it in her face.
She was waiting for rage because rage would have made me easier to control.
Instead, I helped my father into the guest bedroom, brought him water, locked the front door, and called my assistant.
“Cancel tomorrow’s meetings.”
“Claire? You’re supposed to be in Denver until—”
“I’m home.”
A pause.
“Is everything okay?”
“No.”
I looked at Diane.
“But it will be.”
I ended the call.
Diane stood near the living room windows.
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Three million dollars?”
“It was a family transaction.”
“Between whom?”
“Kyle and Norman.”
“My father was told the money was for me.”
“That’s what Norman says.”
Dad’s head lifted.
Diane immediately regretted the sentence.
My father might have been gentle, but he wasn’t weak.
“I know what your son told me,” Dad said.
Diane crossed her arms.
“Kyle was trying to protect Claire.”
“By stealing my money?”
“Nobody stole anything.”
“Then where is it?”
That shut her up.
I called Kyle.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
Voicemail.
A third time.
Nothing.
Then I called his office.
His receptionist answered.
“Kyle Mercer’s office.”
“This is Claire.”
“Oh. Mrs. Mercer.”
“Is Kyle there?”
Silence.
“Mrs. Mercer, I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“He hasn’t been in today.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m not sure.”
“When did you last see him?”
Another pause.
“Friday.”
It was Tuesday.
I hung up.
Diane reached for her phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“My attorney.”
That changed everything.
“Claire, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I haven’t even dialed yet.”
“You don’t need lawyers involved in a misunderstanding.”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“What?”
“You didn’t say Kyle didn’t take the money.”
She stared at me.
“You said lawyers shouldn’t be involved.”
Her jaw tightened.
I called Rebecca Sloan.
Rebecca had been my corporate attorney for seven years and one of the few people who could make a room full of executives stop talking simply by opening a folder.
I gave her the short version.
Her response was immediate.
“Do not confront Kyle alone.”
“Why?”
“Because if what your father says is accurate, we may be looking at fraud, coercion, financial exploitation, forged documentation, or some combination.”
Dad looked sick.
I put the call on speaker.
Rebecca continued.
“Norman, did Kyle have you sign anything?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I thought it was a temporary authorization.”
“Did you read it?”
Dad hesitated.
“Some of it.”
Diane scoffed.
Rebecca heard her.
“Who else is present?”
“My mother-in-law.”
Rebecca’s voice became colder.
“Diane, I suggest you avoid removing documents, electronic devices, or financial records from the residence.”
Diane laughed nervously.
“You can’t accuse me of anything.”
“I didn’t.”
Rebecca paused.
“But your reaction is useful.”
Diane grabbed her coat.
“You people are insane.”
This time I let her leave.
The moment the door closed, Dad broke down.
“I thought I was helping you.”
I sat beside him.
“Tell me everything.”
Three weeks earlier Kyle had called him.
Dad remembered the date because he had been repairing the fence near the west pasture.
Kyle sounded panicked.
He said my company had been hit with a confidential lawsuit involving a former business partner.
He claimed banks were freezing assets.
He said I could lose my company, my house, and even face criminal investigation if I failed to cover a temporary shortfall.
None of it made sense.
But Kyle had an answer prepared for every question.
Why hadn’t I called Dad personally?
Because my attorneys had supposedly forbidden me from discussing the case.
Why transfer money to Kyle?
Because his consulting company would serve as an intermediary.
Why three million?
Because anything less supposedly wouldn’t stop creditors from forcing an emergency liquidation.
Kyle told Dad I was ashamed.
He told him I was crying every night.
Then he said the one thing he knew would make my father act.
“She’s too much like her mother to ask for help.”
Dad signed.
Forty-eight hours later, the money disappeared.
“When did you become suspicious?”
Dad rubbed his hands.
“A bank manager called.”
“Why?”
“He noticed the transfer went to an investment company.”
“What company?”
Dad reached into his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
MERCER STRATEGIC HOLDINGS LLC.
I had never heard of it.
I photographed the name and texted it to Rebecca.
Dad continued.
“I asked Kyle.”
“What did he say?”
“He got angry. Said I was jeopardizing your future.”
“And then?”
“He asked me to come stay here.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“He said you wanted me nearby when you returned.”
Dad looked ashamed.
“When I arrived, Diane was already here.”
I understood before he finished.
They hadn’t invited him as family.
They wanted control.
They took his phone because Kyle said scammers might contact him.
They told him the guest room was being renovated.
They made him sleep downstairs.
They told him not to answer the front door.
And every day, Diane chipped away at him.
Calling him confused.
Old-fashioned.
Paranoid.
Ungrateful.
Until Dad started wondering whether he had imagined the whole thing.
That was exactly what they wanted.
Rebecca called back thirty minutes later.
“Claire.”
Her tone had changed.
“What?”
“I found Mercer Strategic Holdings.”
“And?”
“It was formed eight months ago.”
“By Kyle?”
“Partly.”
My skin prickled.
“Who else?”
“Diane.”
I looked toward the door through which my mother-in-law had just escaped.
Rebecca continued.
“But there’s more.”
“There always is.”
“The company purchased real estate twelve days after your father’s transfer.”
“How much?”
“Two point seven million.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“Scottsdale.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the alternative was throwing something.
“We live in Scottsdale.”
“I know.”
Rebecca gave me the address.
I typed it into my phone.
A real estate listing appeared.
Six bedrooms.
Pool.
Mountain views.
Gated community.
Sold two weeks earlier.
Then I saw the photograph attached to the purchasing records.
Kyle.
Standing beside a dark-haired woman I had never seen before.
His arm was around her waist.
Underneath the photo was a social-media caption.
Finally building our future.
I stopped breathing.
Dad looked at the screen.
“Who is she?”
I didn’t know.
May you like
But according to the public engagement announcement Rebecca found ten minutes later, her name was Vanessa Cole.
And she was marrying my husband in six weeks.
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