Chapter 13 - the brother who never lived
Natalie began shaking before she spoke.
“No.”
Dominic looked at the ledger.
Elijah Mercer.
Born April 3.
Declared deceased April 4.
Trust account initiated April 5.
The entries beneath the name were written in Catherine’s hand, then followed by numbers, account codes, initials, and dates spanning nearly thirty years.
Dominic turned the page.
More transfers.
More signatures.
More proof that a dead infant had been receiving money through hidden channels long after his tiny coffin had supposedly been lowered into family ground.
Natalie stepped backward.
“No. Mom would have told us.”
Margaret Vale’s face crumpled.
“She wanted to.”
Dominic’s eyes lifted.
“You knew?”
The old nurse looked down.
“I knew only at the end.”
“Speak.”
Samuel Greer placed a hand gently on Margaret’s arm.
She nodded.
“Catherine was heavily medicated some days, but her mind was clear. She told me there had been a baby before Natalie. A boy. Elijah. She said your father told her the baby died during the night. She was sedated. Grieving. Young. Surrounded by doctors your father paid.”
Natalie covered her mouth.
Dominic felt the safe room tilt.
Margaret continued.
“Years later, she found a discrepancy in an old household ledger. Payments to a private clinic after Elijah’s death. Then transfers under his name. She confronted your father. He told her she misunderstood. He destroyed papers. He threatened staff.”
Dominic’s voice was barely audible.
“Why would he fake a baby’s death?”
Marco answered, grim.
“Leverage.”
Everyone looked at him.
Marco stared at the ledger like it confirmed a nightmare.
“Your father did business with men who demanded guarantees. Money can vanish. Contracts can burn. But blood…” He stopped.
Natalie whispered, “Are you saying our father gave away his own son?”
No one answered.
That was answer enough.
Noah began to cry silently.
Emma knelt beside him.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Look at me. You are safe in this room.”
“But grown-ups keep saying scary things.”
“I know.”
“Did my grandma lose a baby?”
Emma’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
Noah looked at Dominic.
“Is he still lost?”
Dominic stared at the ledger.
For the first time in years, he had no immediate strategy.
His father had been cruel. Violent in ways polite families hid behind closed doors. Ambitious beyond sanity. Dominic had known all that.
But this?
A child.
A brother.
A life erased and used as an account name.
Samuel opened the leather pouch further.
“There is more.”
Dominic looked at him.
Samuel removed a sealed photograph envelope.
“Catherine instructed me not to show this unless Elijah’s name had to be revealed.”
Natalie whispered, “Had to be?”
Samuel nodded.
“She believed Victor Rane knew whether Elijah lived.”
Dominic took the envelope.
Inside was an old hospital photograph.
Catherine, young and exhausted, holding a newborn wrapped in blue.
On the back, she had written:
My first son. They told me I held him for six hours. I remember six minutes. Forgive me.
Natalie broke.
Dominic caught her before she hit the chair.
Noah clung to her.
The safe room, designed to withstand attack, could not withstand grief.
Outside, radios crackled. Men moved through corridors. Somewhere beyond steel and stone, enemies waited in darkness. But inside, the Mercer family was being wounded by ghosts.
Dominic handed the photograph back to Samuel and forced himself to focus.
“What does Rane want?”
Samuel opened the ledger to the final pages.
“Catherine believed Rane had been using Elijah’s identity as the central key to hidden accounts created by your father. If Elijah is legally dead, the accounts remain buried. If Elijah is proven alive…”
“The accounts become traceable,” Marco said.
Samuel nodded.
“And vulnerable.”
Natalie wiped her face.
“So Brooke’s family wanted access to those accounts?”
“They may not have known the full history,” Samuel said. “But Preston knew there were channels. Catherine’s investigation into Harrington likely crossed into Rane’s network.”
Dominic looked at Marco.
“And you?”
Marco’s jaw flexed.
“I helped Catherine track Rane’s movements.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought you would confront him too soon.”
“She was right,” Emma said quietly.
Everyone looked at her.
She stood, still holding Noah’s hand.
“I’m sorry, but she was. You would have gone straight at him. Whoever this man is, he clearly knows how to wait.”
Dominic held her gaze.
Again, no comfort.
Truth.
He nodded.
Samuel’s phone buzzed.
He checked it and paled.
“What?”
Samuel looked up.
“The courthouse filing system just received a petition.”
“At this hour?” Marco asked.
Samuel swallowed.
“It is an emergency claim challenging Noah’s trust rights.”
Natalie stood. “What?”
Dominic’s face went cold.
“Filed by whom?”
Samuel looked at him.
“By Elijah Mercer.”
The safe room went silent.
Noah whispered, “The lost brother?”
Dominic took the phone.
On the screen was a legal notice bearing a name that should not have had a hand to sign it.
Elijah Mercer, surviving son of Thomas and Catherine Mercer, petitions for recognition of inheritance rights and immediate freeze of all Catherine Mercer Trust assets pending review.
Natalie looked sick.
“He’s alive?”
Samuel’s voice was cautious.
“Or someone is using his name.”
Dominic turned toward Marco.
“Can Rane do that?”
Marco’s face was dark.
“With the right documents? Yes.”
“Why now?”
Emma answered before anyone else.
“Because Brooke failed to steal the cottage quietly.”
Dominic looked at her.
She continued, “So now they’re freezing everything loudly.”
Natalie gripped the table.
“They’re going after Noah’s home.”
Dominic looked at his nephew.
Noah stood very still, too pale, too quiet.
Something in Dominic settled.
Not calm.
Decision.
He turned to Samuel.
“Fight the filing.”
“To fight it, we need proof.”
“Of what?”
Samuel hesitated.
“If Elijah is dead, proof of death. If he is alive, proof of identity. If he is a fraud, proof of fraud.”
Dominic looked at Catherine’s ledger.
“Where do we start?”
Margaret Vale spoke from the corner.
“There was a place Catherine wrote down but never explained.”
Dominic turned.
The old nurse clasped her hands.
“She said if Elijah’s name ever came back, you should go to Saint Bartholomew’s.”
Natalie frowned. “The hospital?”
Margaret shook her head.
“The orphanage.”
Dominic’s blood chilled.
“There hasn’t been a Saint Bartholomew’s orphanage in Rhode Island for twenty-five years.”
Margaret nodded.
“It burned down.”
Marco’s eyes lifted.
May you like
Dominic understood before she said the rest.
Margaret whispered, “Victor Rane owned the land.”
