Chapter 6 - Shadows at the Perimeter
Three days after the miracle in the medical suite, Jonah and Blythe were sitting up in bed, eating warm broth and coloring in books Clara had brought them. Their cheeks had returned to a healthy pink, and their laughter—a sound I hadn't heard in over a year—filled the high-ceilinged halls of the mansion.
I stood at the window of my study, watching Clara walk through the estate’s rose garden with the twins. She held Jonah’s hand while Blythe rode on Prescott’s shoulders.
The penniless woman who had showed up at my gate four days ago had given me back my entire world.
A soft knock sounded on my door. It was Inspector Robert Sterling from the State Police, accompanied by two federal agents.
"Lawson," Sterling said, setting a heavy briefcase on my desk. "Crosby Vane is in custody at St. Anthony’s Hospital under twenty-four-hour federal guard. The liquid nitrogen frostbite cost him his left eye, but he’s going to survive."
"Has he been charged?" I asked coldly.
"Attempted murder, corporate espionage, illegal extortion, and grand kidnapping," Sterling replied. "We also raided his private office at Apex. We found encrypted files detailing the hit-and-run that killed your wife four years ago."
I felt a quiet, satisfying sense of closure settle over my chest. "Genevieve finally gets her justice."
"There's just one problem, Lawson," Sterling added, his expression darkening. "Crosby wasn't working alone."
I turned from the window. "What do you mean?"
"The shell company that funded the hit on Genevieve wasn't owned by Apex," Sterling explained, opening a folder containing bank transfers. "Apex was just the muscle. The money came from inside Mercer Enterprises."
My eyes narrowed into slits. "Someone on my board?"
"Not just someone on your board," Sterling said softly. "The funds were authorized through your private family trust by your lead financial trustee—Harrison Vance."
I stared at him in stunned silence.
Harrison Vance was Clara Vance’s estranged uncle—and my late father’s most trusted advisor for thirty years. He was the man who managed the Mercer family wealth, the man who had sat at my dinner table every Christmas, and the man who had recommended hiring the medical team that had failed to diagnose the twins’ cancer six months ago.
"Harrison," I whispered, the rage rising in my chest like a dark tide.
"Harrison knew about Genevieve’s therapy," Sterling continued. "If your children died and you were broken by grief, Harrison’s contract as chief trustee gave him complete power of attorney over the entire Mercer estate—worth four billion dollars."
May you like
Before I could answer, my internal comms radio buzzed violently on my hip.
"Lawson!" Prescott’s panicked voice came through the speaker, accompanied by the sound of heavy gunfire over the line. "We've got a breach at the south rose garden! Heavy weapons! They aren't trying to break in—they’re taking Clara and the kids!"
