Chapter 6 - BRIARWOOD
My father couldn’t have ordered anyone to attack Hayes.
He had died of pancreatic cancer seven years earlier.
I had buried him myself.
Yet Hayes had spoken his name like he was describing a man who might walk through the front door.
I demanded answers.
He refused.
The officers took him into custody.
Not before he shouted one final sentence.
“Check the Briarwood patient logs!”
Daniel turned to me.
“We move now.”
“To where?”
“Somewhere secure.”
“My children aren’t running from their own home.”
“They almost fired bullets through your front window.”
He was right.
I hated that he was right.
Within an hour, Lily and Noah were at a private residence owned by my company under a holding entity few people knew about.
Maria went with them.
Vanessa did not.
She sat at my dining table with Daniel and me.
“You are going to tell me everything.”
She stared at the wood.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“They’ll kill me.”
“They nearly did.”
“No.”
She raised her eyes.
“They were shooting at Hayes.”
“Who?”
She laughed bitterly.
“You think Colin was the dangerous one?”
“Start talking.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“When I first started working with Mercer Holdings, I found an internal account.”
“What kind?”
“Off-book.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-eight million.”
I stared at her.
“Where?”
“Transferred over twelve years through subsidiaries.”
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Then why did Hayes use his name?”
“Because the system he created didn’t die with him.”
She told me my father had built a network of executives, attorneys, private investigators, and political contacts.
Bribes.
Payoffs.
Money laundering.
Industrial espionage.
I wanted to call it impossible.
But Claire had apparently found the same thing.
“Claire discovered the accounts?”
Vanessa nodded.
“She came to me because I handled compliance.”
“And you helped her?”
“At first.”
Those two words told me everything.
“What changed?”
“I got scared.”
“Of my father?”
“He was already dead.”
“Then who?”
She looked at me.
“Your uncle.”
My father’s younger brother.
William Mercer.
Chairman of the Mercer Foundation.
Godfather to my daughter.
The man who gave the eulogy at Claire’s funeral.
“No.”
“William had been running the operation after your father died.”
I stood.
“You expect me to believe this?”
“I have proof.”
“Where?”
“I destroyed most of it.”
“Of course you did.”
“But Claire copied everything.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened to her?”
Vanessa shut her eyes.
“She was supposed to disappear.”
My body went cold.
“Explain.”
“William told us Claire had become a threat. Colin staged the crash.”
“Us?”
She didn’t answer.
I slammed my hand onto the table.
“US?”
She jumped.
“Me. Colin. William. Two others.”
“You helped fake my wife’s death?”
“I thought they were relocating her.”
“Against her will?”
Vanessa began crying.
“I was terrified.”
“You were jealous.”
She looked at me.
There it was.
Something ugly and honest.
“I loved you.”
I almost laughed.
“You loved me?”
“For years.”
“So you helped steal my wife from me?”
“I thought if she disappeared, you would eventually move on.”
I stared at the woman I had slept beside for three years.
The woman who kissed my children goodnight.
The woman who had trapped those same children inside a doghouse hours earlier.
“You didn’t fall into my life after Claire died.”
“No.”
“You planned it.”
She looked away.
I could barely breathe.
“What is Briarwood?”
“A private psychiatric facility in northern Vermont.”
“Claire was there?”
“For nine months.”
“Why?”
“They told the staff she was delusional and dangerous.”
I felt sick.
“Did you visit her?”
Silence.
“Vanessa.”
“Once.”
“What did she say?”
Vanessa’s tears fell harder.
“She begged me to call you.”
I had to grip the chair.
“And you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because William told me if I helped her, he would destroy both of us.”
“So you left her there.”
“Yes.”
“What happened after nine months?”
“She escaped.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“She escaped Briarwood.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Three years.
Claire had escaped three years ago.
“Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I swear.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One text.
IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHERE CLAIRE IS, COME ALONE.
Below it was an address.
Daniel immediately said, “Absolutely not.”
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Claire.
Alive.
May you like
Standing in front of a newspaper dated yesterday.
And behind her stood my daughter Lily.
