Chapter 8: The Man Everyone Believed Was Dead
I read the warning four times.
Don't trust David Mercer.
The words looked different each time, as though the ink itself were rearranging the past.
David had represented Charles for twenty years. He had helped us purchase our home, structure our investments, establish the family trust, and navigate the complicated arrangements that followed Charles's death.
He had sat beside me at the funeral.
He had held my hand when the minister spoke.
He had told me, with tears in his eyes, that Charles had loved me more than anything in the world.
And now someone was telling me that the man who had protected our family for decades might have helped destroy it.
I locked the study door.
Then I called him.
He answered almost immediately.
"Eleanor? Is everything all right?""
"I need you to come over.""
"What's happened?""
"I found something.""
He paused.
"Is it related to the investigation?""
"Yes.""
"Don't touch anything else. I'll be there in twenty minutes.""
I hung up.
Then I took the photograph from the envelope and slipped it into the lining of my handbag.
If David was innocent, I would apologize.
If he wasn't, I wanted him to believe I still trusted him.
Twenty-three minutes later, the doorbell rang.
David stood on the porch, holding his briefcase.
His expression was calm, but his eyes moved immediately toward the hallway.
"You said you found something.""
"I did.""
I led him into the study.
The room still smelled faintly of cedar and old paper. Charles's books remained arranged along the walls, and his reading glasses sat on the desk exactly where I had left them.
David glanced at the desk.
"Have the police contacted you again?""
"Not yet.""
"Good. We need to be careful about what we disclose. There are legal implications if these documents have been obtained improperly.""
I watched him remove his coat.
"David, how long have you known about Charles's brother?""
He froze.
It was only a second.
But I saw it.
Then he turned toward me.
"What brother?""
I felt something inside me break.
"You've known about him.""
"Eleanor, I have no idea what you're talking about.""
"His name was never mentioned in the estate records. Yet Faith found a photograph of Charles standing beside him, and her grandmother apparently knew he existed.""
David set his briefcase down.
"Perhaps Charles had a distant relative.""
"His name is Richard Delano's brother.""
The color drained from David's face.
I stepped closer.
"Now tell me the truth.""
He looked at the closed study door.
Then he sat down heavily.
"His name is Michael Delano.""
I gripped the back of Charles's chair.
"Who is he?""
"Richard's younger brother. He was a financial analyst when Charles first entered the partnership. He discovered irregularities in Richard's accounts and helped Charles document them.""
"Then why did he disappear?""
"Because Richard accused him of stealing the money.""
I closed my eyes.
Another lie.
Another man sacrificed to protect Richard's reputation.
"Was Michael involved in the original fraud?""
"No. He was the one who uncovered it.""
"How do you know?""
David rubbed his face.
"Because I represented him.""
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
"You represented Michael?""
"Briefly. Before he disappeared.""
"And you never told me?""
"Charles asked me not to.""
I stepped away from the chair.
"Charles asked you to hide an entire person from me?""
"He was trying to protect you.""
"Everyone keeps using that excuse!""
My voice echoed through the study.
I had spent six years mourning a husband who apparently believed that love meant deciding which truths I was permitted to know.
I lowered my voice.
"What happened to Michael?""
David opened his briefcase and removed a thin folder.
"Richard had accused him of embezzlement. The charges were eventually dropped, but the allegations destroyed his career. Michael left California under another name.""
"And you helped him?""
"Yes.""
"Where is he now?""
"I don't know.""
I reached into my handbag and removed the photograph.
David stared at it.
His hands began to tremble.
"Where did you get this?""
"It was left on my doorstep.""
He turned it over and read the message.
For the first time since I had known him, David Mercer looked genuinely frightened.
"Someone knows where Michael is.""
"And someone wants me to believe you betrayed Charles.""
He shook his head.
"Eleanor, listen to me. I didn't.""
"Then explain why your name appears on the original trust administration records.""
He looked up sharply.
"What?""
I opened the folder he had brought and placed a copy of the bank statement before him.
"The trustee was Charles. The financial custodian was Richard. But the account also lists you as an authorized legal representative.""
David examined the document.
"That's not an authorization to move funds.""
"Did you know about the withdrawals?""
"No.""
"Did you know someone had attempted to dissolve the trust six months ago?""
His silence was answer enough.
I stepped back.
"You knew.""
"I knew someone had requested copies of the records. I did not know the trust had been dissolved.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because I couldn't determine who was behind it.""
"Or because you were protecting someone?""
David stood abruptly.
"I spent twenty years protecting Charles's interests. I put my career at risk when I helped Michael disappear. If you want to believe I'm involved, I can't stop you. But don't mistake my silence for guilt.""
I looked at him.
"Then help me find Michael.""
He stared at the photograph for a long time.
Finally, he nodded.
"I know someone who may be able to reach him.""
Two hours later, we were driving along the Pacific Coast Highway.
David had contacted a former investigator who believed Michael was living under the name Michael Reed in a small coastal town north of Santa Barbara.
The drive was quiet.
The sky darkened as we left Los Angeles behind. Waves crashed against the cliffs, and the road curved through stretches of coastline where the houses grew farther apart.
I watched the ocean through the window.
"David?""
"Yes?""
"Did Charles know he was in danger?""
David tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
"I believe he suspected it.""
"And you let me believe his death was an accident.""
"The police ruled it an accident. I had no evidence to challenge that conclusion.""
"Did you ever suspect Richard?""
He didn't answer immediately.
"Yes.""
The admission hurt more than I expected.
"How long?""
"Since the week Charles died.""
I turned toward him.
"Six years?""
"I couldn't prove anything.""
"You could have told me.""
"Eleanor, you were grieving. I thought—"
"You thought you knew what was best for me.""
He looked at the road.
"Yes.""
I turned back to the ocean.
"That is the last time you make that decision for me.""
We reached the coastal town shortly after nine.
The address led us to a modest blue house overlooking a narrow beach. A porch light glowed above the door, and a bicycle leaned against the fence.
David knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
A man's voice came from inside.
"Who is it?""
"My name is David Mercer. I'm here with Eleanor Whitmore.""
Silence.
Then the sound of a lock turning.
The door opened a few inches.
An older man stood behind it, his hair white, his face lined, and his eyes remarkably familiar.
He looked at me.
Then at David.
And his expression hardened.
"You shouldn't have brought her here.""
I stepped forward.
"Why?""
He opened the door wider.
"Because if you're here, Richard knows where I live.""
Before I could answer, headlights swept across the front windows.
A car had pulled up at the curb.
Michael looked past us.
His face went white.
"Get inside," he whispered.
A door slammed outside.
Footsteps approached the porch.
Then a voice called through the darkness.
"Michael. We need to talk.""
May you like
Richard Delano had found us.
And he wasn't alone.
