Chapter 4: The Photograph
Julian didn't react at first.
That frightened me more than if he had.
Lucas stood across the kitchen, gripping the marble counter.
I looked from him to my husband.
“Why did you say Mercer?””
Lucas shook his head.
“I don't know.””
“That's Julian's last name.””
“I know that now.””
“No. You said it before anyone mentioned his full name tonight.””
Julian's jaw tightened.
“Grace.””
I turned on him.
“Did your family know my father?””
“Not that I know of.””
“Your father was in construction.””
“So were thousands of men in Chicago.””
“Don't.””
“Don't what?””
“Give me the boardroom answer.””
Julian stared at me.
His father, Richard Mercer, had built the original family construction business from almost nothing.
At least, that was the version I'd always heard.
Richard had died seven years before Julian and I married.
I had never met him.
Julian rarely spoke about him.
When he did, there was no warmth.
“Lucas,” Julian said carefully, “what exactly did you remember?””
“A man in a gray suit.””
“What did he say?””
Lucas shut his eyes.
“I can't hear everything.””
“Try.””
“Julian,” I snapped, “you just told me not to force him.””
“I need to know why he said my name.””
“Your surname.””
“That isn't better.””
Lucas raised a hand.
“Stop.””
We fell silent.
He sat slowly.
“The man was standing beside a temporary office. A trailer, maybe.””
His fingers trembled.
“I was angry.””
“At him?””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“I had found something.””
“What?””
“Paperwork.””
My skin prickled.
Lucas stared down at his hands.
“Numbers were wrong.””
Julian moved closer.
“What numbers?””
“Load calculations. Material orders. Inspection records.””
Something changed in Julian's expression.
I saw it.
“What?”” I demanded.
He didn't answer.
“Julian.””
“My father had a project collapse.””
My stomach tightened.
“When?””
“About twenty years ago.””
Silence swallowed the kitchen.
I stared at him.
“You knew?””
“I knew there had been a collapse. I didn't know it had anything to do with your father.””
“What project?””
“The Halsted redevelopment.””
My knees weakened.
“Halsted?””
Julian nodded.
My father's abandoned truck had been found less than two blocks from Halsted Street.
I had known that all my life.
But I'd never known the name of the construction project.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because there was nothing to tell. It happened before we met.””
“Your family's building collapsed the same night my father disappeared, and somehow that never seemed worth mentioning?””
“I didn't know Thomas Bennett worked there.””
“You knew his name.””
“After we married, yes.””
“And you never checked?””
His silence answered me.
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course not.””
“Grace—”
“You knew my father vanished from a construction site.””
“There were hundreds of active sites in Chicago.””
“And your family's had a major collapse that exact year.””
Julian's voice hardened.
“I was eighteen, Grace. My father kept business matters away from me. By the time I took control of the company, the Halsted project was ancient history.””
Lucas looked between us.
“Your father.””
Julian turned.
“What?””
“The man in the gray suit.””
Lucas studied Julian's face.
“He had your eyes.””
Julian went still.
I felt cold spread through me.
“Richard?””
Julian pulled out a chair and sat.
“I need records.””
“At one in the morning?””
“I have archived company files at headquarters.””
“Then we're going.””
“Grace—”
“We're going.””
Forty minutes later, Julian's driver took us downtown.
Lucas came with us.
Mercer Development occupied several floors of a glass tower overlooking the river.
At that hour, the lobby was empty except for security.
Julian took us to the archive room on the twenty-third floor.
Rows of cabinets lined the walls.
He unlocked a secured section.
“Old project records were digitized years ago, but my father kept physical files.””
I folded my arms.
“Start with Halsted.””
Julian searched the labels.
Then stopped.
“H-17.””
He pulled a thick box from the shelf.
Dust lifted into the fluorescent light.
We carried it to a conference table.
Inside were permits, engineering reports, photographs, invoices, and correspondence.
Lucas stood behind me.
I opened the first folder.
Nothing.
Second.
Nothing.
Then Julian found an employee roster.
He ran his finger down the page.
“Thomas Bennett.””
My heart stopped.
There it was.
BENNETT, THOMAS A.
Site Safety Engineer.
Lucas gripped the table.
“I was an engineer?””
“You were,” I whispered.
Julian turned the page.
A red stamp crossed my father's name.
TERMINATED.
Date: October 14.
The day before he disappeared.
“Why was he fired?”” I asked.
Julian searched through the documents.
“No reason listed.””
Lucas suddenly pointed.
“That handwriting.””
A note had been clipped to the termination form.
Remove Bennett immediately. No site access. No exceptions.
Below it were two initials.
R.M.
Richard Mercer.
Julian stared at them.
“My father.””
I felt sick.
Lucas backed away.
“He knew.””
“Knew what?”” I asked.
“The materials.””
His memories were coming faster now.
“They were using cheaper steel. Changing reports. I threatened to contact the city.””
Julian's face tightened.
“My father fired you.””
“And I came back.””
“Why?””
“To get proof.””
Lucas pressed both hands against his head.
“I went inside after dark.””
“Then the building collapsed?””
He nodded.
I turned toward Julian.
“Your father tried to kill him.””
“We don't know that.””
“He fired him the day before!””
“That proves retaliation. Not attempted murder.””
“Stop defending him!””
“I'm not defending anyone. I'm trying to establish facts.””
Lucas suddenly walked toward a stack of photographs.
His fingers moved over them.
Then stopped.
He pulled one free.
It showed six men standing outside the Halsted site.
A younger Richard Mercer stood in the center wearing a gray suit.
Beside him stood my father.
Lucas.
Twenty years younger.
Healthy.
Angry.
Alive.
But there was another man in the photograph.
A young man standing behind Richard.
Eighteen years old.
Dark hair.
Same eyes.
I looked at Julian.
He stared at the photograph as if he'd been struck.
“No.””
My chest tightened.
“You said your father kept you away from the business.””
“He did.””
“Julian.””
“I don't remember this.””
I turned the photograph over.
Someone had written a date on the back.
October 15.
The night my father disappeared.
Underneath the date was another handwritten sentence.
Richard—
Julian saw everything.
He knows about the substitutions.
Handle Bennett tonight.
And below that message was a signature.
May you like
Not Richard Mercer's.
Julian's.
