Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN I MARRIED WAS NEVER WEAK
Grant requested his first supervised visit with Ellie two days later.
I almost refused to attend.
Helen advised me not to.
“Let the supervisor document his behavior.”
So I sat behind a one-way observation window while my husband played blocks with our daughter.
Ellie ran into the room when she saw him.
“Daddy!”
Grant lifted her.
For one painful second, he looked like the man I thought I knew.
His face softened.
He kissed her hair.
He asked about her stuffed rabbit.
He remembered she disliked apple juice.
I hated that.
It would have been easier if every part of him had been fake.
But monsters were rarely monsters every minute.
Sometimes they made pancakes.
Sometimes they sang bedtime songs.
Sometimes they kissed scraped knees.
And sometimes they built legal files to steal their children.
Grant sat on the carpet.
“Mommy keeping you somewhere fun?”
The supervisor looked up.
He smiled.
“I’m just asking about her room.”
Ellie stacked two blocks.
“We stay Grandpa house.”
Grant paused.
My father’s penthouse.
He knew exactly what that meant.
Then he asked softly, “Did Mommy tell you Daddy did something bad?”
The supervisor intervened.
“Mr. Mercer, you may not discuss the case.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re approaching it.”
Grant nodded.
“Understood.”
He behaved perfectly after that.
Too perfectly.
When the visit ended, Ellie cried.
I went into the hallway before Grant left.
He saw me.
His expression hardened.
“You didn’t have to bring lawyers into this.”
I stared at him.
“You planted pills in my house.”
“My mother made a stupid decision.”
“She forged a suicide note.”
“She panicked.”
“You hired a psychiatrist.”
Grant looked toward the supervisor.
Then back at me.
“I hired consultants.”
“You knew Celeste before you knew me.”
That landed.
His eyes changed.
He said nothing.
I moved closer.
“My father kept photographs.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“You went to Geneva.”
He looked genuinely surprised.
Not enough.
“Celeste did.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why is she running?”
“You froze everything.”
“So?”
“She got scared.”
“Of losing hotel privileges?”
Grant almost smiled.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make everything sound ridiculous when you’re cornered.”
I actually laughed.
“Cornered?”
His smile disappeared.
“You have no idea what your father did.”
There it was.
The first crack.
“What did he do?”
Grant looked at me for several seconds.
Then shook his head.
“Ask Arthur.”
“I did.”
“Then ask him why Peter Voss lost everything.”
I watched him.
“Peter stole from Kingsley.”
Grant’s eyes burned.
“That’s what your father told everyone.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying your family empire was built on people your father buried.”
I felt the old instinct to defend my father.
I stopped myself.
“What does that have to do with Ellie?”
Grant stepped closer.
“It has everything to do with Ellie.”
The supervisor moved toward us.
Grant lowered his voice.
“Your father took something that belonged to my family.”
“And you married me to get it back?”
For the first time, Grant looked away.
That was answer enough.
I felt the last fragile piece of our marriage die.
Eleven years.
Anniversaries.
Vacations.
Ellie’s birth.
Christmas mornings.
My father’s funeral.
All of it now existed beside one question.
When had Grant been my husband, and when had he been playing a role?
He turned to leave.
I called after him.
“Grant.”
He stopped.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I said the thing that frightened him most.
“I opened the Mercer box.”
His shoulders stiffened.
I continued.
“I know about Project Bluebird Recovery.”
He turned slowly.
His face had gone pale.
Then he said something I did not expect.
“If you opened that box, Mara, you’re in more danger than you understand.”
“From you?”
Grant stared at me.
“No.”
He glanced at the security camera.
May you like
“From the person who taught me how to get close to you.”
Then he walked away.
