Chapter 3 - The Funeral That Shouldn't Have Happened
Richard Mercer arrived at Daniel's penthouse at nine that evening without being invited.
Daniel had expected him.
What he had not expected was how old his uncle suddenly looked.
Richard was seventy-four now, silver-haired, impeccably dressed, still carrying himself like the chairman he had been for decades.
He had spent half of Daniel's childhood teaching him how to tie a Windsor knot.
He had attended every graduation.
He had sat beside Daniel when Daniel's first company nearly collapsed.
He had toasted his marriage.
He had held Daniel after Thomas's funeral while twenty-six-year-old Daniel sobbed into his coat.
Now Daniel studied him as if he were a stranger.
“What is this about?” Richard asked.
Daniel poured two whiskeys.
He handed one to Richard.
His uncle did not drink it.
“Did Dad die at ten fifty?”
Richard stared at him.
“Yes.”
“You're sure?”
“I was there afterward.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Richard sighed.
“Daniel, this was twenty-two years ago.”
“You identified the body.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see his face?”
Richard did not immediately answer.
Daniel felt something collapse inside him.
“Did you?”
“The accident damaged him badly.”
“That isn't an answer.”
Richard walked toward the windows.
Snow glowed against the Chicago skyline.
“Why are you doing this?”
Daniel placed the photograph from locker 317 on the table.
Richard turned.
The color left his face.
Daniel watched carefully.
“You recognize Jack Hayes.”
Richard said nothing.
“Don't you?”
“Where did you get that?”
“Union Station.”
Richard's eyes narrowed.
Daniel placed the transfer authorization beside it.
“Eight point four million dollars.”
Richard looked at the paper.
“This is ancient history.”
“Then explain it.”
“It was a legitimate transfer.”
“To Halcyon Strategic Holdings?”
“Yes.”
“What did Halcyon do?”
Richard's mouth tightened.
“It was an investment vehicle.”
“Registered in the Cayman Islands.”
“That was common.”
“With no employees.”
Richard looked at him.
“Daniel, if you're trying to audit a twenty-two-year-old transaction—”
“My father was auditing it.”
Silence.
Daniel stepped closer.
“Wasn't he?”
Richard slowly lowered himself into a chair.
“You don't understand what you're touching.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can't.”
“Can't or won't?”
“Both.”
Daniel felt fury rise.
“For twenty-two years, I believed my father died.”
Richard's face softened.
“He did.”
Daniel leaned across the table.
“Then why are you afraid of a homeless man wearing his watch?”
Richard's eyes snapped up.
Daniel saw it.
Recognition.
Fear.
“You met Jack.”
“Yes.”
Richard stood abruptly.
“Stay away from him.”
Daniel laughed once.
“That sounded less like advice and more like panic.”
“Hayes is unstable.”
“His military record says otherwise.”
“He stole from the company.”
“No conviction.”
“He disappeared with documents.”
“Documents proving you were moving money offshore?”
Richard's voice sharpened.
“You have no idea what happened back then.”
“Good. Tell me.”
Richard stared at him for several seconds.
Then he picked up his coat.
“Burn whatever Hayes gave you.”
Daniel almost smiled.
“Why?”
“Because some things survive only because people agree to leave them buried.”
Richard walked toward the elevator.
Daniel called after him.
“My father's coffin was sealed.”
Richard stopped.
Daniel continued.
“I checked the funeral paperwork this afternoon.”
Richard slowly turned.
“The official reason was trauma to the face. But the autopsy report mentions no facial injury.”
Richard said nothing.
Daniel's pulse hammered.
“Why couldn't I see him?”
Richard looked tired.
“Your father wanted to protect you.”
Daniel froze.
Richard realized what he had said.
The room went silent.
“You just said my father wanted something.”
Richard's expression hardened.
“Figure of speech.”
“No.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“You didn't say we wanted to protect you.”
Richard looked toward the elevator.
“You said my father wanted to protect me.”
Daniel's voice dropped.
“Was he alive?”
Richard pressed the elevator button.
“Go home, Daniel.”
“This is my home.”
Richard looked back.
“Then stay in it.”
The doors opened.
Richard disappeared.
Daniel stood motionless long after the elevator descended.
Rachel arrived ten minutes later.
She carried an archive box.
“I found the original accident file.”
“There was no accident.”
“We don't know that yet.”
“Yes, we do.”
He told her what Richard had said.
Rachel listened.
Then she opened the box.
Inside were photocopies of reports from the night Thomas Mercer supposedly died.
Vehicle fire near an industrial road south of Chicago.
One male victim.
Wallet recovered.
Wedding ring recovered.
Dental identification recorded.
Daniel looked at Rachel.
“Dental?”
“That's the problem.”
She placed another paper beside it.
“The dentist who supposedly confirmed the records had retired six months earlier.”
Daniel stared.
“Could still be contacted.”
“He was living in Arizona.”
“So?”
“So his daughter says he was hospitalized that week and never spoke to Chicago police.”
Daniel's mouth went dry.
“Forged confirmation.”
“Likely.”
Rachel pulled another sheet.
“Medical examiner Elias Grant signed the preliminary report.”
“Jack mentioned him.”
“He died fourteen years ago.”
“Convenient.”
“Maybe.”
Rachel paused.
“But he left something.”
She placed an old newspaper clipping on the table.
FORMER MEDICAL EXAMINER RESIGNS AMID PROCEDURAL INVESTIGATION.
Daniel read.
“What investigation?”
“Missing evidence. Improper identification records. No charges.”
“When?”
“Six months after your father died.”
Daniel rubbed his face.
“Find his family.”
“Already did.”
The next morning they drove to Evanston.
Elias Grant's widow, Margaret, was eighty-two.
She lived in a small brick house crowded with books.
When Daniel introduced himself, she stared at him for several seconds.
“You have Thomas's eyes.”
Daniel's heart stumbled.
“You knew my father?”
“My husband did.”
Rachel asked gently, “Did Elias ever discuss the Mercer case?”
Margaret looked toward the window.
“He wasn't proud of what he did.”
Daniel leaned forward.
“What did he do?”
“He helped your father disappear.”
The sentence filled the room.
Daniel gripped the arm of his chair.
“Why?”
“Elias believed Thomas's life was in danger.”
“From whom?”
Margaret looked at him.
“He never told me names.”
“Did my father survive?”
“Yes.”
Daniel shut his eyes.
Twenty-two years of grief became something else.
Anger.
Relief.
Betrayal.
Hope.
All at once.
“When did you last know he was alive?”
Margaret rose slowly.
“Wait.”
She disappeared into another room.
When she returned, she carried a small envelope.
“My husband told me that if a Mercer ever came asking, I should give this to him.”
Daniel opened it.
Inside was a single Polaroid photograph.
Thomas Mercer.
Older than he had been at the funeral.
Standing in front of a motel.
The date written beneath it was eleven months after his supposed death.
Daniel's hands shook.
His father had lived.
While Daniel mourned him.
While Daniel stood at his grave on birthdays.
While Daniel blamed himself for every unfinished conversation.
There was writing on the back.
RICHARD FOUND US.
Daniel stared.
Rachel leaned over.
Below that were three additional words.
WE MOVE TONIGHT.
Daniel felt the room tilt.
“Mrs. Grant,” Rachel said, “do you know where this was taken?”
Margaret shook her head.
“But Elias told me something the night that photograph arrived.”
“What?”
She looked directly at Daniel.
“He said Thomas had been wrong about one thing.”
Daniel's heartbeat quickened.
“What thing?”
“He thought disappearing would end the danger.”
Margaret's eyes filled with old sorrow.
May you like
“It didn't.”
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