Chapter 3 - The Letter From a Dead Man
Isaac recognized his father’s handwriting before Catherine finished sliding the envelope across the table.
Thomas Mercer had written everything in heavy block letters: grocery lists, birthday cards, instructions taped to the breaker box, reminders on the refrigerator.
FOR MY SON.
Isaac stared at those words.
Eleven years.
The letter had been sitting in his mother’s possession for eleven years.
“You kept this from me?”
Catherine’s face tightened.
“I couldn’t give it to you.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
She looked older suddenly.
Not physically.
Defeated.
“Because after your father died, you became angry at him.”
Isaac laughed bitterly.
“He died while I was twenty-four and trying to keep his business from collapsing. I think I earned some anger.”
“The business wasn’t collapsing.”
“It was drowning.”
“No.” Catherine pressed her fingertips together. “Thomas was selling it.”
Isaac stared.
“What?”
“He had already found a buyer.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It isn’t.”
“I spent two years restructuring debt.”
“I know.”
“I slept in the office.”
“I know.”
“I sold my apartment.”
“I know.”
His voice rose.
“And all this time you knew he intended to sell?”
“Yes.”
Isaac stood abruptly.
The chair scraped across the tile.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Catherine flinched.
The sight should have stopped him.
It didn’t.
“Why?”
“Because you had just lost him.”
“And?”
“And you were determined to save something.”
“He left me a disaster.”
“No, Isaac.”
Her voice cracked.
“He left you a choice.”
Catherine opened the red box and removed a second document.
A letter from an attorney.
Thomas had authorized the sale of Mercer Architectural Supply shortly before his fatal heart attack.
The buyer had offered enough to clear all company debt and leave Catherine financially comfortable.
Thomas had apparently planned to accept.
But after he died, Isaac refused.
The company had been his father’s life.
At least, Isaac thought it had.
He rebuilt it instead.
Expanded it.
Renamed it Mercer Group.
Turned a struggling regional supplier into a portfolio worth hundreds of millions.
Everyone had called him brilliant.
Relentless.
Loyal to his father’s legacy.
Now Catherine was telling him his father had planned to walk away from that legacy himself.
Isaac’s voice dropped.
“What’s in the letter?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked at her sharply.
“You never opened it?”
“It wasn’t mine.”
“But you hid it.”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
Catherine’s eyes filled.
“After Thomas died, you were broken. Then you found that company to save. It gave you something to fight.”
“So you decided to lie?”
“I decided to wait.”
“For eleven years?”
“Every year it got harder.”
Isaac looked away.
That answer made terrible sense.
Delay became shame.
Shame became silence.
Silence became history.
He understood that pattern too well.
His gaze returned to the envelope.
“Where does Helen fit?”
Catherine swallowed.
“She told me to give it to you.”
“When?”
“The week after the funeral.”
“And you refused?”
“Yes.”
“Why would your sister know what Dad wrote?”
Catherine looked toward the window.
“Because Thomas talked to her before he died.”
Isaac felt something unpleasant twist inside him.
“About what?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to read the letter.”
His fingers felt strangely numb as he picked it up.
He tore the envelope open.
Inside was a single folded sheet.
The writing shook slightly near the bottom, but it was unmistakably Thomas.
Isaac began reading.
Son, if you're reading this, either I found enough courage to say these things out loud or life made the decision for me.
Isaac sat.
Catherine watched silently.
I built the company because I thought providing for a family was the same as being present for one. I missed dinners, school events, anniversaries, ordinary Tuesdays. I kept promising your mother that once the next problem was solved, I would slow down.
Isaac's breathing changed.
There was always another problem.
He stopped.
The kitchen seemed too quiet.
His father continued.
You are more like me than either of us likes to admit. That makes me proud, and it scares the hell out of me.
Isaac clenched his jaw.
If you take the company, do not make it your life. If you sell it, do not feel guilty. It is wood, contracts, trucks, buildings, and numbers. It is not me.
Isaac closed his eyes.
His father had anticipated exactly what Isaac had done.
Worshiped the business as a monument.
Your mother deserved more of my time. You deserved more too. Please don't repeat my mistake with the people you love.
The letter blurred.
Isaac blinked.
There was one final paragraph.
Helen knows why I decided to sell. Catherine may never forgive either of us for the argument that followed, but the truth belongs to you when you're ready.
Isaac slowly lowered the paper.
“What argument?”
Catherine had gone pale.
“I told you, I don't know everything.”
“He says you may never forgive him or Helen.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Catherine's hand tightened around her mug.
“Your father wanted to sell because he was planning to leave.”
Isaac stared.
“Leave the company?”
Catherine shook her head.
“Leave with me.”
That answer did not match the terror in her face.
“There’s more.”
Catherine nodded.
“He wanted us to leave the state. Start over somewhere quiet.”
“Why?”
She looked down.
“Because he had been diagnosed with a heart condition.”
Isaac stopped breathing for a second.
“What?”
“He knew?”
“Only for a short while.”
“And no one told me?”
“Thomas didn’t want you worrying.”
Isaac stood again.
“He knew there was something wrong with his heart, and he kept it from me?”
“The doctors didn’t expect him to die when he did.”
“That isn’t the point!”
“I know.”
“Did Helen know?”
“Yes.”
He laughed without humor.
“So everyone knew except me.”
“Not everyone.”
“The people who mattered.”
Catherine’s voice hardened.
“We thought we were protecting you.”
“From what? Reality?”
“From watching your father become afraid.”
Isaac walked toward the window.
Outside, the garden was still brown from winter.
Through the glass he could see a small ceramic pot Megan and Lily had placed on the patio table.
Apparently the planting project had already begun.
His entire adult life suddenly felt constructed on a misunderstanding.
He had believed Thomas Mercer died wanting Isaac to save his company.
Instead, Thomas had wanted him free from it.
A small hand slipped into Isaac’s.
He looked down.
Lily.
He had not heard her come back.
She wore a yellow dress beneath her pink cardigan.
“Are you sad?”
Isaac looked toward Megan standing several feet behind her.
She had clearly tried to stop Lily from entering.
But Catherine shook her head.
“It’s okay.”
Isaac crouched.
“A little.”
“Because of Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
Lily studied him.
“I never met him.”
“No.”
“Was he nice?”
Isaac almost answered automatically.
Then stopped.
His father had been funny.
Impatient.
Generous.
Absent.
Loud.
Protective.
Complicated.
“Yes,” Isaac finally said. “He was.”
Lily hugged him.
The suddenness nearly broke him.
He wrapped both arms around her.
Over Lily’s shoulder, Isaac looked at Catherine.
“How sick are you?”
Her eyes shifted.
That was all he needed.
“Mom.”
“We’ve discussed my condition.”
“No. We’ve discussed test results and appointments. I’m asking you.”
Catherine looked at Megan.
Megan’s expression said she wanted no part of it.
“Catherine,” Isaac said.
His mother sighed.
“The doctors aren’t sure.”
“About what?”
“How much improvement I can realistically expect.”
“That is not the same as dying.”
“No.”
“Then why write ‘before I run out of time’?”
“Because everybody runs out of time.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Turn this into philosophy.”
Catherine’s eyes softened.
“Sweetheart, that is exactly what your father did. He thought he had years. Then he had days.”
Isaac glanced toward the letter.
His father’s warning burned in his mind.
There was always another problem.
His phone began vibrating.
He ignored it.
It stopped.
Then started again.
Megan glanced toward the screen.
“Someone really wants you.”
Isaac picked it up.
Grant Holloway.
His chief operating officer.
He answered.
“What?”
Grant skipped hello.
“We have a problem.”
Isaac stood straighter.
“What happened?”
“The San Francisco acquisition leaked.”
His stomach dropped.
“That’s impossible.”
“It’s already online.”
“Who knows?”
“Everyone.”
Isaac looked at Catherine.
At Lily.
At the letter from his dead father.
Grant continued.
“The board is calling an emergency meeting. They want you here in an hour.”
Isaac’s instincts took over instantly.
“Send me everything. I’ll be there.”
Catherine closed her eyes.
Isaac stopped.
The sentence had come out automatically.
Just as it had for eleven years.
There was always another problem.
Grant spoke again.
“Isaac?”
He looked at his father’s letter.
Then at his daughter.
Then at the blue list.
“Move the meeting.”
Silence on the phone.
“What?”
“Two hours.”
“Isaac, this is—”
“Two hours, Grant.”
He ended the call.
Catherine watched him.
“You should go.”
“I will.”
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I know.”
And for the first time, perhaps he did.
He picked up the red box.
“I’m meeting Helen first.”
Catherine’s face went white.
“No.”
“You’ve had thirty-two years.”
“Isaac.”
“I want the truth.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me.”
She stood despite Ruth’s warning.
“Do not contact her.”
“Why?”
Catherine’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“Because the last thing Helen said to me was that one day you would hate me when you learned what I had done.”
Isaac froze.
His mother reached for his arm.
“And Isaac?”
“Yes?”
May you like
“She may have been right.”
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