Chapter 9 - The Price of a Proposal
Daniel denied it.
Immediately.
“That’s not my signature.”
“It’s your name.”
“My name isn’t proof.”
“There’s a transfer reference.”
“I never received that money.”
Federal investigators found the account within three hours.
A bank in the Cayman Islands.
Beneficiary: Daniel Mercer.
He continued denying it.
Then investigators discovered the money had been transferred days later into the account used for the down payment on the townhouse where Daniel and I lived during our engagement.
The home I thought we bought together.
The home where he proposed.
I sat across from him in an FBI interview room.
He was not under arrest yet.
His attorney sat beside him.
“My father gave me money,” Daniel finally admitted.
Bellamy shut his eyes.
“Daniel—”
“No.”
Daniel looked at me.
“I’m done lying.”
I almost laughed.
“You’re five years late.”
He ignored it.
“Patrick contacted me before I proposed.”
“What did he say?”
“That Dad had left money overseas before he died.”
“You believed Charles was dead?”
“Yes.”
“Then where did you think the money came from?”
“A trust.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I was twenty-nine and broke.”
“You were thirty-three.”
His face tightened.
“I felt broke.”
That sentence captured Daniel perfectly.
He had a law degree.
A six-figure income.
An apartment in Washington.
But beside me, he felt poor.
And instead of building himself, he decided I had too much.
“What did Patrick want in exchange?”
“Nothing.”
“Daniel.”
“He asked me to get close to you.”
There it was.
My throat closed.
“How close?”
“At first? He said Hawthorne owed our family.”
Bellamy whispered, “Stop talking.”
Daniel slammed his palm on the table.
“I said I’m done!”
Then he looked at me.
“I met you at the museum fundraiser because Patrick told me you’d be there.”
The memory came back.
Blue dress.
Champagne.
Daniel accidentally bumping my shoulder beside a sculpture.
His charming apology.
Coffee three days later.
Our entire beginning had been arranged.
“You targeted me.”
“Yes.”
I felt nothing.
That frightened me more than anger.
“Did you love me?”
Daniel stared at the table.
“Eventually.”
“Eventually.”
“I didn’t expect to.”
“How romantic.”
“Claire—”
“When did you decide to marry me?”
“When I realized I didn’t want to leave.”
“Was that before or after the quarter-million dollars?”
His eyes closed.
“After.”
I stood.
Bellamy said something.
I didn’t hear it.
At the door, Daniel called my name.
I stopped.
“I did love you,” he said.
I turned.
“You loved access to me.”
“No.”
“You loved the version of yourself you imagined becoming once you owned what belonged to me.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Neither was putting a sedative in my soup.”
I left.
Outside, Agent Blake stopped me.
“We found Evelyn.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief nearly knocked me backward.
“Where?”
“A motel outside Richmond.”
“Charles?”
“Gone.”
Evelyn had been left alone.
No injuries.
No restraints.
Charles had apparently wanted a conversation.
At the hospital, Evelyn told us what he said.
“He wanted me to convince Claire to surrender control voluntarily.”
“Why would I listen to you?”
“He thought guilt would do it.”
“Because I switched the bowls.”
Evelyn nodded.
“He said I should tell you that if you stepped away, everything would stop.”
“And did you believe him?”
“No.”
I sat beside her.
For years, I had disliked Evelyn.
Sometimes hated her.
She criticized everything.
My clothes.
My hours.
My career.
My refusal to have children before I was ready.
Yet now, she looked ashamed.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“Several.”
A tiny smile touched her mouth.
“Yes.”
“Why did you help Daniel question my mental health?”
Her eyes dropped.
“Because I thought you were keeping him from what he deserved.”
“My company?”
“A place in your life.”
“He had one.”
“I know that now.”
She took a breath.
“I raised my sons believing money was security because Charles taught us what happened when it disappeared.”
“And Patrick?”
“Patrick worshipped his father.”
“Even after Charles supposedly died?”
“Especially after.”
Then Evelyn said something that changed the case.
“Patrick knew Charles was alive.”
“How long?”
“Since he was twenty-one.”
Patrick had spent over a decade working with him.
Daniel had been useful.
Patrick had been loyal.
“And Monica?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Evelyn hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
“Evelyn.”
“Charles contacted all three children after he disappeared.”
My stomach dropped.
“Daniel too?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“Before your wedding.”
Daniel had just told me he believed Charles was dead.
Another lie.
Evelyn continued.
“Charles sent each child a letter. Daniel burned his.”
“Did you see it?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“That Daniel had done well.”
A chill moved through me.
“For meeting me?”
Evelyn looked ashamed.
“For getting you to marry him.”
So Daniel had known.
Maybe not everything.
But enough.
My phone buzzed.
Agent Blake had sent a message.
PATRICK MERCER LOCATED.
A second message appeared.
DO NOT CONTACT HIM.
I called her immediately.
“Where?”
“Claire—”
“Where?”
“He walked into the Baltimore federal building.”
“What?”
“He surrendered.”
“Why?”
There was a pause.
May you like
Then Blake said:
“Because Patrick claims Charles plans to kill Daniel tonight.”
