Chapter 7 - Dinner at Nathan Mercer’s House
Hannah refused to let me buy Bridge House.
That was my first solution.
The building was worth less than some of the cars in my garage.
I could have transferred the money within an hour.
“No.”
We stood in my kitchen at seven in the evening.
Rachel was making pasta.
Eli was asleep upstairs.
Marcus was somewhere nearby.
Hannah looked exhausted.
“You'd rather lose it?”
“I'd rather save it.”
“Same result.”
“No.”
She pointed a wooden spoon at me.
Rachel had given it to her after deciding I was becoming irritating.
“If you buy Bridge House, then the building belongs to Nathan Mercer.”
“Yes.”
“It needs to belong to the community.”
“It can.”
“You don't understand.”
“I understand ownership.”
“Exactly.”
Rachel laughed into the sauce.
I ignored her.
Hannah continued.
“For you, solving problems means acquiring them.”
“That works surprisingly often.”
“People aren't assets.”
“I never said they were.”
“But you treat everything like something you can control.”
That stopped me.
Rachel quietly left the kitchen.
Coward.
Hannah set down the spoon.
“I'm not saying you're trying to hurt anyone.”
“That makes it better.”
“I'm saying you don't realize how often you use money instead of trust.”
The truth irritated me because it was true.
“What do you suggest?”
“Tomorrow, we prove the board vote is compromised.”
“With what?”
“Calvin Ross.”
“We can't find Ross.”
“Then we find the board member Pierce is paying.”
I crossed my arms.
“You think he'll confess?”
“No.”
Hannah smiled faintly.
“But people love gossip.”
The next morning, she was right.
Bridge House's board had nine members.
Three supported the sale openly.
Two opposed it.
Four were undecided.
Within thirty minutes, Hannah had learned that one of the pro-sale members had recently paid off a seventy-thousand-dollar debt despite working as a school administrator.
Her name was Denise Holloway.
We didn't threaten her.
We didn't break into her accounts.
We did something I found painfully inefficient.
We asked questions.
Hannah met Denise privately before the vote.
I stayed outside.
Twenty-three minutes later, Denise emerged crying.
She handed Hannah her phone.
Text messages.
Calvin Ross had offered her money to support the sale.
But the messages contained something more important.
Ross had sent payment instructions from an account registered to Pierce Civic Foundation.
The board meeting collapsed.
Police were contacted.
The vote was postponed.
Hannah walked out to the sidewalk afterward.
Kids and parents cheered.
She looked embarrassed.
Then Darius handed her a cardboard sign.
MS. COLE 1 — RICH DEVELOPERS 0
Hannah laughed so hard she nearly cried.
I stood across the street.
Watching.
Rachel appeared beside me.
“You're in love with her.”
“No.”
“You've known her five days and canceled two meetings to watch a community board vote.”
“I had business here.”
“You don't have business here.”
“I do now.”
Rachel smiled.
“That sounded romantic in your head, didn't it?”
“Go away.”
That night, I invited Hannah to dinner.
Not a restaurant.
My house.
No staff at the table.
No security visible.
Just Rachel, Eli, Hannah and me.
Eli and Hannah were still learning how to exist in the same room.
Some conversations were easy.
Others ended abruptly.
After dinner, Hannah wandered into the library.
I found her holding an old novel.
“You've read this?”
“Years ago.”
“Favorite character?”
“I don't remember.”
She looked offended.
“That's tragic.”
“You say that about a lot of things.”
“Only tragic things.”
She handed me the book.
“Read it again.”
“I don't have time.”
“Nathan.”
I looked at her.
“You own multiple companies and enough security guards to invade a small country. I'm pretty sure you can find twenty minutes.”
“I'll consider it.”
“No. Promise.”
“Why?”
Her expression softened.
“Because I think you forgot who you were before everyone became afraid of you.”
The sentence went through me.
I looked down at the book.
“When I was sixteen, I wanted to study history.”
Hannah smiled.
“There he is.”
“My father said history was for people who couldn't control the future.”
“He sounds exhausting.”
I laughed quietly.
“He was.”
“What happened?”
“I joined the family business.”
“Because you wanted to?”
“Because my mother got sick.”
Hannah waited.
“My father made it clear Rachel would be protected if I stayed.”
Her expression changed.
“You were protecting your sister.”
“At first.”
“And later?”
“Later, power became easier than admitting I didn't know how to leave.”
Hannah stepped closer.
I could smell coffee and the faint soap she used.
“Maybe leaving isn't one decision.”
“No?”
“Maybe it's a thousand small ones.”
Her eyes dropped to the book.
“Starting with page one.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then I kissed her.
It wasn't planned.
Hannah stiffened for half a heartbeat.
Then kissed me back.
No audience.
No expensive restaurant.
No calculated seduction.
Just a quiet library and a woman who had somehow made my own house feel unfamiliar.
When we separated, she looked at me.
“That was probably a bad idea.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
“No.”
“Neither do I.”
I smiled.
Then every light in the house went out.
My hand moved automatically toward the weapon at my back.
Emergency power should have activated instantly.
It didn't.
Marcus's voice came through the darkness.
“Sir, stay inside.”
Hannah grabbed my sleeve.
A second later, gunfire cracked outside.
Not inside.
At the gates.
Marcus's men responded.
Hannah froze.
I guided her behind the thick interior wall.
Rachel rushed downstairs.
Eli followed.
“Safe room,” I ordered.
Hannah resisted.
“No.”
“This isn't negotiable.”
For once, she obeyed.
Five minutes later, power returned.
Marcus entered with blood on his sleeve.
Not his.
“Attack?”
“Distraction.”
“For what?”
He held up his phone.
The Bridge House alarm had triggered simultaneously.
Hannah went pale.
“No.”
She ran toward the door.
I caught her.
“We don't know what's there.”
“The kids—”
“Building's closed.”
“Night class.”
Her face changed.
“Tuesday night is adult literacy.”
We were in the cars within sixty seconds.
Smoke was already visible before we reached the street.
Bridge House stood dark.
One basement window had been shattered.
But there was no fire.
Just smoke canisters.
Marcus's team cleared the building.
Everyone escaped safely.
Then Hannah noticed the basement door.
Open.
We ran downstairs.
The hidden metal tube was gone.
So were the original records.
On the brick wall, someone had written a message in black paint.
YOU SHOULD HAVE TAKEN THE MONEY.
Hannah stared at it.
I felt something old waking inside me.
Rage.
The easy solution was violence.
Find Pierce.
Find Vale.
Make them disappear.
Hannah looked at me.
She knew.
“No.”
One word.
I turned.
“They attacked my home and your building.”
“And this is the moment you decide who you are.”
My jaw tightened.
“They won't stop.”
“Then we stop them.”
“How?”
She stepped closer.
“Not the way your father would.”
I looked at the black message.
Then at her.
A thousand small decisions.
Maybe leaving really did begin that way.
I took out my phone.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“No retaliation.”
He stared at me.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.”
For the first time in twenty years, an attack on Nathan Mercer would not be answered with another attack.
But as we walked upstairs, Eli grabbed my arm.
His face was pale.
“The original records weren't the only copies.”
Hannah turned.
“What?”
Eli looked between us.
“I made one more copy seventeen years ago.”
“Where?”
He swallowed.
“I gave it to someone I trusted.”
“Who?”
His eyes settled on me.
“Your mother.”
May you like
And suddenly, the woman I'd buried twelve years ago became the most important person in the room.
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