Chapter 13 - BRYCE TRIED TO BLAME ME
The signature looked perfect.
LEAH R. MERCER.
Digital authorization code.
Timestamp.
Document certificate.
It would have fooled me if I had not known one fact.
At the timestamp shown, I had been in Germany.
Not remotely.
Not on leave.
Physically inside a multinational military exercise with access logs documenting nearly every hour of my day.
“That’s impossible,” I said.
Eleanor nodded.
“We know.”
“Who would sign my name?”
“We have a theory.”
“Celeste.”
“Likely.”
The forged approval changed the investigation.
For months, the scandal had centered on false ownership disclosures and related-party payments.
Now there was potential identity fraud.
I became a formal victim in one branch of the case.
The irony was exhausting.
Bryce came to the meeting.
He saw the forged signature and whispered:
“She was going to blame both of us.”
Apparently Celeste believed in redundancy.
If investigators looked at payments, Bryce appeared compromised.
If they looked at contract approval, I appeared involved.
If Dad faced questions, he could claim family confusion.
Everyone dirty.
No single villain.
Smart.
Until the documents collided.
Then Bryce made the worst decision possible.
A reporter caught him outside his attorney’s office.
“Did Captain Mercer authorize Northstar contracts?”
Bryce should have said no comment.
Instead, exhausted and frightened, he said:
“I don’t know what Leah authorized.”
Six words.
The clip spread instantly.
HEADLINE:
BRYCE MERCER SUGGESTS ARMY OFFICER STEPSISTER MAY HAVE APPROVED QUESTIONED CONTRACT.
I watched the video once.
Then turned it off.
Bryce called seventeen times.
I ignored all seventeen.
At six p.m., he appeared outside my apartment.
I spoke through the door.
“Go away.”
“I screwed up.”
“Yes.”
“I panicked.”
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t blaming you.”
“You told a reporter you didn’t know whether I approved something we both know was forged.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“Because they asked me questions for ten minutes and I was trying not to say Mom committed fraud.”
“Then say no comment.”
“I know.”
“You wanted executive responsibility. Start acting like an adult with a mouth.”
Silence.
Then:
“That was deserved.”
“Yes.”
I opened the door.
Not because I forgave him.
Because reporters were downstairs and I did not need another Christmas-style video.
He entered.
“I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I keep earning reasons.”
Fair.
I crossed my arms.
“You will correct it.”
“I already asked my lawyer.”
“No lawyer language.”
“What?”
“No ‘statements may have been misinterpreted.’ No ‘I regret any confusion.’”
He looked afraid.
“Then what do I say?”
“The truth.”
Twenty minutes later Bryce posted a video.
No suit.
No PR background.
Just him sitting at a kitchen table.
“My comment today was irresponsible. Leah Mercer did not authorize the Northstar contract being investigated. Investigators have evidence that the signature bearing her name is not hers. I knew that when I spoke to reporters, and I failed to make that clear because I panicked. That was wrong. I am sorry.”
Then he added:
“My sister has been treated unfairly by our family before. I won’t add to that.”
Sister.
Not stepsister.
It was the first time he had publicly called me that.
The video exploded.
Some people praised him.
Others attacked him.
I did neither.
He had done the minimum required by truth.
Sometimes growth was not applause-worthy.
Sometimes it was simply overdue.
That night Dad called.
“You let Bryce record that?”
“I don’t control him.”
“People will think he confirmed internal evidence.”
“He did.”
“You two are making lawyers miserable.”
“Good.”
Dad sighed.
Then surprised me.
“I’m proud of him.”
“For admitting he lied?”
“For correcting himself publicly.”
I sat down.
“That sounds like something Mom would say.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then Dad said:
“Celeste filed for divorce.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She filed today.”
“Why?”
“Her lawyers believe separating our finances helps her.”
“That romantic?”
Dad laughed.
A real laugh.
Sad.
“She wants the Richmond house.”
“Let her fight for it.”
“She also claims Mercer Logistics owes her seventeen million dollars.”
“For what?”
“Advisory work and capital contributions.”
“Does it?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I’m learning not to say that too confidently.”
At least he was capable of irony.
Three days later, Celeste surrendered to federal authorities through counsel.
The charges were limited initially.
Wire fraud.
Identity-related offenses.
False statements.
The case would take months.
Maybe years.
She pleaded not guilty.
That mattered.
Allegations were not convictions.
Even when evidence looked awful.
Bryce refused to attend her first hearing.
Dad did.
I asked him why.
“She was my wife.”
“Was?”
He looked at me.
“Emotionally, that ended before the filing.”
I nodded.
Not my marriage.
Not my problem.
Then Dad handed me another letter.
Not from Mom.
From himself.
“What’s this?”
“My resignation from the Mercer Logistics board.”
I looked at him.
“You already resigned as CEO.”
“Not my seat.”
“You’re giving it up?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if I stay, people will keep treating the company like it’s waiting for me to return.”
He looked toward headquarters.
“It needs to stop waiting.”
That decision mattered more than any apology he had offered.
Because apologies were words.
Giving up power was proof.
“When does it take effect?”
“After the next shareholder meeting.”
“You know the trust could vote you back someday.”
“Yes.”
“You want that?”
“No.”
He smiled sadly.
“I think for the first time in thirty years, I want to find out who I am when nobody calls me CEO.”
I understood.
Maybe Bryce and Dad were starting the same journey from different directions.
Then my phone buzzed.
Howard.
Emergency shareholder meeting.
I answered.
“What happened?”
His voice was tense.
“Another bid came in to buy Mercer Logistics.”
“The private-equity group?”
“No.”
“Who?”
He paused.
“A consortium using the name Rebecca Holdings.”
My blood went cold.
May you like
“Who owns it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
