Chapter 3 - The Words from Fifteen Years Ago
Rosa had expected Dante Mercer to send men.
Instead, he came himself.
At seven forty-two that evening, a black sedan stopped outside the small two-story house Rosa rented ten miles from the estate.
Dante stepped out alone.
His security detail remained half a block away.
Rosa noticed that immediately.
So did Ellie.
“Why are those cars staying over there?” Ellie asked from the living-room window.
“Because Mr. Mercer asked them to.”
“Why?”
“Ellie.”
“I’m only asking.”
Rosa pulled the curtain closed.
Her daughter had always asked too many questions.
Jacob used to say curiosity was the most dangerous thing Ellie inherited from him.
That memory hurt tonight.
Ellie looked toward the kitchen.
“Is Mr. Mercer staying for dinner?”
“No.”
“Can he?”
“I don’t think Mr. Mercer eats grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Ellie considered this.
“He looks like he eats steak.”
Despite everything, Rosa almost laughed.
A knock sounded.
Dante stood outside when she opened the door.
Without the mansion surrounding him, he somehow looked more human.
Still intimidating.
But less like a man carved into the building itself.
“Where is it?” he asked.
No greeting.
Rosa should have expected that.
“Upstairs.”
Ellie appeared behind her.
“Hi.”
Dante looked down.
“Hello, Ellie.”
“You came to our house.”
“So I have been informed.”
“You talk funny.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
“Ellie.”
Dante almost smiled.
Almost.
“Do I?”
“You talk like everything is a meeting.”
“That’s probably true.”
Ellie nodded as if she had diagnosed a serious problem.
“You can have grilled cheese if you want.”
“Thank you.”
Dante looked at Rosa.
“I may take her up on that.”
Rosa was not certain whether he was joking.
They went upstairs.
Jacob’s belongings had gradually disappeared from the house during the three years since his death.
Not because Rosa wanted to erase him.
Because grief had changed shape.
His clothes were donated.
His shoes disappeared from the hallway.
His razor no longer sat beside the bathroom sink.
But one section of their bedroom closet had remained untouched.
Rosa knelt.
Behind winter blankets sat a small steel box.
Dante’s face changed when he saw it.
Not recognition.
Concern.
“How long has that been there?”
“Since before Jacob died.”
“You never opened it?”
“I tried once.”
“And?”
“He caught me.”
Rosa remembered the expression on Jacob’s face.
Not anger.
Terror.
“He made me swear I wouldn’t try again unless someone asked about Lucia Mercer.”
Dante crouched beside the box.
A four-digit mechanical lock was set into the lid.
“Did he leave the combination?”
“No.”
Dante studied it.
Ellie appeared in the doorway.
“It’s my birthday.”
Rosa turned.
“What?”
“The code.”
She pointed at the box.
“Daddy always used my birthday for everything.”
Dante looked at Rosa.
“Try it.”
Rosa entered 0419.
Nothing.
Ellie frowned.
“No. Backwards.”
Rosa tried 9140.
Click.
The sound seemed impossibly loud.
Nobody moved.
Rosa opened the lid.
Inside were several objects.
A photograph.
A small leather notebook.
An old digital voice recorder.
A silver necklace.
And one sealed envelope.
The envelope had Dante’s name written across it.
His face changed when he saw the handwriting.
“You know it?” Rosa asked.
Dante reached slowly into the box.
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
“Lucia’s.”
Rosa took a step back.
Dante picked up the envelope.
Fifteen years had yellowed the paper slightly.
His name remained unmistakable.
Dante.
Lucia used to write the D too large.
He remembered teasing her about it.
His fingers tightened.
Ellie moved closer.
“Is that your sister?”
“Yes.”
“Did she write you a letter?”
“I think so.”
“Are you going to read it?”
Dante stared at the envelope.
Men had seen him make decisions involving millions of dollars without hesitation.
Yet he could not open one envelope.
Rosa understood.
“Maybe not with Ellie here.”
Dante nodded.
Ellie protested.
“I’m good at secrets.”
“That,” Rosa said, “is exactly what worries me.”
She sent Ellie downstairs.
When they were alone, Dante carefully opened the envelope.
The first line nearly stopped him.
Dante,
If you are reading this, Jacob kept his promise.
Dante sat on the edge of the bed.
Rosa remained standing.
He continued.
I need you to understand something before you hate me.
I did not die in that river.
Dante stopped breathing.
The paper trembled slightly in his hand.
Rosa whispered, “What does it say?”
Dante did not answer.
He read on.
I wanted to come back.
Jacob begged me not to.
He said they were waiting for me to make contact with you.
I didn’t know who I could trust.
I still don’t.
Especially not inside our family.
Dante stood abruptly.
The room tilted around him.
Lucia had survived.
At least long enough to write the letter.
“When?” he demanded.
“What?”
“When did Jacob get this?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante returned to the page.
He recognized Lucia’s voice inside every sentence.
I found documents connected to Dad’s old accounts.
Sebastian knows.
Dante’s eyes froze.
His uncle.
Sebastian Mercer.
The man who had practically raised him after his father died.
The man who had supervised the investigation into Lucia’s disappearance.
The man who had stood beside Dante at the empty grave.
Rosa saw his expression.
“Who is Sebastian?”
“My uncle.”
The letter continued.
Please don’t confront him until you know the whole truth.
Jacob has part of it.
Another part is hidden where Mom taught us to play when Dad was angry.
You will remember.
Dante did remember.
The music room.
The old piano.
Their mother had once hidden Lucia and Dante beneath it during one of their father’s drunken rages.
His throat tightened.
The final lines were worse.
You will blame yourself for what happened.
Don’t.
The last thing you said to me was angry.
But the last thing I remember is you holding me when we were kids and telling me five minutes could fix almost anything.
I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you I was alive.
I love you.
Lucia.
Dante lowered the letter.
For years he had dreamed of one impossible sentence.
She survived.
Now he finally had it.
And it brought no relief.
Only questions.
“Mr. Mercer?” Rosa asked.
He looked at her.
“My sister survived the crash.”
Rosa covered her mouth.
“Jacob helped her.”
“That’s what the letter says.”
“Then where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Dante turned toward the remaining objects.
The photograph showed three people standing beside an old service station.
Lucia.
A younger Jacob Voss.
And a third man Dante immediately recognized.
Adrian Cole.
Dante’s closest adviser.
His oldest friend.
The man who currently controlled security operations at the Mercer estate.
Dante stared at the photograph.
Rosa whispered, “Who is he?”
Dante’s face hardened.
“Someone who told me he had never met your husband.”
Downstairs, Ellie laughed at something on television.
The innocent sound floated through the house.
Dante looked at the locked box.
Then at Lucia’s letter.
He had begun the evening wondering whether his sister had survived.
Now he understood that the more dangerous question was different.
If Lucia had lived...
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why had the people closest to Dante spent fifteen years convincing him she was dead?
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