Chapter 10 - My Father Was Never Going to Salt Lake City
If Adrian Mercer was alive after 1996, everything changed.
Mom stared at the photograph longer than anyone.
“I've never seen this.”
“You're in it,” I said.
“I know.”
“Was that Zurich?”
“Yes.”
Dad looked at her.
“When?”
“1998.”
Two years after Mercer disappeared.
She rubbed her arms.
“I was there with an audit team.”
“Was Adrian there?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“I would remember the man who threatened to kill me.”
The photograph could have been manipulated.
Forensic analysis later confirmed it had been altered.
Mom's image came from a real photograph.
Adrian's came from another.
The goal wasn't proof.
It was psychological warfare.
Mercer wanted us frightened.
Divided.
Questioning each other.
It was working.
Dad moved everyone again.
New safe house.
New security.
No personal electronics.
No predictable routes.
I began to understand why billionaire families sometimes lived like prisoners.
Money could buy comfort.
It could also paint targets on walls.
Agent Kim's team uncovered more of the financial conspiracy.
Lucas had accumulated almost nine million dollars in debt.
Roderick owed even more.
Their family wealth was mostly illusion.
Properties mortgaged.
Cars leased.
Businesses failing.
Lucas needed my money.
That part had been real.
But Mercer needed something more valuable.
Dad's archive.
And now I knew where it was.
Not because he told me.
Because Lucas had.
Ask your father who paid for your first apartment.
The Boston apartment.
Purchased through Mercer's holding company.
Why would Mercer buy me property?
Unless the property itself mattered.
I went to Dad.
“My old apartment.”
He knew immediately.
“No.”
“What?”
“You're not going.”
“I didn't say I was.”
“You were about to.”
“What's there?”
“We searched it years ago.”
“When?”
“After discovering the ownership structure.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“Maybe you searched for the wrong thing.”
Dad frowned.
The apartment building had been renovated six years earlier.
Before renovation, I had lived in Unit 17.
S-17.
Sterling seventeen.
Coincidence?
Maybe.
But coincidences had become expensive.
Federal agents searched the property records.
Unit 17 no longer existed.
The building had combined apartments.
The space was now occupied by a private architecture firm.
Then Agent Kim found something.
During renovation, a sealed wall cavity had been discovered.
Inside was an old safe.
The contractor documented it.
The safe was removed.
“Where?” I asked.
Kim looked at Dad.
“A storage warehouse outside Boston.”
Dad went still.
He knew the warehouse.
Sterling Global owned it.
Thomas Crane's archive.
My pulse climbed.
Mom wasn't S-17.
The apartment wasn't S-17.
The safe was.
Dad finally explained.
After Thomas disappeared, he divided the evidence into seventeen physical packages.
S-1 through S-17.
“Package seventeen disappeared,” Dad said.
“When?”
“1998.”
Same year as the fake Zurich photograph.
“What was in it?”
“The index.”
“Meaning?”
“A map to everything else.”
Whoever possessed S-17 could identify shell companies, account numbers, names.
The network's blueprint.
“And you never found it?”
“No.”
“What does Mom have to do with it?”
Dad looked at her.
Mom's face had gone pale.
Then she whispered:
“I moved the safe.”
We all stared.
Dad stood.
“What?”
“In Boston.”
“When?”
“After Thomas disappeared.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Mom looked ashamed.
“Because Thomas asked me not to.”
The room exploded.
Dad's anger.
Mom's tears.
Thirty years of marriage suddenly cracking open under a secret older than me.
Thomas Crane had contacted Mom privately before disappearing.
He believed someone inside Dad's company was compromised.
He didn't trust anyone.
Not even Daniel.
He asked Mom to move package S-17.
“Where?” Dad demanded.
“I don't know.”
“What do you mean you don't know?”
“I gave it to someone.”
“Who?”
Mom looked at me.
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
She nodded.
“Your grandfather.”
Her father.
He died fifteen years ago.
Dad sat down.
“Where would he put it?”
Mom shook her head.
“He said if anyone ever asked, I should say I never saw it.”
“Did he leave anything?”
“Boxes. Papers. Old furniture.”
“Where?”
“The estate storage facility.”
Still intact.
Untouched for years.
Dad's security team began planning retrieval.
Then my phone rang.
Nobody was supposed to have the number.
Unknown caller.
Agent Kim motioned to trace it.
I answered.
“Hello?”
Lucas.
My blood went cold.
“How did you get this number?”
He laughed softly.
“You still ask the wrong questions.”
“Aren't you in custody?”
“Phones exist in detention centers.”
“What do you want?”
“To help you.”
I almost laughed.
“You tried to murder me.”
“Yes.”
The casual answer stopped me.
No denial.
No performance.
“Why are you calling?”
“Because things changed.”
“What changed?”
“Mercer doesn't need me anymore.”
“And now you're afraid.”
“Yes.”
For the first time, Lucas sounded human.
Not remorseful.
Afraid.
“You want protection.”
“I want a deal.”
“Call your lawyer.”
“My lawyer works for Mercer.”
Silence.
Lucas continued.
“Your father's looking for S-17.”
“How do you know?”
“He isn't the only one.”
I looked at Dad.
He knew from my face.
“What do you know?”
Lucas whispered:
“Don't go to the storage facility.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because that's where they want you.”
The call disconnected.
Agent Kim immediately ordered the retrieval team to stop.
Too late.
The team was already inside.
Seconds later, the live security feed went black.
May you like
Then an explosion shook the warehouse.
---
