Chapter 7 - The Monday Trap
Ethan called Lily Sunday night.
She almost didn't answer.
I told her the choice was hers.
She answered.
“Come home,” Ethan said.
“No.”
“I can explain.”
“Then explain.”
“Not on the phone.”
Lily looked at Detective Hale.
He nodded.
Monday morning, she agreed to meet Ethan at Harrington Capital.
The meeting was supposed to concern their marriage.
Instead, Ethan placed divorce papers in front of her.
Then another document.
A marital settlement.
Buried on page thirty-eight was language assigning him temporary management authority over several financial interests.
Including trusts.
Lily looked up.
“You still think I'm stupid.”
Ethan's face changed.
“I think you're emotional.”
Behind mirrored glass in an adjacent conference room, Rebecca listened.
So did Detective Hale.
Lily closed the document.
“I won't sign.”
Ethan leaned closer.
“Your father has controlled you your entire life.”
“No.”
“He hid millions from you.”
“He hid them from you.”
Silence.
That was when Ethan realized.
She knew.
His chair moved backward.
“How much did Frank tell you?”
“Enough.”
Ethan stood.
The door opened.
Detective Hale entered.
“Mr. Mercer, sit down.”
Ethan looked toward the elevators.
Then toward Lily.
And finally, strangely, he smiled.
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
“This was never about one building.”
Hale approached him.
Ethan raised both hands.
“My father didn't spend thirty years waiting for Calloway House.”
He looked directly at me through the mirrored glass.
“He was waiting for Frank to open the archive.”
My blood went cold.
I ran into the conference room.
“What did you say?”
Ethan laughed.
“The key.”
The old brass key.
I reached into my pocket.
Empty.
Then I remembered.
I'd given it to Ethan at dinner.
Peter had later recovered it from the table.
Or so we believed.
I called him.
“Peter, where's the key?”
A pause.
“In the archive office.”
“Look.”
Thirty seconds passed.
Then Peter returned.
“Frank…”
“What?”
“It's gone.”
At that exact moment, Calloway House's security alarm activated.
Not upstairs.
Underground.
The founder's archive.
Someone had entered.
And the only person who knew exactly what he wanted was a man we'd believed dead for twelve years.
May you like
Charles Mercer.
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