Chapter 6 - Claire’s Secret Saturday Wedding
The police never received a call.
Claire realized that ten minutes after the shooting stopped.
Instead, Vincent’s security team sealed the apartment, removed the projectile from the wall, photographed the trajectory, and began reviewing neighboring rooftops.
She stood in the kitchen staring at him.
“You’re not calling the police.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever fired those rounds knew exactly where we were.”
“So?”
“So either they tracked Mercer, tracked us, or had access to information only law enforcement and my security team should possess.”
Claire looked toward Vincent’s men.
“You think someone on your team is involved.”
“I think assuming otherwise would be careless.”
Evan sat on the floor beside the couch.
A piece of glass had cut his cheek.
Claire watched him press a towel against it.
Forty-eight hours earlier she had promised to stand beside him for better or worse.
Now she could barely look at him without feeling angry.
And yet when the bullet had hit the wall, Evan had moved toward her.
Not away.
That confused her.
Vincent collected the photograph.
The woman between Arthur Hale and Daniel Donovan appeared to be in her late thirties.
Elegant.
Dark hair.
Expensive coat.
Claire had never seen her.
Evan had.
His expression gave him away.
“You know her.”
Evan looked toward Vincent.
“So do you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Evan stood and took the photograph.
“Look closer.”
Vincent did.
Nothing.
Then Evan covered the woman’s hair with his thumb.
Vincent's face changed.
Claire saw recognition.
“Who?”
Vincent whispered the name.
“Margaret Voss.”
Evan nodded.
Claire looked between them.
“Who is Margaret Voss?”
Vincent’s answer was quiet.
“My father’s attorney.”
“Was?”
“She disappeared after the warehouse fire.”
Evan laughed bitterly.
“She didn't disappear.”
Vincent looked at him.
“She became Margaret Mercer.”
Claire stared.
“Your mother?”
Evan nodded.
The room fell silent.
Claire felt as if every answer simply opened three more doors.
“Your mother was Arthur Hale’s attorney?”
“Yes.”
“And she knew my father?”
“Yes.”
“And Samuel Mercer?”
“She married him.”
Vincent took the photograph again.
“Margaret was presumed dead.”
“She wanted to be.”
“Where is she?”
Evan looked toward the broken window.
“Until this morning, I thought she was in Vermont.”
Claire understood.
“You think she arranged the shooting.”
Evan didn't answer.
That frightened her more.
Vincent stepped closer.
“Why would your own mother try to kill you?”
Evan’s jaw tightened.
“Because I stopped following instructions.”
Claire looked at him.
“Whose instructions?”
Evan met her eyes.
“My entire relationship with you was her idea.”
The words landed with brutal force.
Claire’s face emptied.
Vincent moved slightly toward her.
She ignored him.
“Explain.”
Evan swallowed.
“My mother has spent twelve years trying to prove Arthur Hale killed my father.”
“And I was part of that?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Your father had the key.”
“So you targeted me.”
“Yes.”
Claire laughed softly.
It wasn't amusement.
Four months.
Every dinner.
Every message.
Every conversation.
Scripted.
“Did she tell you to marry me?”
“Yes.”
Vincent stepped forward.
Evan immediately raised his hands.
“I never planned to hurt her.”
“You did.”
“I know.”
“That is the only intelligent thing you've said today.”
Claire turned toward Vincent.
“Stop.”
He looked at her.
“Don't fight my battles because it makes you feel useful.”
That hit him.
He stepped back.
Claire returned her attention to Evan.
“Saturday morning.”
“What?”
“I want every detail.”
Evan looked confused.
“Our wedding?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm done finding out my life was planned by strangers.”
He nodded slowly.
Claire leaned against the counter.
Evan began.
The townhouse had been chosen by Margaret.
The judge was retired.
The witnesses were associates.
The ring had been provided that morning.
Evan had not known about the microchip.
Claire stopped him.
“You didn't put it there?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“My mother probably.”
Vincent frowned.
“But the chip contained evidence undermining her version of events.”
Evan looked at him.
“Then maybe she didn't.”
Claire thought back.
At the ceremony, the ring box had passed through several hands.
The judge.
A woman arranging flowers.
One witness.
And—
Claire’s eyes widened.
“There was an older man.”
Evan frowned.
“What man?”
“At the townhouse.”
“There were only five people.”
“No.”
Claire stood straighter.
“When I arrived, someone opened the door.”
“I opened the door.”
“Not the front door.”
She closed her eyes.
Memory returned.
Rain.
White flowers.
Evan speaking with the judge.
Claire had walked down a narrow hallway looking for the restroom.
An older man in a gray maintenance uniform had stepped from a side room.
He apologized.
He was holding the ring box.
Claire assumed he worked there.
“He touched the ring.”
Vincent looked at her.
“Describe him.”
“Seventies. Gray hair. Scar near his left ear.”
Evan dropped the towel from his cheek.
“What?”
Claire looked at him.
“You know him.”
Evan went pale.
“My father had a scar near his left ear.”
Nobody spoke.
Claire’s pulse quickened.
“No.”
Evan stared at her.
“No.”
Vincent said quietly, “You were eight when Samuel disappeared.”
“I remember my father.”
“People change.”
Evan shook his head.
“You said Samuel died.”
“I said they never found the body.”
Evan paced away.
For the first time, the confident manipulator vanished completely.
He looked like a son.
A confused one.
Claire remembered the old man.
His eyes.
He had looked at her strangely.
Not romantically.
Not suspiciously.
Sadly.
Then he had said something.
She had forgotten until now.
“Choose what you believe after you hear everyone.”
At the time Claire thought he was commenting on marriage.
Now the sentence felt different.
She repeated it.
Evan stopped.
Vincent looked toward the photograph.
“Samuel may be alive.”
Evan stared at him.
“Where?”
Vincent looked at the coordinates from the music box.
“Maybe he’s been waiting for someone to reach Terminal Seven.”
Claire’s phone rang.
Unknown number.
Every person in the apartment froze.
She answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then breathing.
An older man's voice.
“Claire Donovan?”
Her knees nearly gave out.
“Yes.”
“You don’t know me.”
Evan stepped closer.
Claire put the call on speaker.
The voice continued.
“But I knew your father.”
Evan whispered, “Dad?”
Silence.
Then the man spoke again.
“Evan.”
The phone almost slipped from Claire’s hand.
Evan's face collapsed.
“Dad?”
The voice became emotional.
“Son.”
Evan covered his mouth.
Vincent said nothing.
Samuel Mercer was alive.
After twelve years.
Alive.
Then his voice changed.
Urgent.
“You need to leave that apartment.”
Claire looked toward the shattered window.
“Why?”
“Because Margaret knows you found the key.”
Evan whispered, “Mom?”
Samuel answered.
“She didn't kill me twelve years ago.”
A pause.
“She tried.”
Claire’s blood chilled.
Samuel continued.
May you like
“And if she gets to Terminal Seven before you do, every person who knows the truth will disappear with it.”
Then the call ended.
