Chapter 3 - Sunburned and Blind
The Gulfstream G450 touched down at the private airfield at 3:45 PM.
Daniel Mercer stepped down the motorized stairs wearing a tailored beige linen suit, his skin glowing with a deep, golden tan, his aviator sunglasses reflecting the pale afternoon sun. Behind him, Celeste Adams adjusted her designer sunglasses, her hair bleached platinum by the Caribbean sun, a crocodile-skin handbag dangling from her forearm.
"God, this weather is depressing," Celeste murmured, shivering as the chilly wind swept across the tarmac. "Why do we have to stay in this miserable city for another month? We should have stayed in St. Thomas until the closing."
"Because appearances matter, darling," Daniel said smoothly, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. "The Vanguard board meets on Thursday. I present the restructuring plan, they approve the asset transfer to Blue Horizon, and by Friday morning, I have full operational control of the Linwood patent. After that, we liquidate domestic holdings and relocate permanently."
"And your little domestic issue?" Celeste asked, her lip curling with amused disdain. "The hysterical wife and the brat?"
Daniel smiled—that easy, predatory smile that had once made my heart flutter. "Grace is weak, Celeste. She’s probably spent the last four days crying in bed, surrounded by dirty diapers, waiting for me to walk through the door and forgive her for being so helpless. I’ll give her a few thousand dollars, tell her she’s unfit to raise an heir, and offer to put her up in a nice, quiet clinic in Vermont while I take legal custody of Noah."
"And if she fights?"
"She won't fight," Daniel chuckled, leading her toward the black Mercedes S-Class waiting at the private terminal. "She has no money. No car. Her grandfather’s money is already tied up in my offshore accounts. She doesn't even know how to hire a competent attorney. Grace is an ornamental creature. Without me, she cannot survive."
They took separate cars—Celeste returning to her penthouse downtown, Daniel driving toward Oakridge to execute the final stage of his plan.
He pulled into the driveway at 4:30 PM.
The neighborhood was peaceful. The autumn leaves were drifting across the manicured lawns. Everything looked normal. Except, as Daniel parked his car and got out, he noticed that my silver Volvo was missing from the driveway.
He frowned. *Where did she get keys?*
He brushed the thought aside. Perhaps Mrs. Alvarez had taken pity on her and driven her to the grocery store. It didn't matter. It was better if she wasn't here when he gathered his remaining personal effects from the safe.
He unlocked the front door, tossing his keys onto the marble console.
"Grace?" he called out, his voice rich with feigned exhaustion. "Grace, I’m home! The Miami deal was a nightmare, but I managed to save the accounts. Come down, let’s talk."
Silence answered him.
The house was freezing. The thermostat was off. The familiar hum of the refrigerator, the faint sound of the baby monitor, the smell of lavender detergent—everything was absent. The house smelled like an abandoned warehouse.
"Grace?"
Daniel walked into the kitchen. The granite countertops were cleared. The coffee maker was gone. The pantry doors hung open, completely empty.
A knot of unease tightened in his chest. He turned around and walked briskly up the curved staircase, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the wood.
"Grace, stop playing games! Where are you?"
He walked into the master bedroom. The walk-in closet was half-bare. Every stitch of my clothing, my shoes, my jewelry—including the antique sapphire brooch my mother had left me—was gone. The safe in the closet wall was wide open, its interior cleared out.
Daniel’s heart began to hammer against his ribs. Not out of concern, but out of the sudden, terrifying realization that his script was falling apart.
He turned on his heel and strode down the hallway toward the nursery.
The door was slightly ajar.
He shoved it open. "Grace, where the hell is—"
The words froze in his throat.
The nursery was gone.
There were no murals on the wall; they had been painted over with thick, grey primer. The crib was gone. The rug was gone. There was only the bare window, the grey light of dusk, and the folding table in the middle of the empty room.
Daniel stepped into the room, his eyes darting frantically from corner to corner. His breathing turned shallow.
"Where is my son?" he demanded to the empty air, his voice cracking with sudden rage. "Where is the baby?!"
He marched to the folding table.
His eyes fell on the first item: the high-resolution photograph.
His face drained of all color.
*Celeste. The sunset. His hand on her waist.*
*Finally free.*
His hand trembled as he reached down and picked up the second document: the St. Jude’s PICU admission report.
He read the words: *Diagnosis: Severe Neonatal Sepsis. Temperature: 104.2°F. Patient in acute septic shock. Father of the child: Absent, non-contactable. Insurance status: Policy canceled by subscriber Daniel Mercer on date of admission.*
Beneath that, in bold, red ink stamped by the hospital registrar: *REPORTED TO DEPARTMENT OF CHILDREN AND FAMILY SERVICES FOR CRIMINAL NEGLECT INVESTIGATION.*
"No," Daniel gasped, his knees suddenly feeling weak. "No, no, no."
Then his eyes drifted to the third document.
It was an official summons from the Superior Court of the State, bearing the seal of Cole & Sterling LLP.
*NOTICE OF PRELIMINARY INJUNCTION, FREEZE OF CORPORATE ASSETS, AND EMERGENCY APPLICATION FOR FULL SOLE CUSTODY.*
Below the signature of Judge Margaret Hastings was a single handwritten line from Sarah Cole:
*Welcome home, Daniel. We’ll see you in court on Monday.*
Daniel dropped the papers. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ripped it out with trembling fingers, expecting me, expecting a call, expecting anything.
The caller ID flashed: *BOARD CHAIRMAN - VANGUARD CREST.*
Daniel pressed the phone to his ear, his voice shaking. "Marcus... Marcus, listen—"
"Daniel, where the hell are you?" Marcus Reid’s voice roared through the speaker, cold and furious. "The Securities and Exchange Commission just served an emergency subpoena at our corporate headquarters. An attorney named Sarah Cole filed a whistleblower affidavit alleging multi-million dollar patent theft and offshore money laundering. The board has called an emergency session in one hour. If you aren't here, we’re voting to terminate you for cause."
The line went dead.
May you like
Daniel Mercer stood in the center of the empty, grey room, surrounded by the ghosts of the family he had tried to destroy. And for the first time in his life, the smile was completely gone from his face.
***
