Chapter 3 - The Petition in the Safe
Carter stood in the foyer, holding a bottle of twenty-year-old scotch in one hand, wearing the tailored navy suit I had bought him for my upcoming wedding.
He smiled as I walked down the curved staircase, but the smile died instantly when he saw Marcus and Hendricks flanking Victoria, who was handcuffed and sobbing hysterically.
Behind me, Grace was holding Noah back inside the master bedroom with the door locked.
“What the hell is going on here?” Carter asked, stepping forward, his eyes darting between me and Victoria. “Daniel? Why are your guards putting their hands on your fiancee?”
“Her name isn’t Victoria Mercer,” I said, stopping three steps from the bottom of the stairs, looking down at him. “And she’s not my fiancee.”
Carter’s jaw tightened. Just a millimeter, but I saw it. The same micro-flinch he had displayed since we were kids whenever he was caught lying about breaking something.
“Dan, look, whatever little lover's quarrel you two had—”
“She’s Victoria Vance, Carter,” I cut him off. “Your corporate paralegal from Chicago. The one who spent the last eight months drugging my chamomile tea with mild sedatives so I’d look lethargic, depressed, and unstable during Noah’s school evaluations.”
The bottle of scotch slipped from Carter’s fingers.
It smashed against the white marble floor, exploding in a spray of amber liquor and jagged shards of glass. The sharp stench of alcohol instantly filled the room.
Carter didn’t look at the mess. His eyes went dead and flat.
“You’ve been going through Elena’s things,” Carter said, his voice stripping away every trace of brotherly warmth.
“Elena left a video,” I replied, pulling the manila petition from my coat pocket and throwing it at his feet. It landed right in the puddle of scotch. “She knew what you were doing to the firm. She knew you drained thirty million dollars from Mercer Logistics. And she knew you were coming for Noah’s trust.”
Victoria started crying louder. “Carter, tell him! Tell him you forced me!”
“Shut your mouth, Victoria,” Carter said without turning his head. He looked up at me, straightening his silk tie. “So what? You found a petition. A petition isn't a crime, Dan. It’s an expression of concern for my nephew’s welfare. You haven’t been right since Elena died. Everyone in town knows it.”
“The police are on their way, Carter. For domestic abuse on Noah, and for conspiracy to commit fraud.”
Carter let out a sharp, cold bark of laughter. He pulled his smartphone from his pocket, tapped the screen twice, and turned it toward me.
It was a live audio feed from the county police dispatcher.
“All units, stand down on the 10-33 call at the Mercer Estate on Elm Ridge. Call originated from a known domestic civil dispute. Private security will handle. Do not roll units.”
Carter pocketed the phone with a sickening grin. “You think you’re the only Mercer who donates to the police commissioner’s reelection fund? The cops aren't coming, Daniel. But two court marshals will be here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning with a signed emergency order granting me temporary custody of Noah.”
“Over my dead body,” I said, stepping off the stairs.
“That can easily be arranged,” Carter whispered.
Suddenly, Marcus—the security guard holding Victoria—pulled his service weapon, unholstered it in one fluid motion, and pointed the barrel directly at my chest.
The next chapters are on the left side of your screen.
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