Chapter 3 - My Father’s Last Call
My father, William Mercer, died six years and five months ago.
The boys were born seven weeks after his funeral.
I had spent his final month in London because he was undergoing experimental treatment there.
He weakened quickly.
Some days he knew exactly who I was.
Some days he asked whether I had finished college.
I never knew he had spoken to Elena.
“He called you?”
“Twice.”
“When?”
“The first time, three days after I found out there were four babies.”
“How did he get your number?”
“He already had it.”
That surprised me.
Dad liked Elena.
Unlike my mother, he never treated her like temporary rebellion.
Once, after dinner, he told me:
“She makes you less performative.”
I had been offended.
He was right.
“What did he say?”
Elena closed eyes.
“He asked whether I was safe.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t understand then.”
“What else?”
“He said your mother had found out.”
My chest tightened.
“So he knew what she was doing?”
“Some of it.”
“Did he tell you to leave?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
Elena looked at me.
“He told me not to sign anything.”
My mother had presented several documents:
confidentiality agreement,
release of future claims,
acknowledgment that I disputed paternity? Wait Elena. Let's phrase first person? Nathan POV. "She had been presented."
Elena never signed.
Then Dad’s second call.
“He said if anything happened to him, someone named Martin Hale would contact me.”
I knew Martin.
Family trust attorney for thirty years.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“He created four accounts.”
The Mercer Educational Trust.
Not payments to Elena.
Irrevocable education and health subtrusts designated for four unnamed potential descendants of William Mercer.
Activated upon proof of birth and later paternity.
“How much?”
“I never knew.”
“Did you use them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother contacted Martin after William died.”
“What did she do?”
“She told him the pregnancy was fraudulent.”
My head began to ache.
“Did he close accounts?”
“He couldn’t. They were irrevocable.”
“So?”
“He froze distributions pending verification.”
Reasonable legally.
“Did you establish paternity?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Elena stared.
“Because every attorney I contacted suddenly stopped returning my calls.”
That sounded paranoid.
Until she gave me names.
Three law firms.
All had business relationships with Mercer Development at time.
Conflict concerns could legitimately stop representation once discovered.
But pattern?
Worth investigating.
Then Elena said:
“One lawyer agreed to help.”
“Who?”
“Naomi Price.”
I knew name.
Employment litigator.
Independent.
“What happened?”
“She disappeared from case after somebody sent her my hospital records.”
My stomach tightened.
“What hospital records?”
“Pregnancy records. And a psychiatric intake from when I was nineteen.”
“Why were you seen?”
“My sister died. I had panic attacks for two months.”
Nothing relevant to parenting.
But someone used it.
“Elena, who sent them?”
“She never found out.”
“Did she keep copies?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Naomi now?”
“Chicago.”
I texted my assistant to locate contact.
Then:
“Why didn’t you tell my father all this?”
“He was dying.”
“He might have helped.”
“He did.”
“How?”
She reached into another folder.
A letter from my father.
Not emotional.
Precise.
Elena,
I cannot control what Nathan believes after I am gone. I can control whether four children, if they are his, are left vulnerable because adults around them were afraid of embarrassment.
Attached was trust instruction.
No declaration they were mine.
No assumption.
Just safeguards pending verification.
That sounded like Dad.
Then one sentence:
Do not let anyone force you into testing through a laboratory selected by Mercer Holdings.
I read twice.
“Why would he say that?”
Elena shook head.
“I never knew.”
That was ominous without proof.
Then boys came out of bedroom.
Four matching toothbrushes in hands.
Leo:
“Are you mad?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“You look mad.”
“I’m learning things.”
“Mom says learning is good.”
Elena gave him a look.
He shrugged.
Then Logan asked:
“Are you coming tomorrow?”
“Where?”
“School.”
Elena closed eyes.
“They don’t have school tomorrow.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
Because they had been evicted from temporary housing and she lost school-zone stability? Need realistic. Maybe they were enrolled but missed due moving. Let's say public school but currently staying in shelter uncertain.
“They’ve missed three days. We were moving.”
“From where?”
“A sublet in Queens.”
“What happened?”
“Landlord ended it.”
“Why restaurant storage room?”
“Because my paycheck clears Friday and shelter intake was full.”
This was not woman who took Mercer money.
Then Leo asked:
“Are you rich?”
Elena sighed.
“Leo.”
“What? His apartment has two ovens.”
I smiled despite everything.
“Yes.”
“How rich?”
“Enough that two ovens stopped impressing me.”
He considered that.
Then:
“Did you know Grandpa William?”
I froze.
“What?”
Elena went still.
Leo pointed at my cuff links.
“Mom has picture of him.”
Of course.
But then:
“He wrote us birthday letters.”
I looked at Elena.
“He what?”
She looked as shocked as I was.
“I don’t know what he means.”
Leo ran to duffel bag.
Pulled out a battered blue box.
Inside were six envelopes.
One for each birthday.
Four names on front.
Leo.
Liam.
Luke.
Logan.
Same handwriting as my father’s letter.
Impossible.
May you like
Dad died before they were born.
Cliffhanger: My father had somehow prepared birthday letters for four boys whose names had not yet been chosen.
