Chapter 10 - The Hundred-Eighty-Million-Dollar Lie
Charles Mercer’s company had been sold seventeen years earlier.
The money disappeared through family trusts.
Richard received millions.
Camille’s accounts were funded.
Several holdings were purchased.
Including the mansion renovations my mother loved displaying.
But if I was not Charles’s biological descendant, why had my identity been used?
Rebecca found the answer buried in the sale agreement.
A controlling block of company shares had originally belonged to Caroline.
Charles had claimed he inherited them after her death.
But Caroline was alive.
The inheritance was invalid.
The sale itself might have involved stolen assets.
My family needed the mansion waiver because it included language validating all previous estate transfers.
Not merely Grandma’s property.
Everything.
My $300,000 donation was camouflage around a legal confession.
I stared at Father.
“You knew.”
He denied it.
Rebecca pushed the paperwork toward him.
“You had Daniel draft this foundation agreement.”
Daniel corrected her.
“No.”
Again.
His name appeared on documents he claimed he never prepared.
Who had access to his legal identity for decades?
His old firm.
Sloane, Mercer & Bell.
The Mercer in that name was Charles.
Daniel had once practiced law with my grandfather.
After Charles died, the firm dissolved.
Its archives went to one surviving partner.
Gerald Bell.
Grandma’s oldest family friend.
The same man who had spoken at her funeral.
The same man who had comforted me beside the grave.
The same man currently serving as trustee for several Mercer holdings.
Rebecca called investigators immediately.
Too late.
Gerald’s office had been emptied that morning.
Then my phone rang.
Caroline.
I knew her voice despite never hearing it before.
“Naomi.”
I couldn’t speak.
“I’m sorry.”
“Where are you?”
“Safe for the moment.”
“You watched me for twenty-eight years.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come?”
“Because Gerald would have known.”
My anger disappeared beneath colder fear.
“Gerald Bell?”
“He helped Charles take everything.”
According to Caroline, Gerald designed the original fraud.
Forged death documents.
Corporate transfers.
False hospital records.
Lydia’s payments.
After Charles died, Gerald continued protecting the structure because he controlled assets hidden inside it.
“Does Richard know?”
“Some.”
“Eleanor?”
“Less than she thinks.”
“Daniel?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Grandma?”
Caroline paused.
“Too much.”
Three weeks earlier Grandma had arranged to give Rebecca the final evidence.
That evening she died.
We had believed it was natural.
She was eighty-four.
Heart condition.
No autopsy.
My stomach turned.
“Are you saying Gerald killed Grandma?”
“I’m saying Margaret called me six hours before she died.”
“What did she say?”
Caroline’s voice broke.
“She said Gerald knows.”
Then another sound entered the call.
A door opening.
Caroline whispered:
“No.”
A man’s voice followed.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Give me the phone, Caroline.”
I had heard that voice at Grandma’s funeral.
May you like
Gerald Bell.
The line disconnected.
