Chapter 9 - Grace’s Secret
The hospital hallway seemed to shrink around us.
Grace wiped tears from her face.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“When?”
“When Allison started hurting your mother.”
“That was months ago.”
“I was scared.”
“Of Rebecca?”
“Of Robert.”
I looked toward Dad’s room.
“My father hired you?”
Grace nodded.
“When?”
“Ten months ago.”
Two months before I left for Saudi Arabia.
I remembered interviewing Grace.
Three candidates.
Allison hated every one of them.
Grace had seemed different.
Quiet.
Patient.
Excellent references.
I thought I chose her.
Apparently, Dad had arranged that too.
“How?”
“A home-care agency contacted me.”
“Which agency?”
“It didn’t exist.”
“Of course.”
She looked ashamed.
“Robert interviewed me in person.”
“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
My anger returned.
“So everyone knew except me.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“I didn’t know who he was at first.”
“Grace.”
“He used the name Daniel Ross.”
I stared at her.
“He told me an elderly woman might be in danger.”
“My mother.”
“Yes.”
“What were you supposed to do?”
“Watch Allison. Document visitors. Protect Eleanor.”
“And spy on me?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“No.”
Her answer was immediate.
“I never gave Robert information about you unless it involved Eleanor’s safety.”
“What was the two hundred thousand?”
Grace looked down.
“An escape fund.”
“For you?”
“For your mother.”
Silence.
“Robert believed Allison might try to move Eleanor.”
“Why didn’t he take Mom himself?”
“Because he said moving too early would alert Samuel.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Always protecting people by leaving them in danger.”
Grace nodded.
“I told him that.”
I looked at her.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“He stopped speaking to me for two weeks.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
That sounded like Dad.
Grace continued.
“I was supposed to use the money if Eleanor needed emergency housing, medical care, attorneys.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Where is it?”
“In an account Robert created.”
“So you can return it.”
“Yes.”
She hesitated.
“But there’s something else.”
I closed my eyes.
“Please tell me this is the last secret.”
“It isn’t.”
Of course.
Grace sat.
“Three months ago, I saw Allison putting something in Eleanor’s tea.”
My body went cold.
“What?”
“I took the cup after she left.”
“Did you test it?”
“I gave it to Robert.”
“And?”
“He said it contained a sedative.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why wasn’t that given to police?”
“Robert said not yet.”
I looked through the glass at my father.
“He allowed Mom to keep drinking from the same kitchen after someone drugged her?”
“No. I started preparing everything Eleanor ate.”
That explained Allison’s rage toward Grace.
“I thought the medication theft was making Mom weak.”
“It was both.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“March eighteenth.”
I remembered the date.
A strange voicemail.
Three seconds of silence, then disconnect.
“Allison walked in while I was calling.”
“Did she know?”
“Yes.”
Grace touched the stitches above her eye.
“After that, she searched my room.”
I swallowed.
“And you stayed?”
“I couldn’t leave Eleanor alone.”
I sat beside her.
For all my anger, one fact remained.
Grace had stayed.
When Dad hid, Grace stayed.
When I was overseas, Grace stayed.
When Rebecca raised a weapon, Grace put her own body between it and Mom.
“Why?”
Grace looked confused.
“Why what?”
“Why risk your life for someone you had known less than a year?”
She smiled faintly.
“Because your mother made me pancakes.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“My first week.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I came in early. Eleanor asked if I had eaten. I said yes.”
“You hadn’t.”
“No.”
“She knew.”
“That sounds like Mom.”
“She made pancakes with one hand because her left arm was still weak after the stroke. Burned two of them.”
I laughed despite everything.
Grace continued.
“She said nobody should work in a house where they weren’t fed.”
Simple.
That was Mom.
Grace looked toward her room.
“I didn’t have much family growing up. Your mother treated me like a person before she knew anything about me.”
I nodded.
Anger faded.
Not completely.
But enough.
“You should have told me about Dad.”
“Yes.”
“You should have told police sooner.”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to tell them everything now.”
“Yes.”
“And the money gets frozen until investigators determine what it is.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
She looked surprised.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“You’re fired.”
Her mouth fell open.
Then I smiled.
“Because nobody in my family is allowed to call you the housemaid again.”
She began crying.
So did I.
It was the first uncomplicated moment I had experienced in days.
It lasted approximately ninety seconds.
Then a federal prosecutor arrived.
Her name was Amanda Cole.
Forty-eight.
No patience.
She carried three folders.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“Please don’t tell me there’s more.”
“There’s always more.”
I groaned.
She almost smiled.
“We need to discuss your father.”
Dad was awake.
Mom insisted on joining.
So did Ruiz.
Amanda placed documents on a conference table.
“Robert Mercer has negotiated information for consideration in the past.”
Dad’s expression remained blank.
I looked at him.
“You were an informant.”
“Unofficially.”
Amanda corrected him.
“Very unofficially.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he provided intelligence to federal investigators while refusing to surrender.”
“Because he was involved too.”
“Yes.”
Dad looked at Mom.
She refused to look back.
Amanda continued.
“Robert’s evidence helped prosecute three land-fraud rings over the past decade.”
“That sounds good.”
“It is.”
“But?”
“He also concealed his own financial crimes.”
There it was.
“How much?”
Dad answered.
“Twenty-one million.”
Mom finally looked at him.
“You stole twenty-one million dollars?”
“No.”
Amanda sighed.
“He redirected money from Holloway shell companies.”
Mom stared at him.
“That’s stealing.”
Dad considered it.
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
“Mostly spent protecting witnesses.”
“Mostly?”
Dad looked uncomfortable.
I almost enjoyed it.
Amanda continued.
“The government is determining charges.”
Dad nodded.
Mom said, “Good.”
We all looked at her.
She stared at her husband.
“You disappeared for eleven years, involved our son without his knowledge, watched strangers enter our home, allowed a criminal to marry him, and used Ryder’s identity to hide money.”
“I know.”
“No, Robert. You keep saying that as though awareness is accountability.”
Dad went silent.
Mom leaned toward him.
“You don’t get to come back from the dead and expect me to be grateful.”
“I don’t.”
“I loved you.”
His face cracked.
Past tense.
Mom continued.
“I buried you. I slept beside your empty side of the bed for two years before I could move your pillow.”
Dad’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
He nodded.
She sat back.
“If you go to prison, I will visit.”
Dad looked surprised.
“Once.”
Grace covered a smile.
Even Ruiz looked down.
Mom finished.
“So I can tell you I told you so.”
For the first time, Dad laughed.
Then he cried.
The next two weeks changed everything.
Samuel Holloway was charged with conspiracy, kidnapping, fraud, racketeering, and multiple counts connected to historic deaths.
Captain Blake was arrested while trying to cross into Mexico.
Dr. Peter Lang admitted Rebecca paid him to exaggerate Mom’s cognitive decline.
David Kessler faced federal fraud and conspiracy charges.
Marcus Holloway began negotiating a plea.
Rebecca did not.
She refused to ask for immunity.
Instead, she gave prosecutors everything.
Every identity.
Every bank account.
Every property.
Every victim she remembered.
Including evidence against herself.
I visited her once.
County detention.
Thick glass between us.
She looked smaller without expensive clothes and perfect hair.
More human.
I hated that.
“Why did you ask to see me?” I said.
“I didn’t.”
I frowned.
“The prosecutor said—”
“I asked to see Eleanor.”
My jaw tightened.
“Mom doesn’t owe you anything.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“I want to tell her where her missing medication went.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
Rebecca leaned closer to the glass.
“I didn’t steal all of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Samuel ordered me to increase her sedatives.”
“You drugged her.”
“At first.”
My hands clenched.
“Then I stopped.”
“When?”
“About six weeks before you came home.”
“Why?”
“She collapsed.”
I stared at her.
“I thought I killed her.”
Rebecca began crying.
“Grace found her.”
I remembered Mom’s bruises.
Her dehydration.
“What happened?”
“I realized Samuel wanted me to make her look incompetent until the transfer was done. Then he planned to kill her.”
“And you suddenly developed a conscience?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“I got scared.”
“For yourself.”
“Yes.”
At least she didn’t lie.
“So I started replacing the pills with vitamins that looked similar.”
I frowned.
“Mom still got sick.”
“Because Marcus found out.”
Cold.
“He started drugging her instead?”
“Yes.”
“Did Grace know?”
“No.”
“Did Dad?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why tell us now?”
Rebecca wiped her face.
“Because there is a bottle missing.”
“What bottle?”
“The original sedative.”
“Who has it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because Samuel bought it through David.”
“And?”
“It wasn’t a sedative.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was it?”
Rebecca stared at me.
“Something that could stop a heart.”
I stood.
“Who has access?”
“Marcus.”
“Anyone else?”
“Captain Blake.”
“Blake is in custody.”
“Then Marcus.”
I called Ruiz before leaving the room.
She answered immediately.
“Where’s Marcus?”
“At federal medical detention.”
“Check him.”
“Why?”
I explained.
Silence.
Then:
“I’ll call you back.”
She called six minutes later.
“He’s gone.”
“What?”
“Transport van was hit.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
My blood turned cold.
“Where’s Mom?”
“At your house with Grace and two federal protection officers.”
“Call them.”
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I ran.
By the time I reached the house, the front door stood open.
One agent lay unconscious inside.
The second was missing.
“Mom!”
No answer.
I ran to the kitchen.
Grace was on the floor.
Breathing.
Barely.
“Grace!”
Her eyes opened.
“Ryder.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“He took her.”
“Marcus?”
She nodded.
“Why?”
Grace lifted a shaking hand.
Pointed toward the table.
A note.
One sentence.
ROBERT TOOK MY FATHER FROM ME. NOW I TAKE HIS WIFE.
My father appeared in the doorway behind me.
He read the note.
His face went white.
Then he whispered, “I know where Marcus is going.”
“Where?”
Dad looked at me.
“The grave.”
“What grave?”
May you like
He swallowed.
“The grave where Samuel buried Rebecca’s mother.”
