Chapter 6 - GRANT’S BARGAIN
Claire did not open the gate.
Grant remained outside for twelve minutes.
Officer Ruiz spoke to him through the intercom and instructed him to leave the envelope beside the stone pillar.
Grant complied.
Before walking away, he looked once toward the house.
Claire watched from an upstairs window.
Eleven years.
She knew the slope of his shoulders.
The way he rubbed his thumb against his wedding ring when anxious.
The slight limp from a college soccer injury.
She knew how he liked his coffee.
How he slept with one foot outside the blanket.
How he always skipped the final bite of a sandwich.
She had known a thousand tiny things about Grant Mercer.
And somehow had not known him at all.
Rebecca insisted the envelope be handled carefully.
Inside were photocopies.
An old hotel receipt.
A gas-station receipt.
A fax confirmation.
And a photograph.
The photograph showed Thomas outside a Portland hotel on October 10, 1996.
Timestamp:
4:12 p.m.
Claire’s parents had left Portland that evening.
Thomas had always told Claire he had been in Seattle when police notified him of the crash.
Claire sank into a chair.
“He was there.”
Rebecca studied the receipt.
“Looks like it.”
“Grant said he could prove Thomas was with them.”
“This proves proximity. Not necessarily that he met them.”
Another document changed that.
A handwritten memo from Charles Bennett’s assistant.
4:30 — Charles meeting Thomas in lobby. Elaine upset. Flight option offered. Charles insists drive after meeting.
Claire stared.
“My parents were going to fly?”
“Apparently someone suggested it.”
“And instead they drove because my father met Thomas.”
Rebecca nodded carefully.
Claire’s stomach twisted.
The accident occurred around 11:20 p.m. on Interstate 5 north of Vancouver, Washington.
Heavy rain.
A truck changing lanes.
Her father lost control.
The police investigation had concluded it was an accident.
Claire had read the report when she turned eighteen.
Nothing had seemed suspicious.
But Thomas had lied about where he was.
Why?
Grant’s attorney called that afternoon.
Rebecca placed the call on speaker.
“My client is prepared to cooperate regarding certain financial matters,” attorney Peter Walsh said.
Rebecca replied, “Your client assaulted mine.”
“I’m aware of the allegation.”
Claire leaned toward the phone.
“It’s not an allegation to my face.”
Silence.
Walsh continued more cautiously.
“Mr. Mercer understands the seriousness of the situation.”
“No,” Claire said. “He understands consequences.”
Rebecca gave her a slight nod.
Walsh sighed.
“He has information relating to Thomas Bennett’s administration of the Bennett trust.”
Rebecca asked, “And what does he want?”
“A comprehensive marital settlement.”
Claire laughed.
Walsh paused.
“Mrs. Mercer—”
“No.”
Rebecca looked at her.
Claire shook her head.
“No immunity. No giant check. No mansion. No company handed to him because he finally decided to tell the truth.”
Walsh answered, “My client’s information may be worth considerably more than you realize.”
“Then he can give it to prosecutors.”
“He won’t.”
“Then he can keep it.”
The line went silent.
Rebecca looked surprised.
Claire was surprised too.
A week ago she would have begged Grant.
Negotiated.
Tried to save something.
Marriage.
Reputation.
Peace.
Now she understood that desperation had been everyone else’s weapon.
Thomas needed her signature.
Grant needed trust money.
Vanessa needed recognition.
Claire needed none of them.
Finally Walsh said, “Mr. Mercer is willing to speak in a controlled setting.”
Rebecca arranged it.
Two days later, Claire entered a conference room at Rebecca’s office.
Grant was already there.
So were both attorneys.
Officer Ruiz had advised against private contact, and Claire intended to follow that advice.
Grant stood when she entered.
His eyes went immediately to her bruised face.
He sat back down.
“Claire.”
She took the chair farthest from him.
“Talk.”
He looked at Rebecca.
“Can we—”
“No,” Claire said.
He looked back.
For several seconds he seemed to search for the version of her who would make the conversation easier for him.
He did not find her.
Grant began.
“Thomas approached me before our wedding.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“When?”
“About six months before I proposed.”
“You were already planning this?”
“No.”
“Choose your next answer carefully.”
“I loved you.”
Claire almost stood.
Rebecca placed one finger lightly on the table.
Stay.
Grant continued.
“I did love you.”
“You cheated on me.”
“Yes.”
“You stole from me.”
“I didn’t think of it that way.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“Thomas told me the trust was family capital.”
“My family.”
“He said eventually it would be ours.”
Claire stared.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Ours.”
Grant looked down.
Thomas had recognized Grant’s hunger early.
Grant admitted it.
He had been running a small development company with two employees and more debt than assets.
Thomas offered financing.
Introductions.
Contracts.
Access to Bennett Pacific projects.
In exchange, Grant needed to do one thing.
Marry Claire?
“No,” Grant said.
“Then what?”
“Keep you away from the business.”
Claire felt something inside her go still.
Grant continued.
“Thomas said you hated corporate life. He said your parents wanted you protected from it.”
“And you believed him.”
“At first.”
“What did you actually do?”
“Whenever you asked questions, I redirected you.”
“Lied.”
“Yes.”
“When statements arrived?”
“They went to the office.”
“When I asked about Bennett Pacific?”
“I told you what Thomas told me.”
“That it had been sold.”
“Yes.”
Claire looked at Rebecca.
Grant’s eyes were red.
“Thomas controlled everything.”
“So did you.”
“I know.”
“No. You benefited.”
Grant did not answer.
Claire asked, “When did Vanessa start?”
He flinched.
“Three years ago.”
Claire had expected months.
Not three years.
Her chest tightened anyway.
“Three.”
“Yes.”
“In my house?”
“Sometimes.”
Claire swallowed.
Rebecca interrupted.
“We can take a break.”
“No.”
Claire looked directly at Grant.
“Did you love her?”
Grant hesitated.
Claire smiled sadly.
“That pause cost you the answer.”
“Claire—”
“Continue.”
Grant rubbed his face.
Vanessa had introduced herself at a corporate event.
Grant already knew who she was.
Thomas had told him years earlier.
His daughter.
“He said Vanessa had issues,” Grant explained. “He asked me to help her professionally.”
Claire laughed.
“Very professional.”
Grant ignored it.
Vanessa resented Claire.
Thomas resented Charles.
Grant resented being financially dependent on Thomas.
Over time, the three resentments found each other.
“What was the plan?” Claire asked.
Grant looked toward his attorney.
Walsh nodded reluctantly.
“Thomas wanted you to sign the Family Asset Consolidation Agreement.”
“The forged one?”
“The signed copy in the safe wasn’t intended as the final version.”
Claire stared.
“You practiced forging my signature?”
Grant’s silence answered.
Her hands curled beneath the table.
“What would the real agreement do?”
“It would move portions of the trust into a marital holding structure.”
“Controlled by?”
“Initially both of us.”
“Initially.”
Grant looked away.
“Then if you were declared unable to manage the assets—”
“Thomas becomes guardian.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“Operating control of Mercer-related assets.”
Claire sat back.
“And Vanessa?”
Grant did not answer.
“Grant.”
“She would receive an equity position.”
Claire laughed once.
“You divided my life before I knew I owned it.”
“No one planned what happened that night.”
“My beating?”
Grant’s face collapsed.
“No.”
“You packed my suitcase beforehand.”
“Because Thomas said you might become emotional when we showed you the papers.”
“We?”
“Thomas was supposed to come.”
Claire’s heart skipped.
“When?”
“That night.”
“He was coming to the house?”
“Yes.”
Claire remembered Thomas arriving at the hospital suspiciously fast.
“What time?”
“Ten-thirty.”
The assault happened around nine.
Claire had called Thomas shortly afterward.
“He was already nearby.”
Grant nodded.
“Probably.”
“Why was Vanessa there?”
“She wanted to force the situation.”
“How?”
Grant’s voice dropped.
“She said if you caught us, you’d realize the marriage was over and become easier to negotiate with.”
Claire stared at him.
“So you planned for me to catch you.”
“Yes.”
“And the pearls?”
“I gave them to Vanessa.”
“Where did you get them?”
“Thomas.”
There it was.
Claire had known.
Hearing it still hurt.
“He gave you my mother’s earrings?”
“He said they had no legal significance.”
Claire stood so suddenly her chair scraped backward.
Grant flinched.
“They had significance to me.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Claire leaned across the table.
“You used my dead mother to hurt me before you ever raised your hand.”
Grant looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
Claire sat.
“Don’t say that again.”
He nodded.
Rebecca asked, “Tell us about Portland.”
Grant looked toward her.
“Two years ago, I found old records in Thomas’s office.”
“How?”
“He asked me to retrieve a financing file. I opened the wrong cabinet.”
“What did you find?”
“Expense reports from 1996.”
“Why keep them?”
“Thomas keeps everything.”
Grant produced copies.
He had secretly photographed records because by then Thomas had begun threatening to pull Mercer financing if Grant challenged him.
The documents placed Thomas in Portland with Charles and Elaine.
But there was more.
A handwritten record of a $75,000 cash withdrawal by Thomas two days before the accident.
No recipient.
Then a payment one week after the crash to a private investigative firm.
“What did the firm do?” Claire asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Name?”
“Cascade Investigative Services.”
Rebecca wrote it down.
Grant continued.
“I asked Thomas about the accident once.”
“What did he say?”
Grant looked directly at Claire.
“He told me some doors exist for a reason.”
Claire’s skin crawled.
“Did he admit hurting them?”
“No.”
“Did he admit causing the crash?”
“No.”
“Then don’t imply more than you know.”
Grant blinked.
Claire surprised herself again.
She wanted truth.
Not revenge disguised as truth.
Grant slowly nodded.
“I don’t know that he caused anything.”
“Good.”
“But he lied about being there.”
“Yes.”
“And he spent thirty years hiding records.”
“Yes.”
Claire looked at him.
“What happened to Martha?”
Grant frowned.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Thomas threaten her?”
“I heard him tell Vanessa that Martha had become a problem.”
“When?”
“The morning after you left.”
Claire’s blood went cold.
“What exactly did he say?”
Grant closed his eyes, remembering.
“He said, ‘Find Martha before Claire does.’”
Claire immediately looked at Rebecca.
Rebecca was already reaching for her phone.
Then Grant said, “There’s something else.”
Claire turned.
“What?”
He looked ashamed.
“Thomas has access to the house security system.”
“Not anymore.”
“He had a second administrator account.”
Claire stared.
“Hidden?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He said it was for emergencies.”
Rebecca asked, “Could he access recordings?”
“Yes.”
“Delete them?”
“Yes.”
Claire thought of the night of the assault.
“Was the living room recorded?”
Grant said nothing.
Claire’s heart began pounding.
“Grant.”
“Yes.”
“You told police I attacked you.”
“I panicked.”
“You knew there was video.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought Thomas would delete it.”
Grant looked at the table.
“Yes.”
Claire breathed slowly.
Six blows.
Her suitcase.
Vanessa.
Everything.
Recorded.
“Did he delete it?”
“I assumed he did.”
Rebecca’s assistant suddenly entered the room.
Her face was pale.
“Rebecca?”
“What?”
“We found Martha.”
Claire stood.
“Where?”
“A motel in Renton.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s alive.”
Claire closed her eyes in relief.
Then the assistant continued.
“But she says she won’t come out until Claire hears what she has.”
Claire looked up.
“What does she have?”
“A letter.”
“From who?”
The assistant swallowed.
“Your mother.”
Grant stopped moving.
Claire whispered, “What does it say?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
May you like
A pause.
“She only said Thomas has been looking for it for thirty years.”
