Chapter 6 - Genevieve’s Last Secret
I thought Prescott had lost his mind.
“My father had one son.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
Prescott placed a photograph on the table.
“Not according to Rourke.”
The picture showed my father, Arthur Mercer, standing outside a Chicago courthouse nearly thirty years earlier.
Beside him was a teenage boy.
Same dark eyes.
Same jawline.
Same Mercer posture.
I stared.
“Who is he?”
“Elias Mercer.”
The surname felt like an insult.
“No.”
“Rourke says Arthur had another son with a woman named Evelyn Price before he married your mother.”
I looked at Prescott.
“You believe a criminal because he showed you an old photograph?”
“We verified the birth certificate.”
That shut me up.
“Arthur Mercer is listed as father.”
I sat.
My father had been dead eight years.
A cold man.
Powerful.
Demanding.
Not affectionate.
But I had believed I knew his sins.
Apparently I knew nothing.
“What does this have to do with Genevieve?”
“Elias worked for Vane.”
“Worked?”
“Possibly still does.”
“Why would my father hide him?”
“We don’t know.”
Adeline entered carrying the music box.
“I do.”
We both turned.
She looked exhausted.
“What?”
“Genevieve mentioned an Elias.”
My chair scraped backward.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“And you’re only telling me now?”
“I didn’t know he was your brother.”
“What did she say?”
“She thought someone inside the Mercer organization was giving Crosby information.”
“Name?”
“She called him E.”
“Elias.”
“Probably.”
My head pounded.
Genevieve had known about threats around me.
She had hidden them.
Again.
“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
Adeline’s eyes hardened.
“Because every time we tell you she was afraid, you act like fear was a character flaw.”
That stopped me.
“She loved you, Lawson. She also knew what kind of world you lived in. Maybe she thought telling you would start a war.”
“It would have.”
“Exactly.”
Prescott pointed toward the music box.
“What’s on the flash drive?”
We had nearly forgotten it during the attack.
I inserted it into a secure offline laptop.
One video file.
Dated four days before Genevieve died.
I clicked.
My wife appeared on the screen.
Alive.
For a moment, nobody breathed.
She sat in this very office.
My office.
Hair loose around her shoulders.
No makeup.
Tired eyes.
“Lawson,” she began.
I paused the video.
I couldn’t do it.
Adeline moved beside me.
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes.”
I pressed play.
“If you’re watching this, I failed to fix something before it reached you.”
Typical Genevieve.
Even from the grave she sounded annoyed with herself.
“I need you to understand why I didn’t tell you sooner. Crosby Vane knew my father. He also knew Arthur Mercer. Whatever war you think exists between the Vane and Mercer families started long before either of us were born.”
I looked at Prescott.
Genevieve continued.
“Your father had another son.”
My stomach twisted.
“His name is Elias Price Mercer. Arthur hid him because Elias’s mother threatened to expose financial crimes tied to Crosby’s father.”
Prescott whispered, “Jesus.”
“Elias grew up believing Arthur abandoned him because of you. Crosby found that anger useful.”
Genevieve looked directly into the camera.
“He hates you, Lawson.”
I clenched my hands.
“He believes everything you inherited should have belonged partly to him. Crosby promised him money, status, and revenge.”
The video glitched.
Then continued.
“I found out because Elias contacted me.”
My head snapped up.
“He wanted help finding Silas Rowan’s ledger. He believes the ledger contains evidence that Arthur Mercer stole millions from the Vane organization and hid it through Rowan companies.”
Adeline whispered, “That’s why.”
“What?”
“Dad’s last word.”
Genevieve.
He wasn’t asking for Genevieve.
He had hidden something for her.
The recording continued.
“I don’t know where the ledger is. But I know Silas built a fallback. A key. Box 317. First Chicago Federal Trust.”
I looked at the tiny key.
There it was.
“Elias believes I have it.”
Genevieve held up the same key.
“If I die, do not go there immediately. It may be watched.”
Too late by two years.
“Most importantly, if the children ever become sick, find Addie.”
My throat closed.
“She is the strongest link left to my genetic history. Lawson, I know you will hate me for keeping her from you.”
I whispered, “I don’t.”
“But if you’re angry, be angry later.”
A sad smile.
“Save our babies first.”
I broke.
There was no dramatic collapse.
No shouting.
One tear fell.
Then another.
I covered my mouth.
Adeline turned away to give me privacy.
Prescott stared at the floor.
Onscreen, Genevieve leaned closer.
“And one more thing.”
Of course.
“If Crosby tells you my death was punishment for what you did, don’t believe him.”
I frowned.
“What I did?”
“He has spent years trying to make you believe your violence caused everything around you. Some of it did.”
I almost laughed.
Even dead, she refused to flatter me.
“But not this.”
Her expression changed.
“He killed me because I wouldn’t give him you.”
My blood turned cold.
“He wanted account routes, names, safe houses, contacts. I refused.”
I whispered her name.
“He said eventually he would take something you couldn’t replace.”
Genevieve looked down.
When she raised her eyes, she was crying.
“I think he means the children.”
The screen went black.
Nobody moved for a long time.
Then Adeline whispered:
“He didn’t cause their leukemia.”
“No.”
“But he waited for it.”
Prescott understood first.
“Succession.”
I looked at him.
“If Jonah and Blythe die, Genevieve’s Rowan trust passes to her next blood relative.”
Adeline.
Her face went white.
“Me?”
“Unless you’re dead too.”
The full plan became clear.
Vane didn’t need to cause the twins’ illness.
He only needed to take advantage of it.
If the children died and Adeline disappeared, ownership provisions could become contested.
And somewhere inside Rowan assets was the trail leading to the old ledger.
“Crosby wants all Rowan heirs gone.”
Prescott nodded.
I looked at Adeline.
“You’re not leaving this house.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
“Stop sounding relieved.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Before I could answer, Dr. Yates rushed in.
“Lawson.”
One look at his face ended the conversation.
“What?”
“Jonah’s fever is rising.”
“How high?”
“104.1.”
“Cause?”
“Likely infection.”
“Treat it.”
“We are.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because Blythe’s cultures are positive too.”
Both children.
My mouth went dry.
“For what?”
“Pseudomonas.”
Even I knew enough to understand the danger.
“Their immune systems…”
“Are barely functioning.”
“How long?”
“We’ve started broad-spectrum antibiotics.”
“Will they survive?”
Yates didn’t answer quickly enough.
Adeline stepped forward.
“What happens to transplant?”
“We can’t condition them with uncontrolled infection.”
“How long can we wait?”
“Not long.”
“How long?”
“Forty-eight hours would be optimistic.”
Hope narrowed again.
Two days.
We moved back toward the medical suite.
Jonah shook beneath blankets.
Blythe was crying.
I sat between their beds holding one hand from each child.
Adeline stood near the doorway.
Jonah looked at her.
“Are you still giving us your blood?”
“Yes.”
“You look sick too.”
“I’m just tired.”
Blythe whispered, “Don’t die.”
Adeline smiled.
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Blythe looked at me.
“Daddy promises too much.”
I almost laughed.
“She noticed.”
My daughter squeezed my fingers.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“If we get better, can Aunt Addie stay?”
I looked at Adeline.
She looked terrified by the question.
“That would be up to her.”
Blythe frowned.
“No.”
“No?”
“You’re the boss.”
Adeline laughed.
“She has figured you out.”
I leaned closer to Blythe.
“I’m not everybody’s boss.”
“Everybody listens when you get mad.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“It is.”
Jonah raised his head.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can you make the germs scared?”
My chest hurt.
“I wish.”
He thought about it.
“Maybe yell at them.”
Adeline laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.
I smiled at my son.
“I’ll consider it.”
That night, the children’s fevers climbed.
At midnight, Dr. Yates added another antibiotic.
At two, Blythe vomited blood.
At three, Jonah stopped recognizing me.
At four, Adeline began crying alone in the hallway.
I found her sitting on the floor.
“I can’t save them if they can’t get the transplant.”
“We’re not there yet.”
“What if my cells aren’t enough?”
“Stop.”
“What if Genevieve was wrong?”
“She wasn’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
I sat beside her.
“But I know she brought you here.”
“Odette brought me.”
“Genevieve left the road.”
Adeline looked at me.
“For someone who claims not to believe in God, you’re getting philosophical.”
“I’m exhausted.”
She rested her head against the wall.
“Lawson?”
“What?”
“If they don’t make it…”
“Don’t.”
“I need to say this.”
“No.”
“Listen.”
I turned.
“If they don’t make it, don’t disappear into whatever dark place men like you disappear into.”
I stared.
“Men like me?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Apparently Genevieve talked too much.”
“She said when you’re hurt, you become dangerous.”
“She wasn’t wrong.”
“Those children need their father alive even if one of them—”
“Stop.”
My voice cracked.
Adeline stopped.
I stood.
“I will not choose a future where either bed is empty.”
Then an alarm sounded.
Not security.
Medical.
I ran into the room.
Dr. Yates was leaning over Jonah.
“What happened?”
“Seizure!”
My son’s body jerked beneath the blanket.
Blythe screamed his name.
I grabbed her.
“Jonah!”
Doctors surrounded him.
“Temperature 105!”
“Cooling blankets!”
“Lorazepam!”
“Jonah!”
Adeline pulled Blythe against her.
I stood helplessly three feet from my son.
Again.
Always helpless.
Then Jonah went still.
Too still.
Dr. Yates looked at the monitor.
“Come on.”
I stopped breathing.
Ten days.
The doctor had given them ten days.
May you like
We weren’t even through the third.
And my son was already dying.
