Chapter 5 - MERCY HOUSE
Michael survived.
Barely.
Doctors removed the bullet four hours later.
He remained unconscious.
I didn't wait.
By dawn, Nico and I were flying north in a private helicopter registered to a company Victor didn't know existed.
Grace came too.
This time, I didn't try to stop her.
Maybe I should have.
But Daniel had died trying to uncover Mercy House.
Grace deserved to see where his courage had led.
The island appeared beneath us shortly before noon.
Rocky shoreline.
Pine trees.
One long gray building overlooking the Atlantic.
From above, Mercy House looked like a boarding school.
It wasn't.
Our helicopter landed beyond the tree line.
We approached on foot.
No gunfire.
No guards.
That frightened me more.
The front doors stood open.
Inside, everything was silent.
Beds made.
Breakfast plates abandoned.
A glass of milk still sitting on a table.
Grace touched it.
“Warm.”
They had left recently.
“Lucy!”
My voice echoed through the hallway.
Nothing.
We searched every room.
Empty.
Then we reached a classroom.
Crayon drawings covered the walls.
I scanned every page.
And found one signed LILA M.
A house.
A garden.
Two little girls.
One brown-haired.
One with dark curls.
Grace stared.
“That's Amara.”
It couldn't be.
Lucy had never met Amara.
Unless somebody had shown her a photograph.
I turned the drawing over.
Three words had been written in an adult hand.
HE IS COMING.
Nico checked the building.
“Basement.”
We went downstairs.
There were security monitors.
Hard drives had been removed.
But one terminal remained active.
Nico recovered fragments.
Camera footage.
The timestamp was that morning.
Children were being loaded onto a bus.
Then Lucy appeared.
My heart stopped.
She was wearing a purple coat.
Hair pulled into a ponytail.
Older.
Taller.
My little girl.
She turned toward the camera.
For one second, I saw Isabelle so clearly that my chest hurt.
Then someone placed a hand on Lucy's shoulder.
A man entered frame.
Victor.
I slammed my fist against the desk.
“He was here.”
Grace pointed.
“Look.”
Victor wasn't dragging Lucy.
She was holding his hand.
My stomach twisted.
Why would Lucy willingly walk with him?
We increased the volume.
Victor bent toward her.
“Your father found us.”
Lucy looked frightened.
“Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Is he coming?”
“He is.”
Her face brightened.
Then Victor continued.
“And we need to leave before he hurts anyone.”
Everything inside me went still.
Lucy stared at him.
“My daddy wouldn't hurt me.”
“No.”
Victor smiled.
“But he hurts everyone around you.”
Lucy looked uncertain.
Victor touched her hair.
“Remember what happened to Mommy?”
Lucy lowered her eyes.
“He did that.”
Grace whispered, “No.”
Victor had spent two years turning my daughter against me.
The recording continued.
“Come with Uncle Victor. I'll keep you safe.”
Lucy looked toward the door.
“Daddy said he'd come.”
My heart cracked.
Victor's expression changed.
“How do you know that?”
Lucy didn't answer.
Then the video ended.
Nico recovered the bus registration.
False.
But cameras near the ferry terminal had captured it.
Heading south.
We followed.
Six hours later, we found the bus abandoned at a truck stop.
No children.
No Victor.
But a waitress remembered Lucy.
“She was with an older man.”
“Where did they go?”
“A black SUV picked them up.”
“Did the girl say anything?”
The waitress thought.
“She asked me for paper.”
My pulse jumped.
“Did you give her some?”
“Yes.”
“What did she do?”
“Drew something.”
“Where is it?”
The waitress retrieved the paper from beneath the register.
I stared at it.
A ladybug.
Princess Bug.
Underneath were three words.
DADDY FIND ME.
I sat down.
My daughter knew.
Somewhere beneath everything Victor had told her, she knew I was searching.
Grace touched my shoulder.
“She remembers you.”
I folded the paper carefully.
“She shouldn't have to remember.”
Grace looked confused.
“I should have been there.”
“You thought she was dead.”
“Because I believed people who worked for me.”
“You were lied to.”
“I created the world those liars lived in.”
Grace studied me.
For once, she didn't argue.
That evening, Nico traced the SUV using traffic cameras.
It entered New York.
Victor was bringing Lucy back.
Why?
Then Michael woke.
He called from the hospital.
His voice was weak.
“There is something under your house.”
“What?”
“Isabelle discovered it before she died.”
“What?”
“A room.”
I frowned.
“There are dozens of rooms.”
“Not in the mansion.”
“Where?”
“The lake house.”
I knew immediately.
My father's old estate in Connecticut.
Abandoned since his death.
Michael breathed painfully.
“Isabelle called it the red room.”
Grace and I exchanged a look.
“What is there?”
“The reason Victor needs Lucy.”
“What does a six-year-old know about a room?”
“She doesn't need to know anything.”
“Then why?”
Michael was silent.
“Michael.”
“Because Isabelle put something in Lucy's name.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What?”
“A trust.”
“I know about Lucy's trust.”
“No. You know about the one you created.”
Cold moved through me.
“There's another?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Michael exhaled.
“Four hundred and eighty million dollars.”
Grace stared.
I said nothing.
“Where did the money come from?”
“Your father.”
That made no sense.
My father had died three years earlier.
“He left Lucy nearly half a billion dollars?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He created a contingency trust.”
“For what?”
“If the Hale organization ever became compromised.”
I understood slowly.
My father hadn't trusted Victor either.
Michael continued.
“The trust contains more than money.”
“Evidence.”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“Records dating back twenty years.”
My father's insurance policy.
Proof of every secret agreement, corrupt payment and hidden account.
Enough evidence to destroy men who considered themselves untouchable.
“And Lucy controls it?”
“When she turns eighteen.”
“Unless?”
Michael's silence told me.
“Unless she dies.”
“Then who inherits?”
“Victor.”
The room went quiet.
Suddenly keeping Lucy alive made sense.
Victor couldn't simply murder her.
Not yet.
He needed access.
Signatures.
A legal chain.
Perhaps even me declared dead.
Then the assets could be redirected.
But why bring her back?
The answer arrived in the form of a photograph.
Sent to my phone from an unknown number.
Lucy stood outside my father's Connecticut lake house.
Victor's hand rested on her shoulder.
Below it was a message.
COME HOME, JULIAN.
BRING GRACE CARTER.
NO SECURITY.
OR THIS TIME YOU WILL BURY A REAL COFFIN.
Grace read it.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“He wants you.”
“He wants what Daniel knew.”
“He wants both.”
Grace shook her head.
“You're not giving him anything.”
I checked my weapon.
“No.”
She stared at me.
“What are you going to do?”
I looked again at my daughter.
Two years ago, I had arrived too late.
May you like
That would not happen again.
“This time,” I said, “Victor is the one walking into a trap.”
