Chapter 4 - The Man Behind the Locked Door
Trevor looked at me as though he expected me to save him.
For the first time in my life, I understood just how afraid of Arthur Mercer he really was.
"Don't answer," he whispered.
Another knock came.
"Trevor, I'm not going to ask again."
My father's voice was perfectly controlled.
That was how Arthur sounded when he was most dangerous.
As a child, I'd learned that shouting wasn't his worst habit.
The worst moments came when he got quiet.
I looked at Trevor.
"Put the device away."
He slipped it back into his jacket.
Then I moved toward the door.
"Kate, please."
I turned.
"What?"
"He'll destroy me."
I looked at the expensive watch on his wrist, the tailored tuxedo, and the terrified face beneath all that money.
"Trevor, listen carefully. You are not a child anymore. And he is not the only person in the world who gets to decide what happens to you."
Another knock.
"Open this door."
I opened it.
Arthur stood in the hallway.
Evelyn was beside him.
Two men in dark suits waited several feet behind them.
The moment Arthur saw me, his expression hardened.
"Of course."
I folded my arms.
"Hello again."
He pushed past me.
"Trevor, we're leaving."
Trevor remained seated.
Arthur stopped.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Then get up."
"No."
For a moment, my father looked genuinely confused.
It was probably the first time Trevor had ever refused a direct order.
"Excuse me?"
Trevor's hands trembled.
"I said no."
Evelyn gasped.
"Trevor, honey, don't make a scene."
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
"Whatever your sister has been telling you, I assure you—"
"She hasn't told me anything."
Trevor stood.
"I'm the one who has something to say."
Arthur went completely still.
I saw the calculation happen behind his eyes.
He glanced at Trevor's jacket.
Then at me.
"Kate, would you give us a moment?"
"No."
His jaw tightened.
"This is a family matter."
"Funny. You told me twenty minutes ago that I wasn't family."
Evelyn stepped forward.
"That's enough. Arthur is under tremendous pressure today."
I looked at her.
"Then perhaps he should stop grabbing people."
Her eyes widened.
Arthur ignored the remark.
"Trevor, come with me."
Trevor didn't move.
My father took one step closer.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"Think about your mother."
Trevor flinched.
I watched his face.
He didn't look embarrassed.
He looked terrified.
Arthur noticed me watching.
"Don't involve yourself in things you don't understand, Catherine."
I hadn't heard him use my full name since the day he disowned me.
"What exactly am I not supposed to understand?"
He straightened his jacket.
"Business."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"Kate."
"Does business include threatening your son?"
Arthur leaned toward me.
"Careful."
I stared back.
"That's the second time today you've tried to intimidate me."
He smiled without warmth.
"And apparently you've forgotten who you're talking to."
"No."
I stepped closer.
"I remember exactly who you are."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Trevor spoke.
"Dad, I know about the Sentinel reports."
Arthur's expression changed.
Not much.
Just a slight movement near his mouth.
But I'd spent enough years watching hostile commanders, dishonest witnesses, and frightened officials to recognize the moment somebody realized a secret was no longer safe.
"What reports?" Arthur asked.
Trevor swallowed.
"The original engineering assessments."
Arthur laughed.
"Trevor, you're embarrassing yourself."
"And Afghanistan."
The smile disappeared.
Evelyn looked between them.
"Arthur?"
My father ignored her.
"Where did you hear that word?"
Trevor's voice shook.
"Olivia."
Arthur's face drained of color.
Then something strange happened.
He didn't ask who Olivia was.
He didn't ask what she'd said.
He didn't deny knowing her.
He asked one question.
"Where is she?"
Trevor stared at him.
"I thought you knew."
My father said nothing.
And in that silence, I understood we had crossed into something far more serious than an ugly family reunion.
Arthur was afraid of Olivia Grant.
Not simply because of what she knew.
Because he didn't know where she was.
A Secret Service agent appeared at the end of the hallway.
"General Mercer?"
I turned.
"Yes?"
"Special Agent Shaw is requesting that Mr. Trevor Mercer accompany her to a private interview room."
Arthur immediately stepped forward.
"Absolutely not."
The agent remained professional.
"Sir, Mr. Mercer is free to speak with her voluntarily."
"I'm his father."
Trevor laughed.
It was a small, exhausted sound.
"Dad, I'm thirty-four."
Arthur rounded on him.
"You have no idea what you're doing."
"Maybe not."
Trevor looked at me.
"But I know what happens when I keep doing what you tell me."
He walked toward the waiting agent.
Arthur grabbed his sleeve.
"Son."
Trevor stopped.
My father lowered his voice.
"You walk away with them, and everything changes."
Trevor looked at Arthur's hand.
Then he pulled free.
"Good."
He followed the agent down the hallway.
Arthur watched until they disappeared.
Then he turned toward me.
Whatever small trace of paternal recognition I'd seen earlier was gone.
"You did this."
I met his stare.
"Your son made his own decision."
"You manipulated him."
"No, Arthur. I listened to him."
"You've always had a talent for making people feel sorry for you."
I almost smiled.
It was a familiar accusation.
Whenever I disagreed with my father, I was dramatic.
Whenever I defended myself, I was ungrateful.
Whenever I made a decision he couldn't control, I was selfish.
Twenty-six years had changed my rank.
They hadn't changed his vocabulary.
"I have a question," I said.
He looked away.
"I'm done talking."
"Did you know about the communications failures before those systems went to Afghanistan?"
He froze.
Evelyn's eyes widened.
"Arthur, what is she talking about?"
He pointed at me.
"You'd better be very careful about making accusations."
"It was a question."
"Then ask your lawyers to contact mine."
I held his gaze.
"That can be arranged."
He laughed bitterly.
"Look at you. Three stars and suddenly you think you're untouchable."
"No. I've spent too much time at military funerals to believe anybody is untouchable."
Something flickered across his face.
I continued.
"Sergeant Daniel Reeves was twenty-two years old when he died."
Arthur's expression closed.
"He had a wife and a baby girl."
"War is dangerous, Catherine."
"Yes. It is."
I stepped closer.
"That's why the people supplying equipment to our soldiers have a responsibility not to lie about whether it works."
His nostrils flared.
"You have no idea how complicated defense manufacturing is."
"Then explain it to the investigators."
Arthur stared at me.
Then his mouth twisted into an ugly smile.
"You think this uniform makes you better than me?"
I didn't answer.
"You think a few medals give you the right to judge what I've built?"
I looked down at the ribbons on my chest.
Each represented years, people, and sacrifices Arthur would never understand.
"No."
I raised my eyes.
"But burying good soldiers taught me that money doesn't make a person honorable."
Arthur took a sharp step toward me.
One of the security officers immediately moved closer.
My father stopped.
For the first time that afternoon, he seemed to realize the White House wasn't his private boardroom.
Then he whispered something so quietly only I could hear it.
"Your mother would be ashamed of you."
My chest tightened.
I hadn't expected that.
Not after all these years.
My mother had died when I was seventeen.
She was the one person who had encouraged me to pursue a life beyond Arthur's company.
She'd taken me to air shows.
She'd listened when I talked about military history.
And when I told her I wanted to serve, she'd smiled and said, "Then promise me you'll serve for the right reasons."
Arthur knew exactly what her memory meant to me.
He'd used it like a weapon before.
But this time, I didn't let him see the wound.
"Don't speak for her."
His expression darkened.
"She understood loyalty."
"Yes."
I looked directly into his eyes.
"That's why she'd be horrified by what you've done."
I turned away.
Behind me, he called my name.
I kept walking.
Twenty minutes later, Agent Shaw found me near the reception hall.
"General, we need to speak privately."
Her expression made me stop.
"Is Trevor all right?"
"He's cooperating."
"And?"
She glanced toward the nearby guests.
"Olivia Grant appears to have preserved original Sentinel test files and internal correspondence."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Does it establish prior knowledge of the defect?"
"We're still authenticating the records."
She paused.
"But there's another issue."
I waited.
"Your father wasn't the only executive who signed the relevant approvals."
"Who else?"
Shaw handed me a sealed document sleeve.
Inside was a scanned memorandum.
I recognized Arthur's signature at the bottom.
But above it was another name.
A retired Army officer.
General Richard Bellamy.
I stared at the page.
Bellamy had been my commanding general during the Afghanistan deployment.
He had personally approved our operational assignments.
He had signed the original investigation's final recommendations.
And he had attended Daniel Reeves's funeral.
I looked at Shaw.
"General Bellamy?"
She nodded.
"His consulting firm received substantial payments from a Mercer-affiliated company after his retirement."
My stomach turned.
"Are you suggesting he influenced the investigation?"
"We're examining that possibility."
I looked down at his signature again.
Bellamy had shaken my hand after Daniel's funeral.
He'd told me not to blame myself.
He'd said the communications failure was unavoidable.
He'd said nobody could have predicted it.
For fourteen years, I had believed him.
Shaw spoke again.
"There's something else you need to understand."
"What?"
"General Bellamy is one of the VIP guests at today's event."
I slowly lifted my eyes.
Through the open doorway, I could see the reception hall.
A distinguished silver-haired man stood beside my father, accepting a glass of champagne.
Arthur leaned toward him.
Bellamy listened.
May you like
Then both men turned.
And looked directly at me.
