Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE BY THE LAKE
Her name was Margaret Mercer.
Nora’s mother.
Ethan’s grandmother.
And she was alive.
Pierce gave them an address three hours north.
“Why hide her?” Claire asked.
“He didn’t,” Pierce said. “She hid herself.”
“From Richard?”
“From everyone.”
Ethan was furious.
“If she knew my mother was alive, why didn’t she find me?”
Pierce looked ashamed.
“Because Richard threatened to have Nora permanently committed if Margaret came near you.”
“And she believed him?”
“In 2002, Richard Hale owned half the people who mattered in that county.”
Ethan leaned over the desk.
“Where is Nora now?”
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
Pierce hesitated.
“Someone called me yesterday.”
“Who?”
“A man asking whether I still had the original accident records.”
“What did you say?”
“That I burned them.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
Claire looked at the folder.
“Who called?”
Pierce’s face tightened.
“Thomas Monroe.”
Claire stopped breathing.
“My father?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Claire.”
“No. My dad barely knows Richard outside business.”
Pierce laughed softly.
“You really think this wedding was just a wedding?”
Claire’s face drained of color.
“What are you talking about?”
“Ask Thomas about the Hale-Monroe acquisition.”
She stared at him.
Ethan understood first.
Their fathers’ companies had been negotiating a merger for months.
But both men had insisted business had nothing to do with their marriage.
Pierce looked almost sorry.
“Nora resurfacing threatens more than Richard’s reputation. If the accident fraud becomes public, it could trigger criminal investigations into old financial filings, insurance claims, trusts, everything built afterward.”
Claire backed away.
“My father wouldn’t kidnap someone.”
“I didn’t say he did.”
“But he called you.”
“Yes.”
They left before Ethan did something he would regret.
During the drive north, Claire tried calling Thomas twelve times.
No answer.
At 3:17 a.m., they reached a small lakeside house.
One light was on.
Ethan knocked.
Nothing.
Again.
The door opened.
An elderly woman stared at him.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh, dear God.”
Ethan knew immediately.
Not because he recognized her.
Because she recognized him.
“Ethan?”
He swallowed.
“Margaret?”
She began to cry.
Then she slapped him across the face.
Hard.
Claire gasped.
Ethan staggered back.
Margaret grabbed his coat and pulled him into her arms.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
He stood frozen.
Then slowly hugged her.
Inside, the walls were covered with photographs.
Nora as a child.
Nora graduating.
Nora holding a baby.
Ethan.
Hundreds of pictures of Ethan.
School photographs.
Baseball.
College graduation.
Awards.
Magazine articles.
His entire life.
“You watched me?”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“From far away.”
“Why?”
“To know you were alive.”
Ethan’s anger returned.
“My mother was homeless while you collected pictures?”
Margaret flinched.
“You don’t know what we survived.”
“Then tell me!”
Before she could answer, headlights appeared outside.
Three vehicles.
Margaret looked through the curtain.
Her face turned white.
“Get away from the windows.”
Claire whispered, “Who is it?”
Margaret locked the door.
Then she opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a revolver.
Ethan stared.
“Margaret?”
She looked at him.
May you like
“They found us.”
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