Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Left Without a Trace
Three days after my son was born, Graham Ashford sent a car to take me away.
It wasn't a limousine.
It was a black SUV with tinted windows, driven by a man who had once escorted me to charity dinners where I was expected to smile beside a husband who barely acknowledged my existence.
The driver, Marcus, stood outside the hospital holding an umbrella.
"Mrs. Ashford."
"Mercer," I corrected quietly.
His expression flickered.
"Of course. Ms. Mercer."
My father stood beside me, carrying Owen's infant car seat. I was still weak enough that the walk from the hospital entrance to the curb felt like crossing an entire city.
The doctors had warned me that recovery from severe postpartum hemorrhage would take time.
My body felt hollow.
My heart felt strangely calm.
Marcus opened the rear door.
"Mr. Ashford instructed me to take you to O'Hare. There's a private aircraft waiting."
I looked at him.
"Take the car back."
"Ma'am?"
"I'm not getting on Graham's airplane."
Marcus hesitated.
"He's arranged everything."
"Then he can unarrange it."
My father stepped forward.
"Her transportation is handled."
Marcus looked from him to me, visibly uncomfortable.
"Mr. Ashford won't appreciate—"
"Mr. Ashford," I interrupted, "has made his preferences perfectly clear."
For three years, I had been terrified of upsetting Graham.
Now the thought of his anger felt almost irrelevant.
I took my father's arm and walked toward his waiting sedan.
Behind us, Marcus remained beside the SUV, already reaching for his phone.
We drove to my father's house in Evanston.
It was the same modest brick home where I'd grown up before the Mercer family business had expanded into a manufacturing operation employing more than four hundred people.
My mother had died when I was nineteen.
Her photographs still lined the hallway.
For the first time in years, walking through that front door felt like returning to myself.
My father carried Owen into the guest bedroom.
"I had the nursery furniture brought over," he said.
I stopped.
"You did what?"
He looked almost embarrassed.
"The crib. The changing table. The rocking chair your mother used when you were little."
I stared at him.
"Dad..."
His eyes filled.
"I should've brought you home a long time ago."
I couldn't answer.
Because we both knew what he meant.
Three years earlier, when Arthur Ashford had proposed the marriage, my father had been desperate.
Mercer Precision Manufacturing was drowning in debt.
The bank had threatened foreclosure.
Hundreds of employees faced unemployment.
Arthur's investment had saved everything.
Or so we believed.
That evening, after Owen finally fell asleep, my father sat across from me at the kitchen table.
There was an envelope between us.
"I need to tell you something," he said.
I recognized that tone.
It was the voice he used when business news was terrible.
"What happened?"
He pushed the envelope toward me.
"Six months ago, I discovered irregularities in the original Ashford financing."
I frowned.
"What kind of irregularities?"
"The company wasn't actually insolvent when Arthur approached me."
I stared at him.
"That's impossible."
"I thought so too."
He opened the envelope.
Inside were copies of bank transfers, supplier invoices, and internal accounting reports.
"Someone deliberately delayed our payments, manipulated our credit rating, and purchased our outstanding debt through shell companies."
I felt cold.
"Who?"
My father looked at me.
"Arthur Ashford."
For several seconds, I heard nothing except Owen's faint breathing through the baby monitor.
"You're saying he manufactured the crisis?"
"Yes."
"To force the marriage?"
"That's what I believe."
I looked down at the documents.
Three years.
Three years of Graham accusing me of trapping him.
Three years of humiliation.
Three years of apologizing for a marriage neither of us had chosen.
And Arthur had engineered the entire thing.
"Why?" I whispered.
My father shook his head.
"I don't know."
But something in his expression told me he wasn't telling me everything.
"Dad."
He looked away.
"What aren't you saying?"
Before he could answer, his phone rang.
The caller ID showed an unfamiliar number.
He answered.
His face changed almost immediately.
"Who is this?"
A pause.
Then he stood.
"How did you get this number?"
I watched his knuckles turn white around the phone.
Finally, he whispered, "Stay away from my daughter."
The call ended.
"Dad?"
He stared at the screen.
"Who was that?"
He swallowed.
"Someone who knows what I've been investigating."
"What did they say?"
He looked toward the hallway where Owen slept.
Then he spoke so quietly I barely heard him.
"They said Arthur Ashford didn't arrange your marriage to save my company."
My pulse quickened.
"Then why?"
My father looked at me.
"Because of something your mother discovered before she died."
Across Chicago, Graham Ashford sat in his private office overlooking the river.
Vanessa Cole lounged on the leather sofa with a glass of champagne.
"Is she gone?" she asked.
Graham didn't look up.
"She should be."
His phone vibrated.
Marcus.
Graham answered.
"Report."
"Mrs. Ashford refused the aircraft, sir."
Graham's expression hardened.
"Where did she go?"
"Her father's residence."
"With the baby?"
"Yes."
Vanessa sighed dramatically.
"She's already making trouble."
Graham ignored her.
"Did she sign the papers?"
"Her attorney is reviewing the agreement, sir. Mr. Whitaker says the signatures are still pending."
Graham leaned back.
"Then tell Whitaker to finish it."
"Yes, sir."
He ended the call.
Vanessa approached him.
"You're finally free."
Graham looked toward the dark Chicago skyline.
He should have felt relieved.
Instead, an image returned without warning.
His wife lying in a hospital bed.
Her voice barely audible.
I'm hemorrhaging.
He pushed the memory away.
"Yes," he said.
"I'm free."
But at eleven forty-three that night, another call arrived.
This time, from Arthur Ashford.
His grandfather didn't bother with a greeting.
"Where is your wife?"
Graham frowned.
"Why?"
"Answer me."
"With her father."
A long silence followed.
Then Arthur spoke with a fury Graham had never heard before.
"You stupid boy."
Graham stood.
"Watch your tone."
"Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I ended a marriage you forced on me."
Arthur's breathing grew ragged.
"Listen carefully. You need to bring that woman and her child back under Ashford protection immediately."
Graham's jaw tightened.
"Why?"
May you like
Arthur's answer came like a gunshot.
"Because if Elena Mercer discovers what happened to her mother, every man in this family is finished."
