Chapter 3 - THE BOY AT THE LAKE
I did not call Lydia immediately.
Every instinct told me to slow down.
When people panic, they make mistakes.
Calvin had already made enough for both of us.
I showed Elena the message.
She advised me to communicate in writing first.
So I replied:
I’m willing to talk. My attorney knows about this contact.
Lydia responded almost instantly.
Good. Bring her if you want. I have nothing left to hide.
We arranged to meet the next morning at a café in Evanston.
I arrived twenty minutes early.
Lydia walked in at exactly ten.
She was not what I expected.
No designer clothes.
No dramatic entrance.
She wore jeans, a navy sweater and weathered boots.
Her brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail.
She looked exhausted.
More importantly, she looked frightened.
She sat across from Elena and me.
“Thank you for coming.”
I nodded.
“Is Ethan Calvin’s son?”
No small talk.
No games.
Lydia looked at me for several seconds.
Then said:
“No.”
I blinked.
Elena leaned forward slightly.
“Then why the paternity case?”
“Because Calvin wanted everybody to think he might be.”
Nothing made sense.
“Why?”
Lydia wrapped both hands around her coffee.
“Because the truth was worse.”
I waited.
“My husband Matthew and Calvin started Mercer-Grant Design together eleven years ago.”
I knew Calvin had once had a partner.
He always said the partnership failed.
“He told me Matthew left the company.”
Lydia laughed bitterly.
“Matthew died.”
“I know that now.”
“What you don’t know is why.”
The café suddenly felt colder.
Lydia lowered her voice.
“Matthew discovered Calvin was using client deposits to cover losses on private real-estate deals.”
I stared.
“How much?”
“Nearly two million dollars.”
Elena began taking notes.
“Did Matthew report him?”
“He planned to.”
Lydia swallowed.
“The night before he met with an attorney, he drove to a project site outside Madison. A retaining wall collapsed.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“You think Calvin caused it?”
“I didn’t at first.”
“Do you now?”
“Yes.”
Elena said quietly, “Why?”
“Because after Matthew died, Calvin appeared at my house with documents.”
“What documents?”
“Proof that Matthew had authorized transfers.”
“Had he?”
“No.”
Lydia’s eyes hardened.
“They were forged.”
I stared at her.
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“I tried.”
That surprised me.
“What happened?”
“Calvin’s attorney said Matthew had embezzled from the company and threatened to pursue the estate.”
She looked toward the window.
“I had a three-year-old, a mortgage, funeral bills and no money. Calvin offered a deal.”
“What deal?”
“He would protect Matthew’s reputation and financially support Ethan if I signed a confidentiality agreement.”
My stomach twisted.
“That’s the lake house.”
“Yes.”
“And the paternity filing?”
Lydia’s mouth tightened.
“That came later.”
She reached into her bag.
She placed a copy of a document between us.
A petition.
Calvin Mercer named as possible biological father of Ethan Grant.
I looked up.
“Why?”
“Because a reporter started asking why Calvin was paying for us.”
My hands went cold.
“So he created another explanation.”
“Yes.”
“The affair?”
“No. A rumor of one.”
Calvin had allowed court records to suggest he might have fathered his dead friend’s child because that scandal was preferable to people asking why he was buying the widow’s silence.
My marriage suddenly felt even more grotesque.
“Did Stephanie know any of this?”
Lydia looked surprised.
“Stephanie?”
“My best friend.”
Elena glanced at me.
I continued.
“She and Calvin have been having an affair.”
Lydia leaned back.
“Then you found out.”
“Last night.”
Something strange crossed her face.
“What?”
She hesitated.
“Calvin came to see me four days ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“He said his wife might start asking questions about North Cedar.”
“How would he know?”
“I don’t know.”
I did.
Stephanie.
Three weeks earlier, I had told her I was worried Calvin was hiding money.
I thought I was confiding in my best friend.
She had warned him.
Lydia continued.
“He wanted me to sign new documents.”
“What kind?”
“A statement saying all payments were personal support connected to Ethan.”
“The fake paternity story again.”
“Yes.”
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
“Why contact me now?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because Ethan asked me something last week.”
I waited.
“He asked why we never talk about his father.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I realized I had spent five years protecting a dead man’s reputation by allowing the man who destroyed him to control our lives.”
Elena asked, “What evidence do you still have?”
Lydia opened her bag again.
A flash drive.
“Matthew kept backups.”
My pulse jumped.
“Of what?”
“Financial records. Emails. Project documents.”
“Where were they?”
“He mailed them to his brother two days before he died.”
“Why haven’t they surfaced?”
“His brother was deployed overseas. He didn’t open the package until months later.”
Lydia’s voice broke.
“By then I had signed the agreement, and Calvin convinced me releasing anything would make me an accomplice because some accounts were in my name.”
Elena carefully took the drive.
“Have you reviewed this?”
“Most of it.”
“And?”
Lydia looked directly at me.
“Your husband didn’t just steal from Matthew.”
A chill moved through me.
“He stole from clients, investors and at least two charities connected to developments they worked on.”
I thought about Calvin’s current company.
His polished reputation.
His charity galas.
The magazine profile last year calling him one of Chicago’s most ethical young business leaders.
“How much?”
“Matthew estimated three point eight million before he died.”
I whispered, “Jesus.”
“That was five years ago.”
I understood.
“There could be more now.”
“Yes.”
Elena asked the question I was afraid to.
“What makes you believe Matthew’s death wasn’t an accident?”
Lydia pulled one final document from her bag.
A photograph.
The construction site.
A support mechanism beside the retaining wall had been manually disengaged.
On the back, Matthew had written:
Calvin was here tonight. Asked me again to drop the audit. If anything happens, look at Project 17.
I could barely breathe.
Lydia said, “Matthew took that picture the day before he died.”
My phone vibrated.
Calvin.
I ignored it.
Then a text appeared.
We need to meet. You’re getting involved in things you don’t understand.
I showed Elena.
She photographed it.
Lydia went pale.
“How does he know we’re talking?”
That was when I looked through the café window.
Across the street, a black SUV was parked beside a fire hydrant.
May you like
Inside sat Stephanie.
Watching us.
