Chapter 7 - Six Stolen YearsEleanor Price eventually confessed.
Not because she regretted anything.
Because federal prosecutors offered her a deal.
The story was uglier than Grant expected.
Nathan had intercepted Emily's first letters because he feared Grant would abandon their critical overseas project.
Eleanor discovered what he had done.
Instead of exposing him, she used it.
She created the fraudulent custody petition and sent it to Emily.
Then she convinced Nathan that Emily had taken money in exchange for disappearing.
Nathan, ashamed of what he'd already done, believed what was easiest to believe.
Everyone chose silence.
Emily chose distance.
Grant chose work.
Six years disappeared between those choices.
Eleanor later learned about the Mercer trust.
As Grant's company grew, so did the value of the shares that could eventually pass to his children.
She and Peter began stealing.
Emily discovered the theft.
Then everything escalated.
But Eleanor insisted she had not pushed Emily down the stairs.
Peter denied it too.
The security footage from the garage had been erased.
Grant wanted someone responsible.
Sometimes life refused to provide a clean villain for every wound.
Emily remembered only footsteps behind her.
Then darkness.
The investigation remained open.
Nathan pleaded guilty to obstruction, fraud-related offenses, and interference with correspondence.
Before he was taken away, he asked to speak with Grant.
Grant almost refused.
Then he agreed.
They sat opposite each other in a small interview room.
Nathan looked older.
“I loved you like a brother,” Grant said.
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Nathan looked down.
“You stole something money can't replace.”
“I thought there would be time.”
“For what?”
“For you to find out later.”
Grant laughed once.
Bitterly.
“Later. That's the word I used my entire life.”
Nathan looked up.
Grant continued.
“I'll have a family later. I'll slow down later. I'll call people later. I'll live later.”
Silence.
“My daughters were growing up while I was waiting for later.”
Nathan's eyes filled.
“I'm sorry.”
Grant stood.
“I believe you.”
Nathan seemed surprised.
“It doesn't fix anything.”
Grant walked out.
Forgiveness, he realized, did not require restoration.
Some bridges deserved to remain broken.
Emily and the twins moved temporarily into Grant's penthouse.
It was awkward.
Beautifully awkward.
Grant discovered that children produced an impossible amount of laundry.
Sadie hated peas.
Sophie slept with the hallway light on.
Both girls climbed into his bed during thunderstorms.
The first time it happened, Grant woke at 3:11 a.m. with Sadie's foot against his ribs and Sophie occupying most of his pillow.
He stared at the ceiling.
Then smiled.
His perfect apartment became unrecognizable.
Crayons appeared on the dining table.
Tiny shoes accumulated by the door.
A stuffed bear sat beside an eighteenth-century sculpture.
The refrigerator became covered with drawings.
Grant loved every bit of it.
Emily watched him change.
One evening she found him assembling bunk beds.
“You know you can pay someone to do that.”
“I design buildings.”
“You've been holding that instruction sheet upside down for five minutes.”
Grant turned it around.
“I was testing it.”
Emily laughed.
The sound stopped him.
For a moment they were twenty-nine again.
Then both remembered they weren't.
“Emily.”
Her smile faded.
“Don't.”
“We have to talk eventually.”
“About us?”
“Yes.”
“There isn't an us.”
“There are two children who might disagree.”
“Our daughters don't require us to become a couple.”
“I know.”
That surprised her.
Grant sat on the floor among screws and wooden panels.
“I spent years thinking success could compensate for everything I postponed.”
Emily leaned against the door.
“And now?”
“Now I know better.”
She studied him.
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You chose a project over me before you knew about the pregnancy.”
“I know.”
“And when I thought you were threatening to take my babies, I hated you.”
“I would have hated me too.”
Emily's eyes filled.
“But you didn't do it.”
“No.”
“I should have confronted you.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him sharply.
Grant almost smiled.
“You expected me to disagree?”
“A little.”
“We both made mistakes.”
“Mine cost you six years.”
“So did mine.”
Grant stood.
“I boarded that plane.”
Emily looked away.
“I gave you a choice.”
“And I chose wrong.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then Sophie screamed from the hallway.
They ran.
She was standing beside Grant's office.
A brick had shattered one of the windows.
Forty-two floors above the street.
Grant immediately knew it could not have been thrown from outside.
Someone had been on the rooftop terrace.
Attached to the brick was a photograph.
Grant removed it.
The picture showed Sophie and Sadie leaving school three days earlier.
Written across the bottom:
THE MONEY WAS NEVER THE POINT.
Emily went white.
Grant called security.
The building locked down.
Police searched every floor.
Nobody was found.
Then Charles arrived.
He studied the photograph.
His face changed.
“I've seen that handwriting.”
“Where?”
Charles looked at Grant.
“Your father's letters.”
Grant frowned.
“My father has been dead seventeen years.”
“I know.”
“Then whose handwriting is it?”
Charles hesitated.
“His.”
Grant stared.
Charles pulled an old envelope from his coat.
The handwriting was nearly identical.
But then Charles pointed out a tiny difference.
“William didn't write his R like this.”
“Who did?”
Charles swallowed.
“Our sister.”
Grant felt the floor disappear beneath him.
“You told me Dad had one brother.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because your aunt was the reason our family really fell apart.”
“What's her name?”
Charles looked toward the twins.
“Margaret Mercer.”
Grant waited.
May you like
Charles's next words changed the investigation again.
“And according to the family, Margaret died before you were born.”
