Chapter 5 - Grace's Real Name
Grace laughed.
It was the wrong response for the moment, which was probably why it sounded so painful.
"Of course."
She paced away from the laptop.
"Secret rooms. Dead uncles. Your missing mother. Now apparently I'm not me."
Thomas stared at her.
Not casually.
He was studying her face.
"How old are you?"
Grace turned sharply.
"Thirty-one."
"Birthday?"
"February nineteenth."
Thomas sat down.
"Oh, God."
I grabbed his shoulder.
"What?"
He looked at Grace.
"Your mother's name?"
"Margaret Harper."
"Biological mother?"
"Yes."
"Are you certain?"
Grace's anger flared.
"I watched her die."
"How old were you?"
"Nine."
Thomas looked at me.
"Her name wasn't Margaret Harper."
Grace stopped moving.
Thomas continued.
"Her name was Margaret Vale."
The name meant nothing to me.
Then he explained.
Margaret Vale had been an accountant for Mercer.
Twenty-two years earlier, she'd discovered where millions in blackmail payments were moving.
She planned to testify.
Then she vanished.
"She didn't vanish," Grace whispered. "She raised me."
"Under a false name."
Grace shook her head.
Thomas asked, "Did she ever tell you who your father was?"
"No."
Thomas's expression told me he knew.
"Who?"
"Elias Mercer."
Grace went completely still.
"No."
"I'm sorry."
"No."
Thomas reached toward her.
She recoiled.
"Don't touch me."
Mia appeared in the doorway.
"Mommy?"
Grace changed instantly.
She wiped her face.
"Hey, sweetheart."
"Are you crying?"
"No."
Mia gave her the suspicious look children reserve for adults who lie badly.
Grace knelt and hugged her.
I watched her hold both daughters.
And suddenly Mercer's obsession made sense.
Grace wasn't merely a former informant.
She was his daughter.
Which meant Mia and Lily were his granddaughters.
"Does Mercer know?" I asked.
Thomas nodded.
"He always knew."
Grace looked sick.
"Then why recruit me eight years ago without telling me?"
"Control."
Thomas's answer was immediate.
"He wanted to see whether you'd become useful."
"And when I betrayed him?"
"He realized you were your mother's daughter."
Grace laughed bitterly.
"Wonderful family tradition."
I understood that sentiment.
We watched the remainder of my mother's video.
Evelyn explained that Mercer had spent decades rebuilding his network through shell corporations and political foundations.
But the original archive remained incomplete.
Margaret had stolen one encryption key.
Evelyn had stolen another.
Mercer needed both.
Grace carried one without knowing it.
"How?" she whispered.
The video answered.
"Margaret hid the key in something she knew Grace would never willingly surrender."
Grace looked down at the necklace around her throat.
A cheap silver locket.
She touched it.
"My mother's."
Thomas closed his eyes.
Grace opened the locket.
Inside was a photograph of herself at eight.
Marco examined the hinge.
"May I?"
Grace handed it over.
He removed a microscopic storage wafer.
"There's your key."
Grace stared.
Twenty-two years of history hidden against her chest.
Then my mother gave us the final instruction.
"If Mercer knows Grace is in Nicholas's house, he will come personally. That's what we need."
I frowned.
"We?"
The video ended.
No explanation.
Grace folded her arms.
"Your mother apparently enjoys cliffhangers."
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Then the front windows exploded.
Marco tackled Grace.
I grabbed Mia.
Gunfire tore through the foyer.
"DOWN!"
Security returned fire.
Lily screamed.
I dragged Mia behind a marble column.
Grace crawled toward us.
"No!"
A second burst shattered the chandelier.
Glass rained down.
Marco shouted into his radio.
"East entrance! Two shooters!"
I looked at Mia.
"Cover your ears."
She did.
I drew my weapon.
The attack lasted less than forty seconds.
Then silence.
One shooter escaped.
The other died in the courtyard.
He carried no identification.
But inside his jacket was a photograph.
Grace.
Mia.
Lily.
And me.
Four red circles.
We relocated before sunrise.
I owned a property north of Boston that almost nobody knew existed.
A modest lake house compared with Beacon Hill.
No household staff.
No established security routines.
For the first time in years, I cooked my own breakfast.
Or attempted to.
Mia watched me destroy pancakes.
"Mr. Duca?"
"Yes?"
"Are those supposed to be black?"
Grace covered a laugh.
"They're caramelized."
Mia stared at the pan.
"They're burned."
I pointed the spatula at her.
"You're very judgmental for someone who can't reach the stove."
"Mommy says truth matters."
I looked at Grace.
"Your parenting is becoming inconvenient."
For the first time since I'd met her, she smiled at me.
Really smiled.
It changed her entire face.
I forgot what I was saying.
Then Lily threw mashed banana at my shirt.
Mia gasped.
Grace burst out laughing.
I looked down at the stain.
"She assaulted me."
"She's ten months old."
"Still assault."
Grace took a towel and stepped closer.
She wiped my shirt.
Our eyes met.
Something shifted.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Two people who had spent years surviving separately suddenly realizing survival might not always need to be solitary.
My phone rang.
Marco.
"We found Mercer."
"Where?"
"Boston."
"Address?"
"You won't like it."
"Try me."
"Massachusetts General."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"He's visiting a patient."
"Who?"
Marco paused.
"Your mother."
I looked through the window at Grace and her daughters.
Then at the locket on the table.
"Get the car."
Grace heard.
"Where are you going?"
"To find my mother."
She picked up her coat.
"We're coming."
"No."
"Nicholas."
It was the first time she'd used my first name.
I turned.
"If Mercer is my father, I'm done hiding from the truth."
I wanted to argue.
Instead I saw Mia standing behind her.
The same stubborn chin.
The same refusal to be afraid.
"Fine."
At the hospital, the room was empty.
No Mercer.
No Evelyn.
Only a white envelope on the bed.
My name was written across it.
Inside was a photograph taken twenty minutes earlier.
My mother sitting in a wheelchair.
Mercer standing behind her.
And beneath it:
BRING ME GRACE AND THE LOCKET.
On the reverse was an address.
Grace read it.
May you like
Then whispered:
"That's the house where my mother died."
