Chapter 5 - THE CHILD WHO WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO EXIST
Claire woke to the sound of breathing.
Not hers.
Tiny breathing.
She opened her eyes.
A clear hospital bassinet stood beside the bed.
Inside, wrapped in a striped blanket, was one of her daughters.
For several seconds Claire simply stared.
The baby’s face was impossibly small.
Dark hair.
Tiny fist pressed against one cheek.
A knitted cap slipping sideways.
Claire began to cry.
She had spent seven months refusing to imagine this moment too clearly.
Hope had been dangerous.
Hope made loss larger.
Now her daughter was here.
Alive.
“Bean,” she whispered.
The baby moved.
Claire smiled.
Then remembered.
“Peanut.”
“She’s stable.”
Roman’s voice came from the corner.
Claire turned.
He was sitting in a chair beside the window.
No jacket.
Sleeves rolled.
His hair disordered.
He looked like a man who had not slept in years.
“She’s in NICU,” he said. “They’re helping her breathe, but the doctor says she’s stronger than they expected.”
Claire exhaled shakily.
“Can I see her?”
“As soon as they clear you to move.”
She looked at the bassinet.
“Did you hold this one?”
Roman shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to.”
Claire studied him.
The Roman she had known rarely asked permission.
He assumed.
Decided.
Directed.
This man sat ten feet away because he did not know whether he was allowed closer.
“You can hold your daughter.”
Roman stood slowly.
He approached the bassinet like it contained an explosive device.
Claire almost laughed.
“Support her head.”
“I know.”
“You look like you don’t.”
“I watched three nurses demonstrate.”
“Three?”
“I wanted consistency.”
That time Claire did laugh.
Quietly.
Roman slid his hands beneath the baby and lifted her.
The transformation in his face was immediate.
His shoulders softened.
His breathing stopped.
The man who had once negotiated with armed dockworkers while bleeding through his shirt looked terrified of moving an inch.
The baby made a small sound.
Roman froze.
“Is that bad?”
“She made a noise, Roman.”
“What kind?”
“A baby kind.”
Claire watched him.
Something inside her hurt.
Not from surgery.
From seeing the father he might have been during the months fear stole from them.
Roman sat beside the bed.
“She needs a name.”
Claire nodded.
“I thought about Nora.”
Roman looked down.
“My grandmother.”
“I know.”
He raised his eyes.
“You remembered.”
“I remember everything you tell me.”
Roman looked away.
It was perhaps the kindest accusation she could have made.
“And the other?” he asked.
“Grace.”
Roman smiled faintly.
“Nora and Grace Mercer.”
Claire’s expression changed.
Roman noticed.
“Or Bennett.”
She looked at him.
“Or anything you decide.”
“You’d allow them my name?”
“They’re our daughters. Their names aren’t leverage.”
Claire’s eyes filled again.
Before she could answer, Matteo knocked.
Roman immediately stood.
Claire sensed the change.
“What happened?”
Roman handed Nora carefully to her.
“Nothing you need to deal with tonight.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Decide what I need to know.”
He stopped.
Claire waited.
Roman exhaled.
“We found evidence Victor was monitoring you before you left.”
She went pale.
“Victor?”
“And possibly my mother’s assistant.”
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
Claire stared at him.
Margaret Bell had helped her choose wedding flowers.
Margaret had mailed Claire birthday cards.
Margaret had brought soup when Claire had pneumonia.
“Why?”
“We don’t know everything yet.”
Roman sat.
“But I think your pregnancy was the reason.”
Claire held Nora closer.
Roman explained Victor’s records.
PHASE ONE — WIFE REMOVED.
PHASE TWO — HEIR TERMINATED.
Claire looked physically ill.
“They knew.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We’re investigating.”
“No.”
Roman frowned.
“I know how.”
Claire’s voice had become distant.
“Three days before I found the forged email, Margaret came to my dressing room.”
Roman listened.
“She had a charity luncheon schedule. I felt sick. Morning sickness. She joked that maybe I was pregnant.”
Roman went still.
“What did you say?”
“I told her she was ridiculous.”
“But?”
“She saw the pregnancy test box in my trash.”
Roman closed his eyes.
That small.
The entire nightmare could have begun with something that small.
Claire continued.
“She offered to cancel my appointments. I thought she was being kind.”
“She told Victor.”
“Maybe.”
Roman stood.
“I’m going to find them.”
Claire’s eyes sharpened.
“And then what?”
He did not answer.
“That’s what scares me.”
Roman looked at her.
“If someone threatened our children—”
“I know what they did.”
“You don’t want justice?”
“I want my daughters alive. I want evidence. Police. Courts.”
Roman stared.
“You want me to hand Victor to the police?”
“Yes.”
“He has enough information to bury half my organization.”
“Then maybe half your organization deserves to be buried.”
The words landed between them.
Roman could have become angry.
Instead he looked at Nora.
Then toward the hallway leading to NICU.
“You’re asking me to destroy what my father built.”
Claire shook her head.
“I’m asking you what you’re willing to build for your daughters.”
Roman did not respond for a long time.
Finally he said, “I’ll think about it.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s more than I would have given seven months ago.”
Claire accepted that.
For now.
At midnight, Roman went to NICU alone.
Grace lay inside an incubator.
Her chest rose beneath thin wires.
Roman placed one finger through the opening.
Her hand closed around it.
Roman stared.
He had inherited an empire at thirty.
People had told him legacy meant buildings, territory, money, loyalty.
They had been wrong.
Legacy weighed barely five pounds and held his finger like it trusted him without evidence.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
Roman answered.
“Mercer.”
A familiar voice spoke.
Victor Dane.
“Congratulations.”
Roman’s entire body became still.
“You have approximately ten seconds to convince me not to find you.”
Victor laughed softly.
“You’re still speaking like your father.”
“Where are you?”
“Ask a better question.”
Roman looked at Grace.
“Why Claire?”
“Because you loved her.”
Roman’s hand tightened.
“That’s it?”
“No. Because she changed you.”
“You forged the email.”
“I arranged it.”
“You threatened her.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to kill my children.”
Victor paused.
“We believed there was one.”
Roman’s blood chilled at the word we.
“Who is we?”
“You’ve been asking the wrong question for seven months, Roman.”
“What question should I ask?”
“Who benefits if you have no wife and no heir?”
Roman thought of Adrian.
His younger brother.
Next in the succession structure.
“No.”
Victor laughed.
“You always did protect him.”
Roman’s voice dropped.
“Adrian doesn’t have the spine.”
“Maybe not.”
“Then say his name.”
“No.”
The call went silent for a second.
Then Victor said, “Your daughter in that incubator should never have existed.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“You’re dead.”
“Perhaps.”
Victor’s voice became colder.
“But if you want your other daughter to survive until morning, you’ll listen carefully.”
Roman looked up.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Victor.”
“Check Claire’s room.”
Roman was already moving.
He ran.
For the first time in years, Roman Mercer ran through a public hallway.
He reached Claire’s room.
The door was open.
The bassinet stood beside the bed.
Empty.
Claire was gone.
On her pillow lay a single white card.
Roman picked it up.
May you like
There were five words.
BRING THE LEDGER FOR THEM.
