Chapter 13 - THE VERDICT THAT CHANGED THE DELUCA NAME
Victor DeLuca's trial began in early spring.
The courtroom was crowded.
Reporters lined the hallway.
Business journalists discussed the implications for Chicago's hotel market.
Society pages speculated about Lucas and me.
I ignored them.
The evidence concerned financing structures, related-party transactions, and alleged efforts to obtain distressed assets through deceptive arrangements.
Independent accountants testified.
Former executives described internal pressure.
My mother's accountant, Margaret Ellis, explained Bellwether's earlier proposals and why Eleanor Mercer had rejected them.
I testified only about matters within my knowledge.
The financial documents I'd reviewed.
The irregularities I'd identified.
The circumstances surrounding the trust records.
I didn't embellish.
Didn't dramatize.
Didn't use the courtroom to punish my father.
The truth was enough.
During cross-examination, Victor's attorney tried to question my credibility.
“Miss Mercer, you spent several years pretending to be incapable of handling ordinary social interactions, correct?”
I stared.
A few spectators shifted uncomfortably.
“That's an unusual characterization.”
The attorney smiled.
“Did you or did you not pretend to be a helpless woman in front of potential husbands?”
I considered the question.
Then nodded.
“I exaggerated aspects of my personality to discourage unwanted marriage arrangements.”
The attorney leaned forward.
“So you admit you're capable of deception?”
I smiled faintly.
“I admit I once claimed an imaginary cat required a humidifier.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the courtroom.
The judge called for order.
The attorney looked irritated.
“Do you expect this jury to take you seriously?”
I met his eyes.
“I expect the jury to evaluate the financial records and the testimony based on evidence.”
Silence.
Then I continued.
“My personal dating strategy doesn't change the figures in a bank statement.”
The attorney changed subjects.
After the trial, the verdicts included convictions against Victor and certain associates on multiple fraud-related counts.
Other issues continued through civil proceedings.
The DeLuca hotel division remained under independent review and restructuring.
Lucas's own businesses faced scrutiny as part of his broader effort to end unlawful operations and cooperate with authorities.
The process cost him money.
Influence.
And some of the fear-based authority he'd once considered essential.
But he didn't regret the decision.
Outside the courthouse, reporters surrounded us.
“Miss Mercer, did you help bring down Victor DeLuca?”
I paused.
“No.”
The reporter looked surprised.
I continued.
“Investigators, witnesses, and independent financial professionals established the facts. I contributed information where I could.”
Another reporter asked, “Are you dating Lucas DeLuca?”
I looked toward him.
Lucas smiled faintly.
I smiled back.
“Yes.”
Camera shutters clicked.
A third reporter shouted, “Are you planning to marry him?”
I laughed.
“That's a question for the future.”
Lucas leaned closer.
“Gerald hasn't approved me yet.”
The reporters stared.
I nearly collapsed laughing.
For a moment, the man who'd once terrified Chicago's most powerful businessmen stood in front of cameras discussing an imaginary cat.
And I realized just how far we'd both come.
Later that evening, Lucas and I sat on the terrace of his house overlooking the lake.
He looked exhausted.
I took his hand.
“How are you?”
He considered the question.
“Relieved.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Victor's actions damaged a lot of people. The verdict doesn't repair that. But at least the wrongdoing is no longer hidden.”
I smiled.
“That's something.”
He looked toward the water.
“For years, I believed my job was to protect the DeLuca name.”
I waited.
“Now I think my job is to make sure the people working in our businesses can trust the decisions being made.”
I squeezed his hand.
“That's a better goal.”
He smiled.
Then looked at me.
“Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever regret that gala?”
I laughed.
“The one with twelve cats?”
“Yes.”
I thought about it.
Then shook my head.
“No.”
“Not even the cardigan?”
“Especially not the cardigan.”
He laughed.
I leaned against his shoulder.
“Besides, if I hadn't worn it, you might never have noticed me.”
Lucas kissed my forehead.
“Grace, I would've noticed you.”
I smiled.
“Very confident.”
He laughed.
May you like
“Just accurate.”
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