Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO FORGOT HIS OWN NAME
Richard Mercer stopped three feet from my table.
I recognized him immediately.
He was a commercial property developer whose companies had been circling several of my legitimate waterfront holdings for months. He cultivated judges, city officials, and businessmen who mistook expensive suits for integrity.
We had never met face-to-face.
Apparently, he knew exactly who I was.
“Mr. Hayes,” he said.
“Mercer.”
His eyes flicked toward the girls.
“I apologize for the interruption. These children belong with their mother.”
“Then perhaps you should let their mother speak.”
His smile tightened.
“They've been difficult all afternoon.”
From beneath my table came a small, indignant voice.
“We are not difficult.”
I almost smiled.
Mercer didn't.
“Girls. Come out.”
Nobody moved.
I leaned back.
“They appear comfortable.”
“This is a family matter.”
“Then where is their family?”
His jaw flexed.
Behind him, the woman in the charcoal suit hurried toward us.
“Girls!”
Relief broke across her face when she saw the four little heads beneath my table.
Then she noticed me.
Her expression changed.
“I'm terribly sorry,” she said. “They've been upset. I didn't realize they were bothering anyone.”
“They aren't bothering me.”
Mercer reached toward the smallest girl.
She recoiled.
I stood.
He stopped.
I wasn't taller by much, but I had spent years learning that intimidation rarely required shouting.
“Don't touch her.”
The café went quiet.
Mercer lowered his hand.
The woman looked between us.
“What's happening?”
The oldest girl crawled out first.
She was perhaps seven, with dark auburn hair and a stubborn chin.
“Mommy, we told him.”
The woman's face went pale.
“Told him what, Sophie?”
“That Mr. Mercer wants us to call him Daddy.”
Mercer laughed sharply.
“Children exaggerate.”
The second girl emerged.
“He said he'd send us to a different school if we didn't.”
The third followed.
“He said Mommy would lose her house.”
Finally, the smallest girl climbed into the chair beside me.
“And he said nobody would believe us.”
The woman's expression crumpled.
Mercer looked around the café.
“Enough.”
I met his eyes.
“Apparently not.”
He leaned closer.
“You don't understand the situation.”
“Then explain it.”
His nostrils flared.
“Ms. Bennett owes my company a considerable amount of money.”
The woman stiffened.
“Richard.”
He ignored her.
“I've offered a solution.”
I looked at her.
“Is that true?”
She swallowed.
“There's a financial dispute.”
“Did you agree to marry him?”
Her eyes widened.
“No.”
Mercer stepped forward.
“Alexander, I suggest—”
“Mr. Hayes,” I corrected.
He went silent.
I looked at the woman again.
“Do you want to leave with him?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
“No.”
That was enough.
I turned toward Mercer.
“Then your conversation is finished.”
His face reddened.
“You cannot interfere in a private contractual matter.”
I took out my phone.
“Perhaps your attorney can explain why a contractual dispute requires threatening four children.”
He stared.
Then glanced toward the café entrance.
Two of my security personnel had appeared there, alerted by my driver when he saw the confrontation.
Mercer stepped backward.
“This isn't over.”
I looked at the girls.
Then at their mother.
“No,” I said quietly.
“I don't believe it is.”
He left without another word.
The woman sank into the chair opposite me.
Her hands were shaking.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I nodded.
“Alexander Hayes.”
“Isabella Bennett.”
The smallest girl tugged my sleeve.
“Mister?”
“Yes?”
“Are you still our pretend daddy?”
I looked at Isabella.
She looked as startled as I felt.
Then I told the child:
“For the moment, sweetheart, I'm someone who intends to make sure you're safe.”
She considered that.
Then smiled.
“That's almost the same thing.”
May you like
I didn't know what to say.
And for once in my life, silence had nothing to do with power.
