Chapter 2 - THE LETTERS THAT NEVER ARRIVED
Grant did not sleep.
Neither did Mariana.
Mason did.
Children had a miraculous ability to surrender to exhaustion while adults watched their entire lives collapse.
Grant carried him upstairs himself.
Mariana almost objected.
Then she saw the way he held the boy.
Careful.
Terrified.
Like Mason might vanish if Grant loosened his arms.
He placed him on a guest bed and pulled the blanket to his chin.
For several seconds Grant simply stood there.
“Five years,” he whispered.
Mariana remained near the doorway.
“Four years and ten months.”
He turned.
“What?”
“You lost four years and ten months.”
Grant absorbed the correction.
“You counted.”
“I counted everything.”
Days until her release.
Days Mason stayed with her.
Days until he had to leave the prison infant program.
Every birthday.
Every unanswered letter.
Grant followed her downstairs.
Victoria waited in the library.
So did Grant's younger sister, Natalie, who had been called from her house on the other side of the estate.
Natalie looked at Mariana with confusion rather than hostility.
“I don't understand.”
“Neither do I,” Grant replied.
He placed the DNA report in front of Victoria.
“Explain the restricted sample.”
Victoria sat perfectly straight.
“It concerns your father.”
“I know that.”
Charles Wexler had died five years earlier after suffering a supposed heart attack aboard the family's private plane.
Grant had been in Paris.
Natalie in college.
Victoria claimed Charles became ill suddenly during a flight from Denver and died before the aircraft could land.
There had been an autopsy.
Cardiac failure.
Closed case.
Grant pointed at the screen.
“Why does Mason share an unusual genetic marker with evidence from Dad's death investigation?”
Victoria looked at Mariana.
“This discussion has nothing to do with her.”
Grant laughed.
“My son triggered the match.”
Natalie froze.
“Your what?”
Grant looked at his sister.
“Mason is mine.”
Natalie's mouth fell open.
She looked toward the ceiling.
“Mom knew?”
Grant stared at Victoria.
“We're about to find out.”
Victoria finally spoke.
“Yes.”
One word.
Mariana felt rage move through her body like electricity.
Grant looked stunned despite expecting it.
“When?”
Victoria's face remained controlled.
“Before Mariana's sentencing.”
Grant whispered:
“You knew I had a child.”
“I knew she claimed she was pregnant.”
Mariana stood.
“I sent you the ultrasound.”
“Yes.”
“And the letters.”
“Yes.”
Grant's eyes closed.
“You intercepted them.”
Victoria did not answer.
That was answer enough.
“Why?”
“Because she was under indictment for stealing eight million dollars from our foundation.”
“I hadn't been convicted.”
“You would be.”
Mariana stared at her.
“How could you know?”
Victoria's eyes flicked toward her.
Too quickly.
Grant saw it.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
Mariana stepped forward.
“No. Say it again.”
Victoria remained silent.
“You said I would be convicted.”
“The evidence was overwhelming.”
“Evidence Paige helped police find.”
Grant frowned.
“Paige?”
“My best friend.”
Mariana told him about the condo.
The stolen property.
The sapphire earrings.
Grant looked increasingly disturbed.
“Why haven't you reported her?”
“I was released yesterday.”
That hit him.
“You've been out twenty-four hours?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the guest hallway where Mason slept.
“And you spent your first night nearly freezing outside my gate.”
Mariana said nothing.
He looked sick.
Victoria interrupted.
“This emotional performance doesn't change what she did.”
Grant rounded on her.
“You've lied to me for five years.”
“I protected you.”
“From my son?”
“From a convicted felon attaching herself to this family.”
Mariana's fists tightened.
Grant spoke before she could.
“Get out.”
Victoria blinked.
“This is my home.”
“No. It's mine.”
“Grant.”
“Go to the west house. I don't want you near Mariana or Mason until I understand what you did.”
Natalie whispered:
“Mom, just tell us.”
Victoria's composure cracked.
“I prevented a catastrophe.”
Grant's laugh contained no humor.
“A four-year-old boy is a catastrophe?”
“No.”
Victoria stood.
“His mother finding out what your father discovered was.”
Silence.
Mariana's pulse jumped.
“What did Charles Wexler discover?”
Victoria looked at her.
“You.”
Grant moved between them.
“Enough riddles.”
Victoria took her coat.
Before leaving, she looked at Mariana.
“You should have taken the plea deal they first offered.”
Mariana stared.
“I did take a plea.”
Victoria's face changed.
She had misspoken.
Grant noticed.
“What first deal?”
Mariana frowned.
The first offer from prosecutors had been eighteen months if she pleaded guilty and signed a confidentiality agreement regarding internal Wexler financial systems.
Her public defender advised against it because the agreement was unusually broad.
A week later, after Mariana refused, new evidence appeared on her laptop.
The sentencing exposure exploded.
She eventually accepted a longer plea to avoid risking twelve years.
Grant whispered:
“Someone wanted you silent.”
Mariana felt cold.
Natalie asked:
“About what?”
Mariana thought back five years.
Before the gala.
Before Grant.
Before prison.
One week before her arrest, she had found a discrepancy inside the foundation's vendor database.
A medical supply company was being paid millions.
But the listed warehouse did not exist.
She reported it to her manager.
The next day, the issue disappeared.
Two days later, someone entered her office and removed the printed records from her desk.
Then came the gala.
Then Grant.
Then arrest.
“I found a fake vendor.”
Grant stared.
“What name?”
Mariana closed her eyes.
She had not spoken it in years.
“Silver Meridian Health.”
Natalie dropped her phone.
Grant's face changed.
“What?”
Mariana looked between them.
“You know it?”
Grant whispered:
“Silver Meridian owned the aircraft maintenance company that serviced my father's plane.”
The room went silent.
Five years ago, Mariana had discovered money disappearing through a fake medical supplier.
The same shell corporation was connected to the plane on which Charles Wexler died.
Her conviction happened days later.
Grant walked toward a cabinet and removed an old case file.
Inside were photographs from the aircraft investigation.
Maintenance invoices.
Toxicology reports.
One laboratory page had been marked confidential.
Charles had an unusual compound in his blood.
Not enough to prove poisoning.
But enough for investigators to request additional testing.
That request was withdrawn.
By Victoria Wexler.
Grant stared at his mother's signature.
“My mother stopped the investigation.”
Natalie whispered:
“Why?”
Grant turned toward Mariana.
“Because Dad was investigating Silver Meridian too.”
“How do you know?”
“He sent me an email the week he died.”
Grant opened an archived message.
When I get back, we need to talk about the foundation. Someone has been stealing from it for years. Do not trust the internal audit.
Mariana stared.
“Who ran the internal audit?”
Grant's expression hardened.
“My uncle.”
“Your mother's brother?”
“Yes.”
Malcolm Pierce.
Chairman of the Wexler Foundation finance committee.
One of the most respected men in Dallas philanthropy.
Grant dialed his phone.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Natalie checked his location through the family security system.
“His phone is at his house.”
Grant called security.
Minutes later, the report came back.
Malcolm was gone.
The home office had been emptied.
And inside his fireplace, guards found half-burned documents.
One fragment contained a familiar name.
MARIANA VANCE — ACCESS CREDENTIAL TRANSFER.
Grant stared.
Mariana felt her knees weaken.
She had spent nearly five years believing prison was the consequence of trusting Paige.
Now she understood Paige might never have been the architect.
Someone in Grant's family had selected her before she was ever arrested.
Grant looked at her.
“We're reopening your case.”
Mariana shook her head.
“You can't just reopen a conviction.”
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“But I can find out who built it.”
Then his phone rang.
His head of security spoke rapidly.
Grant's expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at Mariana.
“Paige's salon is on fire.”
Mariana stopped breathing.
“And Paige?”
Grant lowered the phone.
May you like
“Missing.”
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