Chapter 4 - THE THIRTY-SEVENTH NAME
Lot 37 contained forty-two letters, eleven photographs, four property records, and a small leather notebook.
It also contained a list.
Thirty-seven names.
At first, I assumed the list identified people connected to the original Riverside Arts Program.
Then I noticed the dates.
Some were recent.
Much more recent than my grandmother's death.
I called Naomi.
"Can you come over?"
"What's happened?"
"I think I've found why the collection was divided into thirty-seven lots."
---
We met at June's preservation center.
An archivist helped us examine the materials while respecting the auction house's custody restrictions. We worked from authenticated digital copies and catalog photographs rather than removing anything from storage.
The thirty-seven names corresponded to families whose businesses once occupied buildings associated with the Mercer estate.
A bakery.
A tailor shop.
A neighborhood theater.
Two small restaurants.
A children's music school.
And thirty-one other businesses.
Each family had received a notice years earlier saying the preservation trust was being terminated and the properties would be sold for redevelopment.
Some accepted compensation.
Others refused.
Several filed objections.
Then the records stopped.
I stared at the list.
"What happened to them?"
June opened a map.
Red marks covered a section of the waterfront.
"Most of these buildings are gone."
I felt sick.
"Alexander's company?"
"Some were redeveloped by Grant subsidiaries. Others passed through unrelated owners."
Naomi leaned forward.
"We need to distinguish legal transactions from wrongful ones. The list alone doesn't establish misconduct."
"I know."
But I couldn't stop looking at the names.
There were thirty-seven of them.
And I had purchased thirty-seven lots of material connected to their history.
Perhaps the auction organizer had divided the archive deliberately.
Perhaps somebody wanted every family's record preserved separately.
Then I saw the final name.
Number thirty-seven.
MARGARET CARTER.
My mother.
I stopped breathing.
---
My mother had worked as a public school art teacher.
She raised me alone after my father died.
We lived in a cramped Brooklyn apartment above a hardware store.
She never wore expensive jewelry.
Never talked about inheritance.
And never mentioned that her name appeared among families affected by a multimillion-dollar redevelopment dispute.
I remembered one particular evening when I was sixteen.
A man in a gray suit came to our apartment.
My mother refused to let him inside.
They argued in the hallway.
After he left, she sat at the kitchen table crying.
When I asked what happened, she said it was an old family disagreement.
I had forgotten that incident.
Now I wondered whether it had been connected to Mercer House.
---
At six, Alexander appeared outside the preservation center.
He stood beside his black car wearing a navy overcoat.
June looked through the window.
"Your husband?"
"Unfortunately."
I stepped outside.
"What are you doing here?"
He studied the building.
"I called your phone."
"I was working."
"Your attorney wouldn't tell me where you were."
"Then perhaps you should stop asking her."
His jaw tightened.
"Erin, the auction has become a public problem."
I crossed my arms.
"Whose problem?"
"Grant Global's. The company is being accused of hiding historical records."
"Did it?"
He looked away.
"Some records were incomplete."
I stared.
"That's a very careful answer."
"Because I don't know everything."
For the first time, I believed he might be telling the truth.
Then he added, "I want you to come home."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
He seemed genuinely confused.
"Because it's your home."
I laughed bitterly.
"You made it clear last night that I was only welcome as long as I didn't interrupt your life."
His expression changed.
"I was angry."
"No. You were indifferent."
That stopped him.
I took a breath.
"Alexander, did you know my mother was connected to Mercer House before we married?"
He hesitated.
"Yes."
My heart seemed to stop.
"How long?"
"Before our engagement."
I stepped backward.
He reached toward me.
"Erin, listen—"
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't think it mattered."
I stared.
"My family's history didn't matter?"
He looked frustrated.
"That's not what I meant."
Then I asked the question that had been growing inside me since midnight.
"Did your family encourage you to marry me because of the Mercer trust?"
Alexander didn't answer.
And that was when I knew our marriage contained another betrayal.
One older than Sophia.
May you like
One that had been waiting for me long before I walked down the aisle.
---
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