Chapter 1 - THE CALL BEHIND THE FOUNTAIN
“And?” Grant's business partner asked.
Evelyn stood motionless outside the library terrace, one hand resting against the cold stone wall.
Through the half-open French doors, she could see her husband holding a glass of bourbon.
Grant Mercer laughed.
“She found the credit accounts.”
His partner, Richard Sloane, lowered his voice.
“And?”
“And she thinks someone stole her identity.”
Richard didn't laugh.
“That's a problem.”
Grant took a drink.
“Only if she starts asking questions.”
Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face.
Three weeks earlier, she'd discovered four credit accounts opened in her name.
Two personal lines of credit.
A business loan.
And a commercial account connected to a company she'd never heard of.
Mercer Coastal Design LLC.
The total debt exceeded six hundred thousand dollars.
She'd confronted Grant.
He'd told her it was a clerical error.
He'd promised to fix everything.
Then he'd kissed her forehead and asked why she was always so anxious.
Now she heard Richard ask, “What if she goes to the police?”
Grant smiled.
“She won't.”
“You sound certain.”
“I know my wife.”
Evelyn pressed her hand against her mouth.
Grant continued.
“She doesn't have her own money. Her car is in my name. She hasn't worked full-time in two years.”
Richard said nothing.
“And if she tries to leave,” Grant added, “I'll make sure every bank in Massachusetts thinks she's a fraud.”
Evelyn's knees weakened.
Richard looked uncomfortable.
“Grant, that's dangerous.”
Grant shrugged.
“She signed the documents.”
Evelyn nearly gasped.
She hadn't.
She'd never signed anything.
Grant continued.
“Or at least the signatures look close enough.”
Richard stared.
Then Grant said something that turned Evelyn's fear into certainty.
“After tonight, I'm taking her home. No more conversations about lawyers. No more questions about accounts.”
Evelyn stepped backward.
Her heel caught the edge of a planter.
She stumbled.
A small ceramic pot fell.
It shattered against the stone.
Inside the library, Grant stopped speaking.
“Who's there?”
Evelyn ran.
---
Now Grant stood ten feet from her beside the fountain.
“Give me your phone.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
He stepped closer.
“Evelyn.”
She backed away.
“Please don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Don't touch me.”
Grant glanced toward the ballroom windows.
Then smiled.
The public smile.
The one that made people trust him.
“Sweetheart, you're upset.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I heard you.”
His smile disappeared.
“What?”
“In the library.”
Silence.
Grant stared.
Then his jaw tightened.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
He took another step.
“Give me the phone.”
Evelyn backed toward the fountain.
“Stay away.”
Grant reached for her wrist.
She pulled back.
His fingers closed around her arm.
Hard.
“Stop embarrassing me.”
Evelyn cried out.
Then a voice came from behind him.
“Take your hand off her.”
Grant froze.
A black sedan stood at the edge of the garden path.
Two men in dark suits waited beside it.
And between them stood Vincent Moretti.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Black overcoat.
Dark hair touched with silver at the temples.
The most feared man in Boston looked at Grant's hand.
Then at Evelyn's face.
May you like
His voice was quiet.
“I won't ask twice.”
