Chapter 2 - THE FATHER WHO NEEDED A HUSBAND FOR HIS DAUGHTER
My father didn't speak to me during the drive home.
That was how I knew he was furious.
Richard Mercer preferred controlled silences to raised voices.
When I was a child, he punished disappointing behavior by withdrawing affection until I apologized.
When I became an adult, he used the same method.
He simply added financial threats.
The car stopped outside our family mansion in Winnetka.
A sprawling limestone house with twelve bedrooms, a private tennis court, and a dining room large enough to accommodate people who disliked one another.
I had my own apartment downtown.
But after my mother died, Father insisted I spend several nights a week at the estate.
He called it family loyalty.
I called it surveillance with excellent landscaping.
He waited until we entered his study.
Then closed the door.
“What were you discussing with Lucas DeLuca?”
I placed my purse on a chair.
“Cats.”
“Grace.”
“Specifically Kevin's emotional instability.”
His palm struck the desk.
“Enough!”
I stopped smiling.
He stared.
“You embarrassed Ethan Romano tonight.”
“Ethan believes women shouldn't manage investments.”
“He's an excellent match.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
I folded my arms.
“I'm not marrying him.”
“You've rejected seven men.”
“Seven men you chose.”
“Because you refuse to take your future seriously.”
I almost laughed.
My future.
I owned a consulting company called Mercer Ridge Advisory, although my clients knew it under a separate registered business name, Meridian Hospitality Strategies.
Last year, it earned $640,000.
I employed four analysts, advised boutique hotel investors, and had completed an acquisition feasibility study worth more than the annual salary of most executives my father admired.
But he believed I spent my days decorating apartments and attending charity lunches.
I'd allowed that misunderstanding to continue.
At first, because I wanted privacy.
Later, because I'd discovered how much freedom came from being underestimated.
My father leaned forward.
“You're thirty years old, Grace.”
“I'm aware.”
“You need stability.”
“I have stability.”
“You need a husband who understands our position.”
I studied him.
“Why?”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“Why does my marriage matter so much to your business?”
He looked away.
“Don't be ridiculous.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“Father.”
“Marriage protects family interests.”
“What interests?”
He straightened.
“You wouldn't understand.”
There it was.
The sentence he'd used since I was sixteen.
When I asked about company finances.
When I wanted to study economics.
When I applied to graduate school.
When I refused the first marriage proposal.
You wouldn't understand.
I smiled.
“Then explain it.”
He stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he might.
Instead, he opened a desk drawer.
He removed a folder.
“Ethan's family has proposed a financial arrangement.”
I looked at the papers.
“A financial arrangement?”
“An investment partnership.”
“Connected to our marriage?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“Twenty-five million dollars.”
I stared.
Father continued.
“The Romano family would provide capital for the Blackwater Grand redevelopment.”
“And in exchange?”
He looked away.
“A strengthened family relationship.”
I reached for the documents.
He pulled them back.
“That's not necessary.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Father, are you borrowing against the hotel?”
“That's none of your concern.”
“Then why am I part of the financing?”
His face hardened.
“Because you're my daughter.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the answer was so grotesquely revealing.
He didn't need me to marry.
He needed someone to purchase access to our family.
And apparently I was the security deposit.
I stepped backward.
“I won't do it.”
Richard stood.
“Grace—”
“No.”
“You don't know what you're risking.”
“Then tell me.”
He stared.
For a moment, his expression crumpled.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Then he said, “Your mother's legacy.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
He looked toward the portrait above the fireplace.
My mother, Eleanor Mercer, smiled beneath a cloud of dark curls.
She'd died five years earlier.
A sudden aneurysm.
I was twenty-five.
The loss had hollowed out our family.
Or so I'd believed.
Father lowered his voice.
“If the Blackwater project fails, everything she built could disappear.”
I stared.
My mother had co-founded Mercer Hospitality.
She owned forty percent of the original holding company.
After her death, her interests passed through an estate trust.
I was the primary beneficiary.
For years, Father assured me the trust was secure.
Now he was suggesting it might not be.
“What did you do?” I whispered.
His eyes flashed.
“Watch your tone.”
“What happened to Mother's shares?”
“They're protected.”
“Then show me the statements.”
Silence.
I took a step closer.
“Show me.”
Father looked toward the door.
Then said something that made my blood turn cold.
“If you knew how much I've sacrificed to keep this family together, you wouldn't be asking questions.”
I left without answering.
That night, in my downtown apartment, I opened the encrypted records of my own company.
I pulled every publicly available filing connected to Blackwater Grand.
Mortgages.
Property transfers.
Construction financing.
Related-party transactions.
By two in the morning, I'd discovered something impossible.
The Blackwater Grand had been refinanced three times in eighteen months.
Each transaction increased its declared value.
Each new loan appeared to pay off the previous one.
But the underlying financial statements didn't support the valuations.
And one lender was a company I'd never heard of.
A Delaware entity called Bellwether Capital Holdings.
Its registered agent was ordinary.
Its ownership was obscured.
But an old document listed an authorized representative.
Victor DeLuca.
Lucas's uncle.
I stared at the screen.
Then my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
Miss Mercer, this is Lucas DeLuca. I believe your father has been using your mother's trust without your knowledge.
A second message appeared.
May you like
And I think he's running out of time.
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