Chapter 12 - THE LAST TRAITOR AT MY TABLE
I left Grace's hospital room only after she fell asleep.
Eleanor remained beside her.
My family.
The family I had nearly destroyed before someone else tried to finish the job.
The FBI reviewed Hayes International's board.
Eleven directors.
Only three had served during my father's lifetime.
Jonathan.
Arthur.
And Margaret Shaw.
Margaret had been my father's general counsel.
Seventy-one now.
Elegant.
Respected.
My godmother.
She arrived at headquarters the following morning without an attorney.
That told me she was either innocent or very confident.
I showed her Arthur's statement.
She read it.
Then folded the paper.
“Arthur always was weak.”
“Did you kill my father?”
“No.”
“Did you know who did?”
“Yes.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Who?”
“Your father.”
I stared.
“What?”
“He took his own life.”
“No.”
“He had terminal pancreatic cancer.”
“That isn't true.”
“It is.”
She slid an old medical report across the table.
Stage IV.
My father had hidden the diagnosis.
“He planned to confess what happened to William Mercer,” Margaret said. “He planned to return Grace's family's shares.”
“Then why didn't he?”
“Because Arthur told him the confession would destroy you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“So everyone protected me by lying.”
Margaret's expression softened.
“Your father was ashamed.”
“What happened?”
“He took medication intended for end-of-life pain. Too much.”
“So Arthur lied.”
“About many things.”
“Why claim murder?”
“Because confusion protects him.”
The FBI verified Margaret's account.
My father had not been murdered.
But his crimes remained.
I spent three days deciding what to do.
Then I went to Grace.
She was sitting beside Eleanor's bassinet.
“I know about Charles,” she said.
“Marcus told you?”
“Yes.”
“I am going public.”
Grace looked at me.
“With everything?”
“Yes.”
“Your father's crimes?”
“Yes.”
“Mine?”
“Your family's ownership. Arthur's theft. My affair. Everything relevant.”
“You'll destroy Hayes International's reputation.”
“Maybe.”
“And billions in value.”
“Probably.”
She studied me.
A year earlier, that possibility would have terrified me.
Now the number felt small.
“What changed?” she asked.
“You.”
Grace's face hardened.
“No. Don't put that on me.”
I nodded.
“Fair.”
I corrected myself.
“Losing you showed me what I'd become. But changing is my responsibility.”
Something in her expression softened.
Barely.
The press conference lasted ninety minutes.
I admitted that my father's company had been built partly on stolen ownership.
I announced restitution to the Mercer estate.
I placed forty-nine percent of my controlling family shares into a trust for Grace and Eleanor.
Not as a gift.
As restoration.
Grace didn't attend.
Good.
The story wasn't hers to perform.
Vanessa pleaded guilty to conspiracy and evidence tampering in exchange for cooperation.
Lauren did the same.
Arthur faced decades in federal prison.
Jonathan retained his position only after an independent audit cleared him of the poisoning scheme.
Then my attorneys brought me a document.
Grace had filed for divorce.
I stared at her signature.
I had known it was coming.
Still, it hurt.
The next morning, I signed.
No fight.
No negotiation.
No request for another chance.
I gave her freedom.
Three weeks later, Grace sent me a photograph.
Eleanor sleeping against her shoulder.
Beneath it:
Thank you for signing without making me beg.
I smiled through tears.
Then another message appeared.
I haven't forgiven you.
I typed:
I know.
May you like
Her next message changed everything.
But I don't hate you anymore.
