Chapter 9 - THE NIGHT THE MAFIA BOSS CHOSE LOVE OVER POWER
Grant had thirty-seven minutes to decide whether to surrender his empire.
I had thirty-seven minutes to save my sister.
And I wasn't going to spend them crying.
“I'm going,” I said.
Grant turned.
“No.”
“You heard him.”
“I heard a man trying to lure you into a trap.”
“Then help me survive it.”
His expression changed.
I stepped closer.
“Grant, Rachel raised those boys through everything. She worked double shifts. She slept on the couch so they could have bedrooms. She's the only family I have left besides them.”
“You're not walking into Mercer's club alone.”
“Then come with me.”
Victor shook his head.
“Mercer has at least twenty armed men inside. The building's security system is compromised.”
Grant looked at him.
“Get the authorities involved.”
Victor hesitated.
“Sir, the ledger implicates—”
“I know what it implicates.”
Grant picked up his phone.
“Call federal investigators. Tell them we have evidence of money laundering, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder.”
Victor stared.
“That could bring down Whitmore Reserve.”
Grant's voice was steady.
“Then let it fall.”
I looked at him.
For the first time, I understood what real power could look like.
Not controlling everyone around you.
Choosing what was right when it cost you everything.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived near the Black Orchid.
Police units waited two blocks away.
Federal agents monitored the building.
Grant had agreed to cooperate.
I wore a black dress borrowed from Eleanor.
The ledger was hidden inside my handbag.
Grant stood beside me beneath the club's red neon sign.
“You don't have to do this,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he reached for my hand.
Not as a joke.
Not for an audience.
Just because he wanted to.
“Emily, about that promise I made at the party…”
I almost laughed.
“You mean the marriage proposal designed to humiliate me?”
He winced.
“Yes. That one.”
“What about it?”
“I wish I'd met you differently.”
I looked into his eyes.
“So do I.”
He brushed a loose strand of hair away from my face.
“I won't let anything happen to you.”
“You can't promise that.”
“No,” he admitted. “I can't.”
Then he said something I didn't expect.
“But I can promise I won't abandon you.”
The club doors opened.
Two armed guards stepped aside.
Inside, Charles Mercer waited beneath a chandelier.
He was older than I expected.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
A smile that never reached his eyes.
“Emily Brooks,” he said warmly. “You look so much like your mother.”
My stomach twisted.
“Where's Rachel?”
“Soon.”
Grant stepped forward.
“Let her go.”
Mercer laughed.
“You sound just like your father.”
Then he gestured toward a large screen.
A video began playing.
It showed Thomas Whitmore.
Alive.
Older.
Sitting in a room I didn't recognize.
Grant froze.
“My father died six years ago.”
Mercer smiled.
“Did he?”
On the screen, Thomas looked directly into the camera.
May you like
And spoke.
“Grant, if you're watching this, I'm sorry. I never told you the truth about who you really are.”
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