Chapter 7 - THE MOTHER WILLA THOUGHT SHE BURIED
Willa stopped breathing when she saw her mother's name.
Marianne Mercer.
Status: deceased.
Actual disposition: relocated.
Willa stared.
"No."
Lorraine covered her mouth.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Willa stepped backward.
"My mother died fourteen years ago."
The sentence sounded exactly like mine had days earlier.
I watched the same disbelief move across her face.
The same anger.
The same terrible hope.
"Did you see her body?" I asked gently.
Willa looked at me.
Then shook her head.
"The hospital said complications from pneumonia."
Lorraine began crying.
"Marianne was trying to expose Victor."
Willa turned.
"You knew?"
"I knew she was frightened."
"Did you know she was alive?"
Lorraine shook her head.
"No."
Willa covered her face.
For weeks, she'd been protecting my mother.
Now the conspiracy might have stolen hers too.
I stepped toward her.
Then stopped.
I didn't touch her.
Didn't tell her everything would be okay.
Because I finally understood how useless those words could be.
Instead, I asked:
"What do you want to do?"
Willa lowered her hands.
Her eyes were wet.
"Find her."
I nodded.
"Then we find her."
The names in the archive were compared against facility records.
Several had been placed under aliases.
Some were alive.
Others were genuinely deceased.
And one patient at a small Connecticut care home matched Marianne's age and medical history.
The home was only twenty-eight miles from my estate.
Willa laughed when she heard.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes pain became too large for any other reaction.
"Twenty-eight miles."
Her voice broke.
"I've been living twenty-eight miles from my mother."
I thought about Lorraine.
Thirty-one years.
Sycamore Lane less than an hour from my front door.
Victor hadn't needed to hide people far away.
He'd only needed to convince us not to look.
The reunion happened two days later.
Marianne sat in a sunroom beneath a knitted blanket.
Willa entered first.
"Mom?"
The woman looked up.
Her face changed.
"Willa?"
Willa collapsed into her arms.
I turned away.
Not because I was uncomfortable with tears.
Because the scene felt private.
Sacred.
Lorraine stood beside me.
She whispered:
"Marianne saved my life."
I looked toward her.
"How?"
"She altered my transfer papers."
My chest tightened.
"She got you out."
Lorraine nodded.
"Eventually."
Then Marianne looked toward me.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Declan Whitmore."
I approached.
"Yes, ma'am."
She stared for several seconds.
Then said:
"You look like your mother."
Lorraine began crying.
I swallowed.
"Thank you."
Marianne reached for Willa's hand.
Then looked back at me.
"Victor will come for the ledger."
My expression hardened.
"He doesn't know we found it."
Marianne gave a tired smile.
"He always knows."
The room went silent.
Then she whispered:
"Because someone inside your house still reports to him."
Willa looked toward me.
I immediately thought of security.
Staff.
Drivers.
Accountants.
Dozens of people.
Marianne closed her eyes.
Then said:
"The person you're looking for isn't one of your guards."
My stomach tightened.
"Who is it?"
May you like
Her next words chilled me.
"It's the man who has managed your money since your father disappeared."
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