Chapter 9 - THE BILLIONAIRE BEHIND JESSICA
Arthur Vale was richer than I was.
That detail mattered less than he thought.
He arrived at my attorney’s office surrounded by lawyers and the confidence of a man accustomed to solving disasters with settlements.
I did not offer coffee.
He sat across from me.
“I’m sorry about your daughter.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you send Jessica after my husband?”
His attorneys shifted.
Arthur did not.
“I authorized research.”
“Research climbed onto my yacht in a red bikini.”
His jaw tightened.
“That was not authorized.”
“Did you know?”
“Not until recently.”
“Did Northbridge create fake emails pretending I planned to sell Mercer Capital?”
Silence.
“Did Scott?”
Arthur looked toward his counsel.
Interesting.
He didn’t know everything.
Northbridge had wanted leverage for an acquisition.
Aggressive, maybe unethical in parts.
But Arthur appeared genuinely surprised by some forged documents.
“Show me,” he said.
I did.
The fake option.
The false corporate emails.
The deepfake video.
Arthur’s face hardened.
“Those were not approved.”
“Convenient.”
“You don’t have to believe me.”
“I don’t.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Then he opened his own folder.
Northbridge had paid Scott Landry $350,000 for “strategic market consulting.”
Jessica had introduced him.
Scott promised insight into Mercer Capital.
He claimed Grant had legitimate marital claims that could create a future opportunity.
Arthur authorized research.
Not forgery.
Not theft.
At least according to him.
Then he showed me something I did not expect.
Scott had been billing both sides.
He also invoiced Grant.
And Blue Current.
And another entity.
HARBOR CREST PARTNERS.
“Who owns that?” I asked.
Arthur smiled without humor.
“That’s what I came to ask you.”
My lawyers traced it.
Owner:
Margaret Mercer.
Grant’s mother.
I stared.
Margaret had created a private investment company eighteen months earlier.
Capital contributed:
$600,000.
Where did she get that?
Grant looked equally confused when confronted.
His father had left Margaret comfortable, not wealthy.
Then the bank trail surfaced.
Three years earlier, shortly before Thomas Mercer died, $600,000 moved out of a commercial property partnership he controlled.
Into Margaret’s account.
Thomas had quietly left his wife a fund.
She used it to finance Harbor Crest.
Then Harbor Crest paid Scott.
Grant’s mother wasn’t just signing papers.
She had been funding him.
“Why?” I asked her.
Margaret sat in my living room, hands folded in her lap.
“Because Thomas asked me to.”
Even from the grave, Grant’s father remained in the room.
“Asked you to do what?”
“To make sure Grant wasn’t erased.”
“From a company he never owned?”
She flinched.
“Thomas believed your success made Grant dependent.”
“No. Grant’s insecurity made Grant feel dependent.”
Margaret started crying.
She admitted Scott told her Mercer Capital could someday become worth hundreds of millions.
He convinced Thomas before his death that Grant deserved a share.
After Thomas died, Margaret continued financing Scott’s attempts to “secure Grant’s future.”
“Did you know about Jessica?”
“No.”
“The yacht?”
“No.”
“The Miami house?”
“Yes.”
Of course.
“Did you know the loan used my forged consent?”
She looked down.
“I suspected.”
That was enough.
Then I asked:
“Did you know Lily would inherit control if I died?”
Margaret looked genuinely shocked.
“No.”
I believed her.
Then her expression changed.
“But Thomas did.”
My stomach tightened.
“How?”
“He saw your succession letter.”
Impossible.
It had been sealed.
Unless Scott gave it to him.
Margaret continued.
“Thomas said Lily was the reason Grant had to stay married to you.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
“He said if Grant remained Lily’s father and guardian, he could eventually control her trust.”
My hands clenched.
Grant stared at his mother.
“What?”
Margaret began crying harder.
“Your father wanted you protected.”
Grant stood.
“Stop calling it protection.”
The room went silent.
Then he said something I never expected.
“I want every document Dad left.”
Margaret resisted.
He insisted.
Two hours later, she brought us a locked case.
Inside were Thomas’s papers.
At the bottom was a handwritten letter addressed to Scott.
One sentence made Grant sink into a chair.
If Evelyn cannot be persuaded to give Grant equity, create enough marital pressure that she does it to keep the family together.
Thomas had never planned to destroy me.
He had planned to pressure me.
Scott simply took the strategy further.
Much further.
Then we found a final page.
A payment schedule.
The next payment to Scott—$1.5 million—was contingent on one outcome:
May you like
GRANT APPOINTED CO-TRUSTEE OF LILY’S SUCCESSION TRUST.
Suddenly I knew exactly what Scott still wanted.
