Chapter 10 - The Woman Who Designed the Story
Rebecca Sloan had been hiding in plain sight.
While Richard’s sons behaved like soldiers, Rebecca had spent two decades making sure consequences remained manageable.
Settlements.
Nondisclosure agreements.
Political donations.
Quiet resignations.
Disappearing lawsuits.
She was the architecture behind Richard’s power.
And according to Clara, she was present during the attack.
“She kept saying things,” Clara whispered.
“What things?”
“No weapons. Don’t strike the head again. Stop if she loses consciousness.”
My stomach turned.
This had not been spontaneous family rage.
At least part of it had been managed.
Calculated.
Rebecca had tried to keep the violence below a threshold she believed could be explained away.
Then Clara began bleeding.
Everything changed.
“She panicked,” Clara said.
“What did she do?”
“Called Pierce.”
The surgeon.
Of course.
Rebecca arranged the medical cleanup.
Richard arranged the hospital transfer.
Mason handled Clara’s purse.
Every person had a role.
I sent Clara’s statement to my attorney.
No private pressure.
No Protocol Black.
Evidence.
Witnesses.
Process.
It felt slower.
Less satisfying.
Far more permanent.
Rebecca called me herself twenty minutes later.
“Adrian, we should talk.”
“I’m listening.”
“Richard is dangerous.”
I almost laughed.
“You noticed?”
“I can give you everything.”
“In exchange for?”
“Protection.”
“No.”
Silence.
“I can give you financial records.”
“Then give them to the appropriate investigators.”
“I can explain how he controls Pierce.”
“Pierce already confessed.”
That shook her.
“I can identify every company holding Mercer assets.”
“We already found them.”
Longer silence.
Her bargaining position was disappearing sentence by sentence.
Finally:
“I can tell you who ordered Clara’s attack.”
I stared at the wall.
“Richard.”
“No.”
My entire body went still.
“Explain.”
“Richard wanted the documents. He wanted Clara frightened. He did not order the beating.”
“Then who did?”
Rebecca exhaled.
“Victor.”
Mason was the oldest brother I had focused on.
But Victor—second oldest—had been quieter all night.
Watching.
Calculating.
Rebecca continued.
“Victor believes Richard has become weak. He has been preparing to take control of the Holloway companies for two years.”
“Why target Clara?”
“Because Evelyn’s will makes Clara controlling owner of assets Victor believed would become his.”
The attack had been about inheritance.
Power.
Succession.
Victor turned Richard’s intimidation meeting into something much worse.
And Richard, instead of exposing his son, tried to clean it up.
Father protecting son.
Again.
“Do you have proof?”
“Yes.”
“A recording?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“A message Victor sent me before Clara arrived.”
Rebecca forwarded it.
One line:
IF SHE WON’T SIGN, I’LL MAKE SURE SHE NEVER HOLDS A PEN AGAIN.
My hand tightened around the phone.
Then another message arrived.
A photograph.
Victor standing beside someone at a private club.
Dr. Pierce?
No.
Leonard Shaw?
No.
I knew the man immediately.
May you like
He was my security director.
The man who had managed Protocol Black for eleven years.
