Chapter 8 - THE PRICE OF A MOTHER’S LIFE
Grant dragged Elizabeth from the back seat.
Not violently.
He did not need to.
A man beside her carried a gun.
That was enough.
Federal agents watched from concealed positions.
I wore a transmitter.
Evelyn was nowhere near the warehouse.
My demand.
Her agreement.
For once, we aligned.
Grant looked at me across the concrete floor.
“Nephew.”
“Let her go.”
“You brought the horse?”
“No.”
His expression darkened.
“Then you misunderstood.”
“I understood enough.”
Elizabeth stared at me.
“Do not give him anything.”
Grant smiled.
“Whitaker women.”
Then he looked at me.
“Your father hated them too.”
“No.”
Grant’s smile disappeared.
“Thomas understood what Evelyn would do to you.”
“What?”
“Make you weak.”
I laughed.
“No.”
I looked at Elizabeth.
“She made me notice what weakness actually looks like.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
I pushed.
“You killed Owen.”
“No.”
“You ordered the fire.”
Silence.
“Thomas told you to leave him alone.”
“Thomas lost his nerve.”
“Did you kill Owen?”
Grant looked toward the armed man.
Then back at me.
“Owen was supposed to lose the ledger.”
Not denial.
“He stayed inside the barn.”
Elizabeth’s voice broke.
“You locked the door.”
Grant’s face shifted.
There.
The truth.
“He should have handed it over.”
My hands clenched.
Federal agents needed words.
I forced myself not to move.
“And my father?”
Grant laughed.
“Thomas spent years cleaning up after himself.”
“Did you kill him?”
That question had not existed until it left my mouth.
Grant became very still.
My father died from a heart attack at fifty-eight.
At home.
Grant was there.
“He was sick.”
“Answer.”
“He was going to change the trust.”
My blood turned cold.
“What?”
“After he learned Sadie survived.”
Evelyn had told me Thomas died without knowing.
Apparently not.
Grant continued.
“Three years ago, Thomas found one of Elizabeth’s communications.”
He discovered Sadie existed.
He planned to tell me.
Change the trust.
Remove Grant from succession.
“And then he died.”
Grant’s expression said enough.
“You killed my father.”
“He had heart disease.”
“You helped.”
Silence.
Then Grant said:
“I made sure his medication worked faster than the doctors intended.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes.
Confession.
Rebecca Sloan had it.
Agents moved.
The gunman reached for his weapon.
I tackled Grant sideways.
The gunman turned.
A federal agent shouted.
He dropped the weapon after one terrible second.
Grant fought me anyway.
He struck first.
I blocked him.
He came again.
I drove him into the warehouse table and stepped back.
Agents took him down.
No execution.
No family revenge.
Just handcuffs.
Grant stared at me from the floor.
“You think this makes you clean?”
“No.”
That answer stopped him.
“I’m next.”
His smile vanished.
May you like
And I meant it.
Because once Grant’s confession became evidence, I would turn over the financial records showing exactly what Caleb Mercer had done too.
