Chapter 6 - Andrew Mercer
Andrew wasn't dead.
He wasn't missing anymore either.
He lived under the name Andrew Blake.
Fifty-seven.
Property consultant.
Married twice.
No major criminal record.
Nothing resembling the monster Nora described.
But clean public records don't settle private history.
Nora explained.
Andrew believed William Mercer stole money that belonged to him.
William had built Mercer Residential, a successful property company.
There.
The name.
Mercer Residential.
Claire's family business.
Andrew expected to inherit half.
Instead, after his teenage theft, William removed him from the company and later from his estate plan.
Andrew left.
Claire inherited control.
Years later, she discovered her father had been moving corporate money into Lily's investment structure.
Why?
Asset protection?
Tax planning?
Concealment?
Nobody knew yet.
Andrew believed the money represented his stolen inheritance.
So did Nora at first.
Her father sent her to locate Claire's records after Claire died.
She approached me.
She stayed.
Then she learned Andrew had lied about crucial things.
“What?”
“He told me Claire stole his inheritance.”
“Didn't she?”
“No.”
According to documents Nora found, William had offered Andrew a settlement years earlier.
Andrew accepted it.
Substantial.
Then lost most of it through bad investments.
His later claim that Claire robbed him was false.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I'd have to tell you who I was.”
“So you kept lying.”
“Yes.”
I appreciated the lack of excuses.
Then we obtained a photograph from a neighboring camera.
A gray-haired man in a blue jacket entered our property that morning through the service gate.
Nora identified him.
Andrew.
Her father had been inside my house.
Did he contaminate the cup?
Not proven.
But he had opportunity.
Then Eleanor revealed something else.
Andrew wasn't searching only for money.
Claire had obtained internal Mercer Residential files shortly before her death.
They allegedly documented fraudulent property transfers.
Some signed by William.
Some by Andrew.
Some by someone else.
“Who?”
Eleanor wouldn't answer by phone.
She insisted on meeting.
We met in our attorney's office.
She placed a photograph on the table.
Claire.
William.
Andrew.
And another young man.
I recognized him immediately.
My own father.
Robert Carter.
I stared.
“What was Dad doing with the Mercers?”
Eleanor answered:
“He helped finance Mercer Residential.”
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My family wasn't separate from Claire's secret.
We had been inside it from the beginning.
