Chapter 8 - THE PETITION
Camille’s petition was eighty-seven pages long.
She had been preparing it for months.
Travel schedules.
Photographs.
Statements.
Expense reports.
Articles about my company.
Old photographs of me overseas.
One image showed me standing beside armed security personnel during a negotiation in Jordan.
Another showed me walking from a courthouse after testifying in a kidnapping case seven years earlier.
Normal parts of my work had been transformed into evidence that my life was dangerous.
Then came the photographs of Noelle.
Bruised knee.
Scratched elbow.
Messy bedroom.
Tears after losing a soccer game.
Sleeping on a couch while I answered emails nearby.
Every ordinary childhood moment became suspicious when placed beneath a dishonest caption.
CHILD LEFT EXHAUSTED WHILE FATHER WORKS.
UNEXPLAINED INJURY.
LACK OF STRUCTURE.
EMOTIONAL DISTRESS.
I wanted to tear every page in half.
Evelyn made me read all of them.
“You need to understand the story she’s telling.”
“It’s fiction.”
“Courts still have to examine fiction when it arrives in eighty-seven organized pages.”
Celeste sat across the room.
Her name appeared twelve times.
My sister went pale when we reached her signed statement.
“He changed the wording.”
“What?”
She pointed.
“I never said this.”
Evelyn read aloud.
“Mr. Mercer became physically intimidating and appeared close to losing control.”
Celeste shook her head.
“I said you looked angry.”
“Did you initial this paragraph?”
“No.”
There were initials beside it.
C.M.
Celeste’s mouth opened.
“Those aren’t mine.”
Evelyn photographed the page.
“Good.”
“What?”
“That’s useful.”
“How is somebody forging my initials useful?”
“Because people who manipulate evidence usually do it more than once.”
The hearing was scheduled in forty-eight hours.
Temporary protective custody.
Forty-eight hours.
Camille wanted Noelle removed from my home before the investigation could establish the truth.
We spent that evening building our response.
Dr. Bennett documented the wedding injuries.
Rebecca Sloan agreed to provide an interim CPS assessment.
Owen provided the complete video.
Aaron provided photographs.
Lydia prepared a sworn affidavit.
Celeste prepared another.
Then Thomas arrived.
My new brother-in-law looked uncomfortable.
“I need to tell you something.”
Celeste stared at him.
“What?”
Thomas looked at her.
“Your mother offered me money.”
The room became silent.
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Celeste’s face emptied.
“For what?”
“To delay the wedding.”
“What?”
Thomas sat.
“She said you were emotionally unstable.”
Celeste’s eyes widened.
“She said marriage would make things worse.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I told her no.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“I thought telling you would ruin everything.”
Celeste laughed bitterly.
“Apparently not telling me worked beautifully.”
I interrupted.
“How much?”
Thomas looked at me.
“What?”
“How much did Camille offer?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars.”
Even Evelyn stopped writing.
“For postponing a wedding?”
Thomas nodded.
“She wanted six months.”
“Why six?”
“I don’t know.”
Celeste stood.
“You married me knowing my mother tried to buy you off?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“I wanted one day that wasn’t about Camille.”
Celeste’s laugh turned into a sob.
“There has never been one day that wasn’t about Camille.”
She walked out.
Thomas followed.
I looked at Evelyn.
“Six months.”
She nodded.
“That means something.”
Marcus entered carrying another folder.
“It does.”
He placed it on the table.
“I had finance review the family trust.”
My father had created the Mercer Family Trust before he died.
It held several properties and a substantial investment portfolio.
Camille controlled distributions while Celeste and I remained beneficiaries.
I had never cared much about it.
My own company had made me wealthier than the trust ever could.
Celeste had depended on it more.
Marcus opened a document.
“There’s a provision triggered when both surviving children are married.”
I frowned.
“What provision?”
“Camille loses unilateral trustee control.”
Evelyn took the document.
Her eyes moved quickly.
“Thomas marrying Celeste means successor co-trustees can demand an accounting.”
“Who are the successor trustees?”
Marcus looked at me.
“You.”
“And Celeste.”
The room went silent.
Now we knew why Camille wanted the wedding delayed.
Money.
Control.
Maybe both.
“How much is in the trust?”
Marcus slid another sheet toward me.
“According to the latest statement?”
“Yes.”
“Eleven million.”
“That sounds right.”
Marcus did not move.
“What?”
“That’s the problem.”
He placed a second statement beside it.
“This is what should be there based on the last audited balance and normal market performance.”
I read the number.
Twenty-eight million.
I stared at him.
“Where are the other seventeen?”
May you like
Marcus’s expression answered before he spoke.
“We don’t know.”
