Chapter 3 - The Man Who Fell
His name was Lucas Mercer.
Vanessa rarely spoke about him.
When she did, she used the same sentence.
“Lucas had problems.”
I had believed her.
Everyone had.
Five years earlier, Lucas fell from a terrace at his family’s lake house.
Vanessa was the only person with him.
Police found no evidence of foul play.
She said he had been drinking.
His family said he had been depressed.
The case closed.
Then Ruiz reopened it after Lucas’s sister found an old voicemail.
Vanessa never knew.
At least Ruiz hoped she didn’t.
The voicemail lasted forty seconds.
Lucas sounded frightened.
“If something happens, check the trust papers.”
Then:
“She keeps telling everyone I’m unstable.”
Then Vanessa’s voice appeared in the distance.
Lucas stopped speaking.
The recording ended.
Ruiz found the similarity to my guardianship documents interesting.
Not proof.
Interesting.
Then we found something worse.
Lucas had inherited a controlling share in his family’s investment company.
Vanessa had been named beneficiary of part of his estate four months before his death.
After he died, a legal dispute prevented her from collecting most of it.
She received less than she expected.
According to Ruiz, Vanessa became obsessed with what she believed Lucas’s family had stolen from her.
Then she attached herself even more tightly to the Howards.
The Howard estate was larger.
Older.
More complicated.
And my unborn daughter was about to change who controlled it.
Adrian’s grandfather had established a generational trust.
Adrian controlled his share during his lifetime.
But when his first biological child was born, the next generation’s branch became irrevocably protected.
Certain assets could no longer be sold or redistributed without oversight.
Including the Malibu mansion.
Including the land surrounding it.
Including shares Vanessa had quietly been trying to acquire through companies connected to her brother.
The baby did not make Vanessa richer.
She made Vanessa’s plan harder.
That was when Ruiz asked me the question.
“Has Vanessa ever tried to make you look unstable?”
I laughed.
Then stopped.
Because yes.
She had.
She told Margaret I was emotional.
She told Adrian I was paranoid.
She told family friends I was struggling after my miscarriage.
She suggested therapy.
She suggested rest.
She suggested I should not attend board meetings while pregnant.
One small comment at a time.
May you like
A story was being built around me.
And I had been too busy defending myself to ask why.
