My father kept the phone in his hand as we stood outside the hospital. The message remained on the screen, its final sentence refusing to make sense.
Ask who told Patricia where Rebecca was.
Rebecca stared at it.
“I never told her.”
“I believe you,” my father said.
The police officer beside us frowned.
“Who knew you were coming here?”
Rebecca thought for a moment.
“The woman who contacted me.”
“Sofia,” I said.
Rebecca nodded.
“She knew.”
My mother shook her head.
“She wouldn't.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“Then who else?”
Nobody answered.
The hospital doors opened behind us, and a nurse hurried toward the emergency entrance. My father immediately stepped between me and the street.
“Inside.”
I followed him.
The attorney walked beside Rebecca.
My mother stayed close to me.
Once we were back in the conference room, the police examined the messages more carefully. The photograph of Patricia in the police car had been taken from a distance, probably from the opposite side of the street.
The officer enlarged it.
“There.”
He pointed at a reflection in the window of a parked vehicle.
A person was standing across the street.
The image was too blurry to identify the face.
But there was something distinctive about the person's coat.
Rebecca stared at the screen.
“I've seen that.”
“Where?” my father asked.
“At my house.”
She described a dark green coat belonging to a man who had visited her father several times before his death.
“Who?”
“I don't know his name.”
The attorney looked at her.
“Did your father know him?”
“Yes.”
“Did Patricia?”
“I don't know.”
My mother suddenly spoke.
“I do.”
Everyone turned.
She looked frightened.
“The man is Daniel Mercer.”
My father frowned.
“Who is Daniel Mercer?”
“He worked for my mother.”
“For how long?”
“Since before Elena died.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“What did he do?”
“Legal work. Property transfers. Trust documents.”
The attorney's expression sharpened.
“Then he may know exactly how the inheritance was structured.”
My mother nodded.
“He knew everything.”
I looked at her.
“Why didn't you mention him before?”
“Because I thought he was gone.”
“Gone where?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
The officer immediately ran the name.
A few minutes later he looked up.
“Daniel Mercer is alive.”
My father asked, “Where?”
The officer hesitated.
“His current address is in the same county.”
The room went quiet.
Rebecca stood.
“Then that's where we go.”
The officer shook his head.
“No one is going anywhere without us.”
My father nodded.
I felt the baby move again.
Small.
Steady.
Real.
I put my hand over my stomach.
Rebecca noticed.
“You're okay?”
“Yes.”
She gave me a faint smile.
“I never got to do that.”
“What?”
“Feel my mother's child move.”
Her words hurt.
My mother reached across the table.
“You can be part of this baby's life.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“If you still want me.”
My mother started crying.
“I do.”
The attorney interrupted gently.
“We need to focus.”
He explained that Mercer could be connected to the old trust, the adoption, and the recent guardianship attempt. If Patricia had been acting on instructions, Mercer might know who was behind her.
The police agreed to investigate.
Before they left, the officer asked Rebecca whether she had any remaining documents.
She shook her head.
“Not with me.”
“Where are they?”
“At home.”
“Are you sure no one else has access?”
Rebecca looked uncomfortable.
“My father had a locked study.”
“Who has the key?”
“I do.”
The officer looked at my father.
“We should go there before anyone else does.”
We drove separately.
Rebecca led us to a large older house surrounded by tall trees.
The place looked untouched.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of cedar and old paper.
Rebecca unlocked the study.
The walls were lined with bookshelves.
Her father's desk stood beneath the window.
She opened the top drawer.
Nothing.
The second drawer contained bank statements.
The third was empty.
She frowned.
“He kept everything here.”
The officer examined the room.
“Maybe he had another compartment.”
Rebecca looked at the desk.
“My father never trusted ordinary locks.”
She ran her fingers underneath the desktop.
Then she found a small metal catch.
A hidden drawer opened.
Inside was a single envelope.
Rebecca removed it.
Her name was written across the front.
The attorney told her not to open it until they photographed it.
The envelope was dated eight months earlier.
Rebecca looked at me.
“That was before Patricia contacted me.”
The officer photographed the envelope.
Then Rebecca opened it.
Inside was a short letter.
Her father had written that he had discovered inconsistencies in the adoption records and believed someone had deliberately altered the family trust.
He named Daniel Mercer.
Rebecca's face went pale.
“What does it say?”
She handed the letter to the attorney.
He read it carefully.
“Mercer handled the transfer.”
My father looked at my mother.
“Then your mother trusted him.”
“She did.”
The attorney continued reading.
“There is more.”
He pointed to a line near the bottom.
If anything happens to me, ask Mercer who ordered the second arrangement.
I felt cold.
The phrase again.
Second arrangement.
It had appeared in my grandmother's records.
Now Rebecca's father had written it too.
The officer took photographs.
Then Rebecca looked toward the bookshelf.
“My father kept a diary.”
“Where?”
“He said it was somewhere nobody would think to look.”
She moved toward a row of old medical books.
After a moment, she pulled one free.
A thin black diary fell behind it.
Her hands shook as she picked it up.
The first pages contained ordinary notes.
Then the entries became more serious.
The officer read over her shoulder.
There was an entry from the month before Elena gave birth.
Mercer says the family has agreed to the arrangement.
Another entry followed.
The child will go to the Rivas family. Elena must never know.
Then, years later:
Patricia is now asking about another child.
Rebecca looked at me.
My heart began pounding.
The next entry was dated eighteen months ago.
Mercer says the trust may become active again if Rebecca has no child.
Then another.
They believe Valerie's future child could trigger the clause.
I closed my eyes.
Everything connected.
Patricia had not invented the plan.
Mercer had not invented it either.
They were following an old arrangement.
But one question remained.
Who had started it?
The final diary entry answered part of it.
Mercer received instructions from someone inside the Bennett family.
The name was missing.
The page had been torn out.
My father cursed quietly.
“Someone removed it.”
Rebecca turned the diary over.
A loose piece of paper slipped from the back cover.
It was folded twice.
She opened it.
There were only four words.
Your grandmother knew everything.
Underneath was an initial.
M.
My mother stared at it.
“I don't know what that means.”
I looked at her.
“Mom.”
She shook her head.
“I swear.”
The police officer took the note.
Then his phone rang.
He listened for several seconds.
“Mercer's house is empty.”
My father looked at him.
“When did he leave?”
“An hour ago.”
Rebecca's face tightened.
“He knew.”
The officer nodded.
“Someone warned him.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
This time there was no photograph.
Only a message.
You're looking in the right place.
Then another.
But you're asking the wrong person.
I showed my father.
A third message arrived.
The person who ordered the first arrangement is still alive.
I looked at my mother.
She had gone completely pale.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: My Mother Finally Named the Person She Feared, and Her Confession Changed What We Believed About Elena’s Last Night
The Morning My Family Turned Against Me Was the Morning I Realized Someone Had Already Decided What Would Happen to My Baby
Part 9 of 20
