Chapter 8 - Westbridge
Elias Mercer was alive.
Andrew found him through an old professional license.
He ran a small building-inspection company in Vermont.
Andrew called.
The man hung up as soon as he heard “Bennett.”
Renee called back from her phone.
“Mr. Mercer, my name is Mara Keene.”
Silence.
Then:
“Where did you get this number?”
“My father was Peter Keene.”
Another silence.
Longer.
Finally, Mercer said, “Don’t call me again.”
Renee spoke before he disconnected.
“Gabriel Shaw sent us.”
Mercer inhaled.
“Is Gabriel alive?”
“We think so.”
“You think?”
“He stayed in a hidden room in our house.”
Mercer laughed once, bitterly.
“Of course he did.”
Andrew leaned toward the phone.
“What happened at Westbridge?”
Mercer’s voice hardened.
“I’m not discussing it on a phone.”
“Then meet us.”
“No.”
“Julian Bennett is still moving money.”
“I know.”
That surprised Andrew.
“How?”
“Because men like Julian don’t stop when they get away with it.”
Renee said, “Please.”
Mercer stayed silent.
Then he named a diner outside Albany.
“Tomorrow. Noon. No lawyers.”
The next morning they left Sophie with Claire again.
At the diner, Mercer was already waiting.
Sixty.
Thin.
Gray beard.
He looked like a man who had spent years expecting doors to open behind him.
He stared at Renee.
“Peter’s eyes.”
Renee sat.
“You knew him?”
“No. Gabriel did.”
Mercer looked at Andrew.
“You look less like Charles than your brother does.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“It was not a compliment.”
Andrew let it go.
Mercer slid a folder across the table.
Inside were Westbridge invoices.
Julian had approved millions in inflated contractor payments routed through shell companies.
“Why wasn’t he prosecuted?”
Mercer smiled without humor.
“Because I signed a settlement.”
“Why?”
“They threatened my daughter.”
Andrew looked up.
“Who?”
“Not physically. Financially. She had just started medical school. Suddenly there were claims her admissions essays were fraudulent. A donor offered to make the problem disappear.”
“Julian?”
“I never saw him make the threat.”
“But?”
“Gabriel delivered it.”
Renee recoiled.
“Gabriel?”
Mercer nodded.
“He worked for Charles, then Julian.”
“So why is he helping us now?”
“Guilt is unpredictable.”
Mercer stirred his coffee.
“After Westbridge, Gabriel came back to me. Apologized. Gave me copies of documents. Told me if anything happened to him, I should release them.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I have a daughter.”
Renee understood.
“So Hawthorne Ridge?”
Mercer looked at her.
“Peter used that property as a meeting place with federal investigators.”
Andrew sat straighter.
“What?”
“Before he died, he met an SEC attorney there twice.”
“Why there?”
“It belonged to a family trust connected to your mother’s side.”
Renee frowned.
“My mother never mentioned it.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
Andrew asked, “Why the hidden room?”
“Peter had it built during renovations. One entrance from the hall, another from the garage. He wanted a place to store records without household staff seeing.”
Renee looked stunned.
“My father built that room?”
“Yes.”
“Then Charles took the house.”
“After Peter died.”
Andrew’s phone rang.
Julian.
He declined.
It rang again.
Mercer’s face changed.
“How does he know you’re here?”
Andrew looked through the diner window.
A black SUV sat across the street.
Engine running.
Mercer stood.
“I’m leaving.”
Renee grabbed the folder.
“Wait.”
Mercer leaned close.
“There’s something Gabriel never told you.”
“What?”
“Peter had a partner inside Bennett.”
Andrew expected Margaret.
Mercer shook his head.
“Not your mother.”
“Who?”
Mercer glanced toward the SUV.
“Charles’s younger brother.”
Andrew froze.
“My uncle Thomas died when I was twelve.”
Mercer shook his head again.
“No.”
May you like
Then he said the sentence that rearranged Andrew’s childhood.
“Thomas Bennett didn’t die.”
