Chapter 3 - Ninety-Nine Missed Calls
Grant arrived at St. Matthew’s at 3:47 in the morning.
I knew the exact time because I watched him step off the elevator.
His white shirt was wrinkled.
His hair was disheveled.
He had changed into shoes, but he was still wearing the same trousers from the yacht photograph.
For one irrational second, I remembered the man I married.
Grant Mercer had once been charming without trying.
He could make a waiter laugh, remember a stranger’s birthday, turn a boring dinner into a story people repeated for years.
That warmth had attracted me.
I had spent most of my twenties building Mercer Capital.
Grant had made me feel like life could exist outside spreadsheets.
Now he walked toward me carrying the smell of ocean, expensive cologne, and betrayal.
“Where is she?”
“Room 412.”
He moved past me.
I stopped him.
“Wash your hands.”
He stared.
“What?”
“Before you touch her.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he obeyed.
Inside Lily’s room, Grant changed.
His shoulders collapsed.
“Baby.”
He approached the bed.
For the first time that night, his emotion looked genuine.
He touched Lily’s hair.
“Oh God.”
I watched silently.
People are complicated.
Grant could love his daughter and still fail her.
That was almost harder to accept than believing he felt nothing.
After several minutes, he turned.
“Can we talk?”
“Outside.”
We entered the family room.
The door closed.
Grant spoke first.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
There it was.
I almost admired the speed.
“Our daughter is in intensive care, and that’s your opening sentence?”
“You shut down everything while I was offshore.”
“You were on my yacht.”
“Our yacht.”
“No.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“The yacht is owned by Mercer Marine Holdings.”
He knew that.
His expression told me he had simply forgotten.
“You’re really doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You humiliated me in front of everyone.”
“Vanessa?”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
Enough.
“Who?”
“Try again.”
“Evelyn—”
“The blonde woman whose hand was on your chest.”
“It wasn’t what it looked like.”
That sentence was so predictable that I almost smiled.
“What did it look like?”
“A group weekend.”
“Paid for by whom?”
Silence.
“Grant?”
“I was going to reimburse everything.”
“From which account?”
He stared.
I continued.
“Because your consulting income last year was considerably lower than what you spent this afternoon.”
“That’s low.”
“What’s low is leaving your twelve-year-old daughter alone after telling the housekeeper you were taking her to lunch.”
His face went pale.
“Rosa told you?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the ICU.
“I thought Lily was going to Emma’s.”
“No.”
“She told me—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Do not make our unconscious daughter responsible for your lie.”
His mouth closed.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked:
“Why did Vanessa Cole Consulting receive fifty thousand dollars?”
The color disappeared from his face.
That was my answer.
“What are you talking about?”
“Grant.”
“I don’t handle corporate transfers.”
“You submitted the authorization request.”
“That was legitimate.”
“For what service?”
“Business development.”
“What business?”
He looked away.
“Several opportunities.”
“Name one.”
Silence.
I nodded.
“Daniel is reviewing everything.”
His head snapped toward me.
“Daniel Reeves?”
“Yes.”
“You called a lawyer?”
“He was here before you.”
“Evelyn, you’re blowing up our marriage over one photograph.”
“No.”
My voice remained calm.
“I’m investigating our finances because my husband lied about caring for our daughter, disappeared on my yacht with another woman, spent tens of thousands of dollars, and apparently directed corporate money to that woman’s company.”
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into an audit.”
I stared at him.
“An audit doesn’t create missing money, Grant. It only finds it.”
He had no response.
I walked toward the door.
Then he said something that stopped me.
“Lily ate something she wasn’t supposed to.”
I turned.
“How do you know?”
Grant froze.
The room became very quiet.
“What?”
“The doctors haven’t identified the trigger yet.”
“I assumed.”
“No.”
I stepped toward him.
“You said she ate something.”
“She has food allergies.”
“She has one diagnosed severe allergy.”
Grant rubbed his face.
“This is ridiculous.”
“To cashews.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me why you said she ate something.”
He looked exhausted.
“Because that’s usually how allergic reactions happen.”
Maybe.
It was plausible.
But Lily’s whisper returned.
Dad knew.
I opened the door.
“Stay with her.”
“Where are you going?”
“To find Rosa.”
Rosa arrived shortly after six.
She looked like she had been crying all night.
I hugged her.
She stiffened in surprise.
Then she hugged me back.
“Tell me what you found at the house.”
“Miss Lily was on the kitchen floor.”
“Was there food?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Rosa thought.
“A plate.”
“What was on it?”
“Cake, I think.”
My stomach tightened.
“Cake?”
“A small piece.”
“Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was there packaging?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
“A bakery box.”
“Which bakery?”
“I didn’t look.”
Grant appeared in the doorway.
Rosa saw him.
Something changed in her expression.
Fear.
“Rosa?”
She looked down.
“Tell me.”
“Mrs. Mercer…”
“What?”
“Yesterday morning, before Mr. Grant left…”
Grant interrupted.
“Rosa, you’re exhausted.”
I turned slowly.
“Let her speak.”
He folded his arms.
Rosa swallowed.
“A package arrived.”
“What package?”
“The bakery box.”
“Who accepted it?”
“I did.”
“Who was it for?”
Rosa looked at Grant.
Then at me.
“For Miss Lily.”
“Who sent it?”
“There was a card.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did it say?”
Rosa closed her eyes as if trying to remember.
“Something like, ‘For my favorite girl. Love, Dad.’”
I looked at Grant.
He stared back.
“I didn’t send cake.”
Rosa shook her head.
“I saw the card.”
“I’m telling you I didn’t.”
“Where is the box?” I asked.
“I left everything on the counter when the ambulance came.”
Grant suddenly reached for his phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Calling the house.”
“No one is there.”
“I’m calling security.”
I understood immediately.
“Don’t.”
He looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because nobody touches anything.”
“Evelyn, this is insane.”
“Maybe.”
I called Daniel.
Within an hour, someone from his office arranged for the house security footage and relevant household records to be preserved.
Grant protested.
I ignored him.
At 8:15, Lily woke.
Her eyes opened slowly.
“Mom?”
I almost collapsed.
“I’m here.”
She looked confused.
Then frightened.
“Where am I?”
“The hospital.”
She tried to move.
“Easy.”
Grant stepped forward.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
The moment Lily saw him, her entire body tensed.
The monitor changed.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Then she looked at me.
“Mom…”
“What?”
She swallowed.
“Dad told me the cake was safe.”
Grant stopped breathing.
And in that instant, the ninety-nine missed calls stopped mattering.
The affair stopped mattering.
May you like
Even the money stopped mattering.
Because my daughter had just accused her father of something far worse than cheating.
