Reading those words hurt more than hearing the word divorce across the dinner table.
But attached to Grant’s filing was a financial disclosure containing something his family had never expected me to examine closely.
A trust.
The Edward Mercer Family Trust.
Its initial value when Edward Mercer died:
$3.4 million.
Its current reported value:
$2.1 million.
Diane Mercer was the trustee.
I immediately called Naomi.
“There’s more than a million dollars missing.”
“Not necessarily. Investments fluctuate. Distributions happen.”
“To whom?”
“That,” she replied, “is exactly what we’re going to find out.”
Grant arrived at the apartment two nights later.
He looked exhausted.
“Why are you investigating my father’s trust?”
I folded my arms.
“Why didn’t you tell me it existed?”
“It wasn’t relevant to our marriage.”
“Your mother was depositing my money into it.”
He stopped moving.
That got his attention.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“That makes no sense.”
“For once, I agree.”
Grant walked toward the window.
I studied him.
For the first time since the dinner, his confusion seemed authentic.
“You really didn’t know?”
He looked out at the city.
“My father set that trust up before he died. Mom manages it. I can’t access the principal yet.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“Conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“I don’t remember all the legal language.”
“Try.”
Grant turned back toward me.
“The main distribution happens after I have a child.”
Every hair on my arms stood up.
Without thinking, I placed a hand over my stomach.
Grant noticed.
“So your mother controls millions until you become a father.”
“Basically.”
“And three days after I announce I’m pregnant, your sister is screaming because I stopped sending money.”
The color disappeared from Grant’s face.
