“A desktop inside your father’s private office.”
The email contained a settlement document offering Rowan exactly $180,000.
At the bottom was the name of a family attorney.
Henry Atwood.
But Henry Atwood had died several years before the document was supposedly prepared.
Someone had deliberately used the name of an attorney who could never answer any questions.
MY FATHER FINALLY TOLD ME WHAT HAPPENED
My father, Warren Mercer, arrived forty minutes later.
He looked at the settlement document once, then closed his eyes.
“You’ve seen this before.”
“Yes.”
“Did you make it?”
“No.”
“Did Mom?”
He shook his head.
“Your mother offered Rowan money. I won’t defend that. But she didn’t create this document.”
That caught me off guard.
Then he admitted something even worse.
He had known Rowan was pregnant.
I stood so quickly that the chair slid backward.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“For six years?”
He lowered his gaze.
“Yes.”
My father explained that Mercer Development had been facing serious financial trouble at the time.
The Barrett family—Sloane’s family—was preparing to make an investment large enough to stabilize the company.
My mother believed my relationship with Rowan could put those negotiations at risk.
She pressured Rowan to leave.
My father discovered what she had done, but by then the company financing had already gone through.
Rather than tell me the truth, he remained silent.
“I convinced myself Rowan had accepted the money,” he said.
“She didn’t.”
“I know.”
“And you never checked?”
He looked older than I had ever seen him.
“That is something I will carry for the rest of my life.”
Then he revealed one more detail.
During my trip to London, I had experienced a strange period of confusion after accidentally taking a medication I did not normally use.
The hotel had investigated how it had gotten into my room.
They never discovered a clear answer.
But the room connected to the incident had not originally been booked under my name.
It had been reserved by my cousin.
Declan Mercer.
