Chapter 16 - Beneath the Dance Floor
The ballroom stood on top of the original Mercer command bunker.
My grandfather designed the estate during the Cold War.
Official plans showed two underground levels.
My mother knew about a third.
She led us beneath the ballroom.
Harrison followed.
So did my father.
Marcus kept David upstairs under guard.
The hidden stairwell opened behind an antique wine cabinet.
Dust covered the steps.
“No one has been down here in years.”
Harrison sounded stunned.
Caroline glanced at him.
“That was the point.”
We descended.
At the bottom stood a circular steel door.
My father touched it.
“I thought Thomas sealed this.”
“He did.”
Caroline looked at me.
“But he gave Evelyn the combination.”
I stared at her.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Your tenth birthday.”
I remembered a strange gift.
A wooden puzzle box.
Inside were six brass numbers.
I had kept it for years.
Then lost it during college.
Dad suddenly smiled.
“You didn’t lose it.”
I turned toward him.
“You kept it?”
“It’s in your childhood room.”
Caroline shook her head.
“We don’t need the box.”
She looked at me.
“You memorized the numbers.”
I had.
Children remember meaningless things adults forget.
Four.
Nine.
One.
Seven.
Three.
Eight.
I entered them.
The door unlocked.
Inside was a small room.
No computers.
No cameras.
Only a metal desk.
A chair.
And one red leather book.
Harrison exhaled.
“My God.”
Caroline picked it up.
“This is what they were willing to destroy families for.”
I opened the cover.
Dates.
Names.
Amounts.
Projects.
Handwritten notes.
My grandfather’s signature appeared repeatedly.
Then I saw Harrison Crowe.
Several entries.
Some involved payments.
Others contained warnings.
I looked at him.
“You were part of it.”
“Yes.”
He did not deny it.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Did you know about the surveillance?”
“Yes.”
“Did you profit?”
“Yes.”
My father stared at him.
“You told me you were only moving ransom money.”
“That was later.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“You used me.”
Harrison laughed bitterly.
“Richard, everyone used everyone.”
I turned pages faster.
Then I found Caroline Mercer.
Next to her name, my grandfather had written one line.
TERMINATE ACCESS.
My mother stared at it.
“He meant my credentials.”
Harrison said nothing.
I looked at him.
“You think it meant something else.”
His silence answered.
I flipped forward.
Another entry appeared the night of the crash.
VEHICLE INTERCEPT APPROVED.
Authorized by initials.
T.M.
Thomas Mercer.
My grandfather.
My mother closed her eyes.
The proof was finally there.
Then I turned one more page.
The next entry had been written two days after the crash.
CAROLINE SECURED.
RICHARD UNAWARE.
LOCATION TRANSFERRED.
Authorized by E.C.
Eleanor Crowe.
I stared at Harrison.
“Your wife hid my mother.”
“Yes.”
Then I saw another line.
CHILD MUST REMAIN UNAWARE.
Authorized by R.M.
My father.
Richard Mercer.
I looked at him.
“You signed this.”
Dad’s face collapsed.
May you like
“Yes.”
For the first time, the person I trusted most had nowhere left to hide.
