Chapter 5 - THE SECRET MY MOTHER-IN-LAW BUILT HER LIFE ONThe box in Scott's trunk contained the history of the Mercer family.
Not the polished history Diane told at charity dinners.
The real one.
There were loan agreements carrying forged signatures.
Copies of driver's licenses.
Property records.
Bank transfers.
Trust documents.
And handwritten notes from Emily.
She had been investigating her mother for months.
Perhaps years.
The FBI established a joint task force almost immediately.
I didn't care what they called it.
I wanted to know who killed my wife.
Scott was hospitalized with a broken wrist and concussion.
Police stationed an officer outside his room.
Diane wasn't arrested.
That infuriated me.
“How much evidence do you need?” I demanded.
Brooks remained calm.
“Evidence of fraud isn't automatically evidence of murder.”
“She stole Emily's phone.”
“Yes.”
“She illegally arranged her funeral.”
“Potentially.”
“She had a suspended doctor in my house the night Emily died.”
“Yes.”
“And my six-year-old heard them fighting.”
“Yes.”
“Then arrest her.”
“And risk having charges dismissed because we moved too early?”
I hated that he was right.
“What about Scott?”
“Same issue.”
The autopsy results arrived the next afternoon.
Cause of death: blunt-force trauma complicated by respiratory depression caused by sedative exposure.
Manner of death: pending investigation.
The injuries weren't consistent with a simple tumble from the staircase.
Emily had one severe impact to the back of her head.
She also had bruising on her upper arms.
As though someone had restrained her.
I read the report once.
Then I put it down.
Some details don't help grief.
They only give nightmares sharper edges.
Brooks explained the likely sequence.
Emily had ingested or been given zolpidem.
She became impaired.
At some point, she suffered a head injury.
She lost consciousness.
But the mystery was the same.
Who did what?
The recorder helped.
So did Emily's phone.
Once investigators legally accessed it, they recovered deleted messages.
One thread was between Emily and Diane.
EMILY: I have copies.
DIANE: You have no idea what you're interfering with.
EMILY: You used my name.
DIANE: Everything I did was for this family.
EMILY: Theft isn't family.
Then:
DIANE: Your father understood sacrifice. Eventually you will too.**
That sentence bothered everyone.
Especially after the payments to Dr. Voss.
The FBI reopened questions surrounding Thomas Mercer's death.
His remains had been cremated, eliminating many possibilities.
But his old medical records still existed.
So did pharmacy records.
Emily had obtained copies.
Her notes were devastating.
Thomas had suffered from heart disease, but his final medical crisis occurred after a medication change supposedly authorized by his physician.
The signature wasn't his physician's.
It appeared to belong to Voss.
At the time, Voss had privileges at a private clinic connected to one of Diane's companies.
Maybe Thomas's death was natural.
Maybe it wasn't.
But Emily clearly suspected something.
Then investigators found an email Thomas had sent Emily ten days before he died.
Your mother has gotten the company into something dangerous. I'm fixing it. Don't sign anything she sends you.
Emily had saved it.
Diane had told everyone Thomas died peacefully, proud of his family.
The truth looked very different.
I spent Sunday with Lily.
We built a blanket fort in the living room because she didn't want to sleep upstairs.
I made pancakes for dinner.
They were terrible.
Emily always handled pancakes.
“You make them weird,” Lily informed me.
“I know.”
“Mommy makes circles.”
“Mine are circles.”
She looked at the shape on her plate.
“That's Texas.”
I laughed.
Then cried.
Lily crawled into my lap.
For a while we just sat there.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Grandma bad?”
I chose my words carefully.
“Grandma may have done some very wrong things.”
“Did she hurt Mommy?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Do you hate her?”
Six-year-olds ask questions adults spend years avoiding.
“I hate what happened.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Emily used to say Lily could cross-examine a Supreme Court justice.
“I am very angry with Grandma.”
Lily thought about that.
“Me too.”
She took another bite of pancake.
Then said, “Mommy was scared of Uncle Scott.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“That night.”
“Why?”
“He had the blue bag.”
“What blue bag?”
She shrugged.
“Mommy's medicine bag.”
Emily didn't have a medicine bag.
“Can you show me?”
We searched the house.
Nothing.
Then Lily led me to the kitchen pantry.
“Mommy kept it there.”
On the highest shelf was a small blue insulated pouch.
Empty.
I called Brooks.
Forensics collected it that evening.
Trace residue tested positive for zolpidem.
But there was more.
Inside the bag was a pharmacy receipt.
The prescription belonged to Diane.
Date filled: Wednesday morning.
Quantity: thirty tablets.
Brooks called me after midnight.
“We have movement.”
“Arrest?”
“Not yet.”
I swore.
“Listen first. Diane's prescription bottle was recovered from her house.”
“How many pills?”
“Twenty-one.”
Nine missing.
“Could nine kill Emily?”
“Depends on dosage and other factors.”
“Why was the bag in my house?”
“That's a question Diane will have to answer.”
“What does she say?”
“She says Emily borrowed sleeping medication.”
“She's lying.”
“Probably.”
“Emily hated pills.”
“We need provable facts.”
Then he told me Scott had asked to speak with prosecutors.
“About what?”
“He wants immunity.”
I almost laughed.
“For helping kill his sister?”
“We don't know what he's offering.”
“I do.”
“What?”
“He's going to blame Diane.”
Maybe I was angry.
Maybe I simply understood the Mercers by then.
Scott had spent his entire adult life doing what his mother told him.
But Scott also loved himself more than he loved anyone.
He would sacrifice Diane if it saved him.
The next morning, Scott began talking.
He admitted the financial fraud.
Not everything.
Enough.
Diane had built Mercer Property Group on a pyramid of lies.
Whenever one project failed, she borrowed against another.
When banks tightened lending standards, she forged guarantors.
Relatives.
Employees.
Dead clients.
Emily.
Me.
Thomas discovered it.
He threatened to report her.
Scott insisted he knew nothing about the circumstances of his father's death.
Then prosecutors asked about Emily.
Scott stopped talking.
His attorney requested a break.
Afterward Scott changed his story.
He said Wednesday's meeting had been Diane's idea.
Diane brought Voss.
She supposedly wanted him there because Emily was “emotionally unstable.”
That was absurd.
Emily was the calmest person I knew.
According to Scott, Diane crushed sleeping tablets into a glass of wine.
Scott claimed he objected.
Diane supposedly said Emily “just needed to calm down.”
Emily drank only a small amount before realizing something was wrong.
She became dizzy.
She accused them of drugging her.
Then she grabbed her phone.
Diane took it.
Emily tried to leave.
Scott blocked the doorway.
Then everything escalated.
“What happened to her head?” Brooks asked.
Scott refused to answer.
That was where his cooperation ended.
Prosecutors pushed.
Scott cried.
His lawyer whispered.
Finally Scott said:
“I didn't hit her.”
“Who did?”
Silence.
“Your mother?”
“No.”
“Dr. Voss?”
Scott stared at the table.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Scott whispered, “Nathan needs to know Emily wasn't the target.”
Brooks leaned forward.
“What does that mean?”
Scott shut down completely.
Brooks told me about the interview that evening.
“What does he mean I need to know?”
“I don't know.”
“Wasn't the target?”
“He may be manipulating us.”
Then my phone rang.
It was my company's security director.
“Nathan, we've got a problem.”
“What?”
“Someone accessed the Denver hotel room reserved under your name last Wednesday.”
My skin went cold.
“I was at that hotel.”
“Not your room.”
“What?”
“Your reservation originally assigned room 814. You were switched to 1022 at check-in because of a plumbing issue.”
I remembered.
“What happened in 814?”
“A hotel employee found evidence somebody entered using a cloned key.”
“When?”
“About eight thirty Wednesday night.”
The same time Diane was at my house.
The security director continued.
“And Nathan?”
“Yes?”
“They found something behind the air-conditioning unit while investigating.”
“What?”
“A small plastic vial.”
My mouth went dry.
“What's in it?”
“Police are testing it.”
I sat down.
Scott's words echoed.
Emily wasn't the target.
Then another memory surfaced.
Before leaving for Denver, Diane had unexpectedly asked for my hotel information.
She said she wanted to send a bottle of champagne because I'd recently received a promotion.
I had thought it unusually kind.
I forwarded her my reservation.
Room 814.
Except the hotel changed my room.
I stared at the wall.
Emily hadn't died because she was the original target.
She had died because she discovered the plan.
May you like
And suddenly I knew why she had been gathering evidence so urgently.
Someone had intended to silence me first.
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