Chapter 8: Gerald Mercer Makes His Offer
He called again the next morning at nine, before I had finished my coffee.
"Mrs.
Whitmore," he said.
"Thank you for taking my call."
"I almost didn't," I said.
A brief pause.
"I understand this has been a difficult time.
Losing your husband — "
"Mr.
Mercer," I said.
"I've retained a lawyer.
If you'd like to discuss the loan, you can contact Diane Marsh at — "
"I'd prefer to speak with you directly," he said.
"Before this becomes a legal matter.
I think there's a resolution here that works for everyone."
"What kind of resolution?"
"The loan was executed in good faith on our end," he said.
"We had no knowledge of any irregularity in the witness signature.
Our exposure here is limited.
But I understand you're in a difficult position, and I'm prepared to offer a settlement.
We restructure the loan.
Lower rate, extended term.
You keep the house, the payments become manageable, and everyone moves forward."
"You want me to keep paying a mortgage that was taken out without my knowledge or consent," I said.
"On a loan that was used to buy another woman a house."
"The loan was secured against a marital asset — "
"Using a forged signature."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"Mrs.
Whitmore, I want to be reasonable — "
"Mr.
Mercer, I have the original document.
I have a forensic comparison of my son's actual signature and the one on your loan agreement.
I have a lawyer who has already contacted the state financial crimes unit." That last part wasn't quite true yet.
But it would be true by the end of the day.
"If you'd like to discuss a resolution, call Diane Marsh."
I ended the call.
My hands were shaking slightly.
Not from fear.
From something that felt like it might be the opposite of fear.
I called Diane.
"He called me directly," I said.
"Of course he did," she said.
"He's trying to settle before we file.
What did he offer?"
"Restructured loan.
Lower rate."
"He's scared," she said.
"A forged witness signature on a secured loan is exactly the kind of thing that triggers a regulatory review.
He doesn't want regulators looking at Mercer Holdings." A pause.
"I'm going to make some calls today.
There may be other borrowers.
This may not be the first time."
"Do what you need to do," I said.
"I will.
And Mrs.
Whitmore — don't take any more calls from him directly.
Let everything go through me."
"Understood."
I set the phone down.
Susan was at the kitchen table with her own coffee, listening.
"He's panicking," she said.
"Yes."
"Good." She wrapped both hands around her mug.
"Mom, I need to say something.
I should have told you the moment Dad told us.
I know that.
I've known it for two years and I didn't do it and I'm sorry."
I looked at my daughter.
She had Richard's eyes, the same dark brown, and right now they were full of something that had been sitting behind them for a long time.
"You were trying to protect your father," I said.
"I was trying to protect everyone," she said.
"And I ended up protecting no one."
I sat down across from her.
"You're here now," I said.
"That's what matters."
She nodded.
Her jaw was tight.
"There's something I didn't tell Diane last night," Susan said.
"Something I found in the storage unit when I went back alone, after you and the boys left."
I went still.
"What?"
She reached into her bag and set a small notebook on the table.
Spiral-bound, the kind you buy at a drugstore.
Richard's handwriting on the cover: *Personal.*
"It was in the back of the bottom drawer," she said.
"Behind the will."
I looked at the notebook.
I didn't pick it up.
"What's in it?" I said.
"Dates," Susan said.
"And amounts.
Going back fourteen years." She paused.
"Mom, there's more money than we knew about.
A lot more.
And some of the entries — some of them have a name next to them that isn't Patrice."
The kitchen went very quiet.
"A different name?" I said.
May you like
Susan nodded.
I picked up the notebook.
