Chapter 10: Nine O'Clock
Gerald arrived at eight fifty-five.
He was always early.
It was one of his methods — arriving before the agreed time, to see what state things were in, to catch whatever hadn't been prepared yet.
Sarah opened the door before he could knock.
"She's not well," Sarah said.
"She woke up with a stomach ache.
She's been in the bathroom twice already."
Gerald looked past her into the hallway.
Two bags by the door.
Everything in order.
"Children get stomach aches," he said.
"She'll be fine once we're on the road."
"Gerald, she's not well.
I don't think a two-hour drive is a good idea right now."
He stepped inside.
"Where is she?"
"In her room.
She's resting."
He walked toward Lena's door.
Sarah moved alongside him, keeping pace, talking — about Lena's temperature, about the crackers she'd managed to eat, about whether it might be the yogurt from yesterday.
She talked steadily, the way she had learned to, filling the space with words that required him to listen and respond.
Gerald pushed open Lena's door.
Lena was in bed, the covers pulled up, her red bucket on the floor beside her — placed there by Sarah twenty minutes ago, because a bucket by the bed was the most convincing detail she could think of.
Gerald looked at the bucket.
At Lena's pale face — she had been coached, briefly, with a simple instruction: *look sleepy and hold your tummy if he comes in.*
Lena was, it turned out, a very good listener.
"Tummy hurts," she said, in a small voice.
Gerald stood in the doorway for a moment.
His expression was unreadable.
"We'll give it an hour," he said finally.
"If she's not improved, we'll reassess."
He turned back toward the kitchen.
"I'll make coffee."
Sarah followed him.
She kept talking.
She asked about the country house — was the heating working, she remembered it being cold last time.
She asked about the drive — which route did he prefer.
She asked whether he wanted her to call ahead to the caretaker.
Gerald answered each question in the clipped, slightly impatient way he always did when he felt his time was being wasted.
He did not notice that Sarah's hand, at her side, was holding her phone.
He did not notice that she had already sent one message, the moment he stepped into Lena's room.
*He's inside.
Start now.*
At nine-thirteen, there was a knock at the front door.
Gerald frowned.
"Are you expecting someone?"
"No," Sarah said.
He went to the door himself.
He opened it.
Two people stood in the hallway.
A woman in a dark coat — composed, professional, a leather folder under her arm.
And behind her, a man in a blue suit.
Gerald's face went very still.
"Mr.
Harmon," Rosalind said.
"My name is Rosalind Mercer.
I'm a solicitor.
My client Daniel Mercer is the legal husband of Sarah Mercer and the biological father of the child known as Lena.
We have documentation to support both claims." She held up the folder.
"We also have documentation relating to a falsified hospital record from four years ago, which we have already shared with the relevant authorities.
A formal investigation was opened yesterday morning."
Gerald didn't move.
"Additionally," Rosalind continued, in the same even tone, "we have been informed by the financial crimes unit that a separate inquiry is underway regarding a number of transactions connected to your business holdings." She tilted her head slightly.
"You are not under arrest, Mr.
Harmon.
You are not being asked to do anything right now.
We are simply here to collect Sarah and Lena's belongings, and to inform you that they will not be traveling with you today."
Gerald looked past her at Daniel.
"You have no idea what you've done," Gerald said.
"I think I do," Daniel said.
Gerald's eyes moved to Sarah.
His voice dropped — smooth, quiet, the voice he used when he wanted to remind her of something without saying it directly.
"Sarah.
Think carefully."
Sarah looked at him for a long moment.
"I have been thinking carefully," she said.
"For four years."
She walked to the hallway.
She picked up the two bags by the door.
She lifted Lena's red bucket from where it sat beside them.
Then she went to Lena's room.
"Come on, sweetheart.
We're going."
Lena got out of bed.
She took her mother's hand.
She looked up at Gerald as they passed him in the hallway — a long, clear, steady look that had nothing childish in it at all.
Then she looked at Daniel.
She didn't say anything.
She just held out her other hand.
Daniel took it.
Gerald said nothing as they walked out.
He stood in the center of the apartment he owned, in the building he owned, surrounded by the life he had constructed, and he watched them go.
The door closed behind them.
In the hallway, Lena looked up at Daniel.
"You came back," she said.
"Yes," he said.
"I knew you would." She swung his hand once, lightly, the way children do when they are simply happy.
May you like
"Mommy said I was imagining things.
But I knew."
