Chapter 4 - THE NIGHT MY MOTHER LIED
We found a machine capable of playing the mini-DV tape at Maya’s apartment.
It took almost two hours.
Two hours during which my mother barely spoke.
Ryan sat at Maya’s kitchen table with his hands clasped together.
I stood at the window.
Every few minutes, another news van drove toward campus.
The graduation video had become national news.
My phone contained more than four hundred unread messages.
I turned it off.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t care what strangers thought about me.
I cared about one thing.
What happened on May 20, 2004.
Maya finally connected an old camcorder she borrowed from the university media lab.
“You ready?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Me neither.”
She pressed play.
The first minute showed darkness.
Then a dashboard.
The camera had apparently been placed near the center console.
Natalie’s voice came from the driver’s seat.
“This is Natalie Mercer.”
Mom closed her eyes.
“I am recording this because Victor contacted me at 8:13 tonight.”
The camera shifted slightly.
“He says he wants to negotiate.”
A second voice spoke.
My mother.
“You shouldn’t go.”
My stomach tightened.
Natalie answered.
“If I don’t, they’ll know I copied the ledger.”
“Then go to the police.”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Detective Warren told Thomas within an hour.”
Ryan whispered, “Jesus.”
Natalie continued.
“Somebody is protecting them.”
Mom on the tape sounded terrified.
“What about Emily?”
“She stays with you.”
“No.”
“Laura.”
“No.”
“Listen to me.”
I heard my mother crying twenty-two years ago.
“If I don’t come back tonight, you take her.”
“You’re coming back.”
“If I don’t.”
“You are.”
“Laura.”
Silence.
Then Natalie said,
“Promise me Thomas never gets control of her trust.”
My eyes went to Mom.
She covered her mouth.
On the tape, she whispered,
“I promise.”
I felt something inside me crack.
Natalie continued.
“And if anything happens to me, you find Samuel.”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
The video jumped.
The car was moving now.
Headlights cut through darkness.
Rain struck the windshield.
Mom said, “That SUV has been behind us for ten minutes.”
Natalie looked in the mirror.
“Seat belt.”
“What?”
“Put your seat belt on.”
“Natalie.”
“Now.”
The image shook.
An engine roared behind them.
Mom screamed.
The camera slid sideways.
A set of headlights appeared through the rear window.
The SUV struck them.
Maya paused the tape.
Ryan stood.
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“No.”
My voice didn’t sound like mine.
Maya resumed.
The camera bounced violently.
Natalie fought the steering wheel.
Another impact.
Then the car spun.
Metal screamed.
The image went black.
For several seconds, the only sound was rain.
Then coughing.
Mom’s voice.
“Natalie?”
No answer.
“Natalie.”
The camera shifted.
A door opened.
Mom groaned.
I could hear her moving.
Then a man’s voice came from outside.
“Check the driver.”
Mom froze beside me.
On the tape, twenty-two-year-old Laura whispered,
“Oh God.”
Another man answered.
“Passenger’s moving.”
I leaned closer to the screen.
The first voice.
I knew it.
My father.
Thomas Bennett.
Ryan knew it too.
He stared at me.
Dad had been there.
Another voice followed.
Older.
Calmer.
Victor Hale.
“Then finish this.”
My mother screamed.
The tape exploded into motion.
Running footsteps.
A car door.
Natalie made a sound.
Weak.
Barely audible.
“Laura.”
Mom on the tape sobbed.
“I’m here.”
“Emily.”
“I know.”
“Take her.”
“I will.”
“Don’t let…”
Natalie coughed.
“Don’t let Thomas…”
The tape cut.
Maya stared at the screen.
“That’s it.”
I turned to Mom.
“You said the police found her the next morning.”
“They did.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“You heard Dad.”
“Yes.”
“You heard Hale.”
“Yes.”
“And you lied for twenty-two years.”
She began crying.
I felt nothing.
That frightened me.
“Why?”
“Because Thomas found me.”
“When?”
“An hour later.”
“How?”
“I walked to a gas station.”
“And you called him?”
“No.”
She shook her head desperately.
“I called 911.”
“What happened?”
“The dispatcher sent an ambulance.”
“Then?”
“Thomas arrived before they did.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I don’t know.”
“He was at the crash.”
“I know.”
“He tried to kill you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you marry him?”
Ryan stared at her.
That was the question none of us could understand.
Mom’s voice became small.
“I was already engaged to him.”
“So?”
“He told me Victor had done it.”
“What?”
“He said Victor had ordered the crash.”
“He was there.”
“He said he went because he was trying to stop him.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And you believed him?”
“I was twenty-four.”
“You keep saying that like twenty-four means you were incapable of knowing murder was wrong.”
She flinched.
“You’re right.”
Silence.
“He told me Victor had police officers in his pocket.”
“Maybe he did.”
“He told me if I accused them, they would take you.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t your legal guardian.”
I stared at her.
“He said Natalie had stolen from the university.”
“So you married him.”
“Not immediately.”
“How long?”
“Seven months.”
Ryan stood.
“You married the man whose voice was on the tape at the crash?”
Mom looked at him.
“I hated myself every day.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
She wiped her face.
“It isn’t.”
I turned away.
Maya stopped the camera.
“We need police.”
Mom panicked.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“No?”
“The tape.”
“What about it?”
“If Hale knows it exists…”
“He already tried to kill Natalie.”
“And Thomas knows you have the box.”
“So?”
Mom stood.
“He will call Hale.”
I looked at her.
“Dad hates Hale.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“That is what Thomas wants people to believe.”
My stomach tightened.
“What are you saying?”
“They never stopped working together.”
Ryan whispered, “What?”
Mom walked to the table.
“The university foundation.”
She pointed at my flash drive.
“The consulting companies.”
“The money.”
“All of it.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You signed transfers.”
Dad’s accusation returned.
Mom closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Millions.”
Ryan sank into his chair.
I asked,
“Why?”
“Thomas put accounts in my name.”
“And you let him.”
“At first I thought they were legal.”
“At first.”
Her silence answered.
“When did you know?”
“2009.”
“Seventeen years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you stayed.”
“Yes.”
“And you let him use my name too.”
Mom’s face changed.
“What?”
I opened the spreadsheet from the drive.
EB STRATEGIC CONSULTING LLC.
Transfers.
My supposed company.
Mom stared.
“I never saw that.”
“Dad said you signed papers.”
“Not under your name.”
“You expect me to believe you?”
“No.”
Her answer stopped me.
“I don’t expect you to believe anything I say.”
She looked exhausted.
“But I did not know he used your identity.”
Ryan leaned forward.
“What did you sign?”
“Foundation transfers.”
“To whom?”
“Consultants.”
“Which consultants?”
“Companies Thomas controlled.”
“And Hale?”
Mom nodded.
“I think so.”
Maya was already typing.
“Can you remember names?”
Mom listed four.
Bennett Advisory.
Lakefield Strategic.
Brighton Education Partners.
Mercer Development Services.
I stopped.
“Mercer?”
Mom looked at me.
“Yes.”
“My name.”
“Your biological family name.”
I opened the spreadsheet.
Maya searched.
Her face changed.
“There.”
A row.
MERCER DEVELOPMENT SERVICES.
Two hundred eighty thousand dollars.
Then another.
Four hundred ten thousand.
Another.
One point two million.
“What is that?”
I asked.
Maya kept scrolling.
“It looks like pass-through transfers.”
“To where?”
She opened the destination accounts.
One account holder appeared.
EMILY MERCER.
I felt the room go cold.
“That’s impossible.”
Maya clicked another.
A Social Security number appeared.
Mine.
My real one.
Not the number I knew.
The one the university had on file matched a different number.
Mom whispered,
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“Emily.”
She stared at the screen.
“Thomas changed your Social Security record.”
My pulse hammered.
“Can he do that?”
“Not legally.”
Maya opened a scanned account application.
A woman stood at a bank desk.
The image came from security footage.
Dark hair.
Twenty years younger.
Laura.
My mother.
She was holding identification.
The name on the account application read EMILY MERCER.
I turned toward her.
Mom stared at the image.
“No.”
“That’s you.”
“I know.”
“You opened an account in my name.”
“No.”
“The camera says otherwise.”
“That wasn’t your account.”
“My name is on it.”
“Emily, listen to me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because Natalie told me to.”
I stopped.
“What?”
Mom rushed to a cabinet where she had left her purse.
She pulled out an old wallet.
From a hidden pocket, she removed a folded document.
“I have kept this for twenty-two years.”
She handed it to me.
It was a birth certificate.
NAME: Emily Rose Mercer.
MOTHER: Natalie Anne Mercer.
FATHER: Daniel James Mercer.
I stared.
My real name.
My real parents.
Mom pointed at the account image.
“That account wasn’t opened for Thomas.”
“Then why?”
“Natalie had a trust for you.”
“I know.”
“She told me if something happened to her, I needed to move the cash portion before the university foundation could freeze it.”
“You said Dad stole my inheritance.”
“He did.”
“How?”
“I opened the first account.”
She pointed at the photograph.
“That one.”
“Then Thomas found it.”
“When?”
“Three weeks later.”
“What did he do?”
“Told me he knew where you were.”
I went still.
“What does that mean?”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“He took you.”
My breath caught.
“From where?”
“My apartment.”
Ryan stared at her.
“Dad kidnapped Emily?”
Mom shook her head.
“Not legally.”
“That sentence makes no sense.”
“He was my fiancé.”
She looked at me.
“He convinced police you belonged with us.”
“You said he changed my name.”
“Yes.”
“He forged an adoption?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought it was to protect you.”
“From Hale?”
“That’s what he said.”
“But really?”
Mom looked at the account screen.
“I think he wanted the trust.”
Silence.
Millions.
My identity.
My life.
My father’s affection.
Suddenly every memory felt contaminated.
Had he loved me?
Had he raised me?
Or had I been an asset?
Maya whispered,
“There’s another problem.”
I looked at her.
She had searched the account number.
“What?”
“This account is still active.”
Mom stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“There was a transfer four days ago.”
“How much?”
“Eight hundred thousand dollars.”
My heart pounded.
“Where did it go?”
Maya clicked.
The receiving account belonged to EB STRATEGIC CONSULTING.
My fake company.
Then another field appeared.
AUTHORIZED USER.
Emily Bennett.
I laughed once.
“No.”
Maya’s face was grim.
“This is what they were building.”
“What?”
“A financial trail.”
Mom understood first.
“They weren’t only framing you for plagiarism.”
Maya nodded.
“They were setting Emily up to take the fall for the missing foundation money.”
My phone rang.
Chief Lawson.
I answered.
“Emily, where are you?”
“At Maya’s.”
“You need to come back to campus.”
“Why?”
“Professor Reeves has disappeared.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“He left his office.”
“So?”
“His car is still here.”
I looked at Maya.
Chief Lawson continued.
“And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“We searched his desk.”
He paused.
“We found copies of the foundation transfers.”
“To my fake company.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Emily…”
His voice lowered.
“Every document is signed with your name.”
My pulse stopped.
Then someone knocked on Maya’s door.
Three hard knocks.
We all froze.
Maya whispered,
“Police?”
Chief Lawson heard it.
“Emily, do not open that door.”
The knocking came again.
A man’s voice.
“Emily Bennett?”
I looked through the peephole.
Two people stood outside.
Dark suits.
Badges.
My phone was still against my ear.
Chief Lawson said,
“Who is it?”
I read the lettering on the badge.
Then my stomach dropped.
“Federal agents.”
The man knocked once more.
“Ms. Bennett, we need to speak with you regarding the theft of eight-point-seven million dollars from the Westbridge University Foundation.”
Mom covered her mouth.
Ryan stood.
Maya whispered, “Oh, hell.”
The agent continued.
“And regarding the disappearance of Professor Malcolm Reeves.”
Then he said the sentence my father had apparently spent months preparing the world to hear.
“Ms. Bennett, we have a warrant to seize your electronic devices.”
I looked down at the black flash drive.
And suddenly I understood why Dad had wanted everyone at graduation to believe I was a criminal before anyone saw the evidence.
Because now, if I handed over that drive, I might never see it again.
May you like
And if I refused…
I would look exactly like the guilty woman he had created.
