Chapter 7
Police reached Lauren’s apartment before Jake made it through the broken window.
He ran when he heard sirens.
They caught him two blocks away.
I learned that twelve minutes after the phone went dead.
Those twelve minutes felt like twelve years.
Lauren called me from the back of an ambulance.
She was crying.
Noah was crying harder.
But they were safe.
That was enough.
For the moment.
Jake was arrested for attempted unlawful entry and questioned about the fraud complaints.
The officer told me there would be more charges if the evidence connected him to the loans and cameras.
I should have felt relieved.
Instead I felt empty.
My little brother was sitting in handcuffs.
My wife had nearly left me.
My mother was crying in her kitchen.
A six-year-old boy had watched his father try to break into his home.
And two unborn babies had been introduced to our family through a screaming match.
David drove me back to the hotel just before three in the morning.
Emily was awake.
She was sitting against the headboard wearing one of my old college T-shirts Carol had brought from the house.
For a second, I forgot everything else.
I just looked at her.
My wife.
Pregnant.
With twins.
She noticed my expression.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Jake was arrested.”
Her shoulders dropped.
“Lauren?”
“Safe.”
“And Noah?”
“Safe.”
“Thank God.”
She closed her eyes.
Then looked at me.
“Your mom?”
“Shaken.”
I told her everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked, “Did Jake really try to get Noah’s birth certificate?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think he was planning to take him?”
“I don’t know.”
The phrase sounded different now.
Earlier, I had used it as a shield.
Tonight it was simply truth.
Emily touched her stomach.
“Promise me something.”
I looked at her.
“If we’re going to try to fix this, stop pretending you have answers when you don’t.”
I nodded.
“I can do that.”
“And stop solving things alone.”
“I can do that too.”
She studied me.
“I’m not saying everything’s okay.”
“I know.”
“I’m still furious.”
“You should be.”
“I’m not sure I trust you.”
That hurt.
But I didn’t argue.
“I know.”
Her eyes filled.
“Why didn’t you just tell me about Jake?”
I looked at the carpet.
“Because you told me last year that if I ever gave him money again, you were done.”
“I said I couldn’t keep watching you sacrifice our future for him.”
“I heard the part about being done.”
“So you hid it.”
“Yes.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You lied to prevent the exact consequence your lie created.”
“I know.”
She wiped a tear.
“I hate that answer.”
“I hate that it’s true.”
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
A tiny smile touched her mouth.
It disappeared quickly.
“I didn’t just meet with a divorce lawyer.”
I waited.
“I opened a bank account.”
My chest tightened.
“In your name?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Eight thousand dollars.”
I stared at her.
“From where?”
“I moved it from my personal savings.”
I nodded.
“That’s your money.”
“We’re married.”
“I know.”
“I did it without telling you.”
I understood what she was doing.
“No.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Don’t make what you did equal to what I did.”
“Ryan—”
“You created an emergency fund after discovering I secretly moved fifty-two thousand dollars.”
She stared at me.
“That wasn’t betrayal. That was fear.”
Her chin trembled.
“I still hid it.”
“Yes.”
“But I understand why.”
She looked away.
“I wanted somewhere to go if things got worse.”
“Your parents’?”
“Maybe.”
“And the account?”
“For the babies.”
I swallowed.
She continued.
“I thought if you were in financial trouble I didn’t understand, I needed money you couldn’t touch.”
“That makes sense.”
Her head snapped toward me.
“You’re not angry?”
“I’m devastated that you felt you needed it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“I know.”
I reached for her hand, then stopped before touching it.
“Can I?”
She looked at my hand.
Then nodded.
I held hers gently.
“I’m going to tell you every account, debt, transfer, loan and dollar I’ve touched tomorrow.”
She looked skeptical.
“I mean it.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“What about your stock account?”
“Yes.”
“Credit cards?”
“Yes.”
“Anything involving Jake?”
“Everything.”
She squeezed my hand slightly.
“And Lauren?”
“Everything.”
“No deleted messages?”
“I’ll hand you the phone.”
“I don’t want to police your phone forever.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
Her eyes met mine.
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said tonight.”
I smiled faintly.
Then my phone buzzed.
We both looked at it.
My stomach sank.
Emily noticed.
“What?”
“It’s a voicemail notification.”
“From?”
“Jake.”
Her face hardened.
“How?”
“He probably called before they took his phone.”
I opened it.
The timestamp was thirty-five minutes earlier.
Before his arrest.
Emily said, “Play it.”
I hesitated.
“Together?”
“Yes.”
I put it on speaker.
Jake’s voice filled the room.
He sounded out of breath.
“Ryan, I know you hate me right now.”
I closed my eyes.
“But you don’t know everything.”
Emily tightened her grip on my hand.
“I messed up. I know that. But Lauren is lying to you.”
My jaw clenched.
“She told you Noah is mine. He is. I know that now.”
A pause.
“I was scared.”
His voice cracked.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
Another breath.
“But before you give the police everything, ask Mom why Dad kept two sets of records.”
I opened my eyes.
Emily looked at me.
Jake continued.
“Ask her why your father had accounts under your name before you were eighteen.”
My body went cold.
“What?” Emily whispered.
The voicemail continued.
“I learned how to do this from him, Ryan.”
My pulse hammered.
“And if you think I’m the first Mercer who used someone else’s identity to survive, you don’t know our family at all.”
The message ended.
I stared at the phone.
Emily said nothing.
I called Mom.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
A third time.
She finally picked up.
Her voice was tired.
“Ryan, please. I can’t do anything else tonight.”
“Did Dad open accounts in my name?”
Silence.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Mom.”
“Who told you that?”
My heart sank.
“That isn’t a denial.”
She started crying.
I stood.
“Mom, what did he do?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“What did he do?”
Emily sat up straighter.
My mother whispered, “Your father had debt.”
I closed my eyes.
“He opened credit cards using your Social Security number.”
“How old was I?”
“Sixteen.”
I could barely speak.
“And Jake?”
“He used Jake’s too.”
I sat back down.
The room felt unreal.
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Your father paid everything before either of you turned eighteen.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
“Did Jake know?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“He found the old statements after your father died.”
My mouth went dry.
“When did he find them?”
“Last year.”
I remembered exactly when Jake’s behavior had gotten worse.
The new loans.
The strange confidence.
The constant claim that he knew ways around credit checks.
“He learned from those records.”
My mother sobbed.
“I think so.”
I stared at the wall.
For years I had believed Jake was simply reckless.
But recklessness had roots.
He had discovered that our father—the man whose anger had ruled our childhood—had once committed the same kind of fraud.
Maybe Jake had seen it as permission.
Maybe proof that consequences could be avoided.
Emily whispered, “Ryan.”
I looked at her.
Her eyes were full of sympathy.
That made me feel worse.
I said into the phone, “Mom, you protected Dad.”
She said nothing.
“You helped him keep it secret.”
“I was trying to keep the family together.”
I almost laughed.
The sentence was so familiar.
I had said versions of it myself for years.
Protecting the family.
Keeping peace.
Helping someone recover.
All respectable words for hiding damage.
“And now you’re protecting Jake.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I called the police tonight.”
“Only because I told you to.”
She cried harder.
I lowered my voice.
“Mom, I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“But this stops.”
“What?”
“All of it.”
I looked at Emily.
“The secrets.”
My mother went quiet.
“No more protecting people from consequences and calling it love.”
She whispered, “Ryan…”
“If the police ask what you know about Dad’s records, tell them.”
“That has nothing to do with Jake’s case.”
“It may explain where he learned things.”
“Your father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Why destroy his memory?”
I closed my eyes.
“Because a memory built on lies isn’t worth protecting.”
I ended the call.
Emily watched me.
“That was hard.”
“Yes.”
She squeezed my hand.
“You did the right thing.”
I looked at her.
“I wish I’d done the right thing sooner.”
“So do I.”
Fair.
I lay down on top of the blanket, leaving space between us.
Emily turned off the lamp.
Darkness filled the room.
After several minutes, she spoke.
“Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Were you happy before all this?”
I stared at the ceiling.
“With you?”
“With us.”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
“Then why did we start treating each other like enemies?”
I swallowed.
“Maybe because we were both scared and neither of us wanted to admit it.”
She was quiet.
Then she whispered, “I was terrified I’d lose the babies.”
My throat tightened.
“I was terrified I’d never get to have them.”
She turned toward me.
“You still might lose me.”
I looked at her silhouette.
“I know.”
“I’m not threatening you.”
“I know.”
“I’m telling you because I don’t want tonight to make us pretend everything is fixed.”
“It isn’t.”
She nodded.
For the first time, neither of us tried to force a conclusion.
We simply lay there.
Then, in the darkness, Emily moved closer.
Not into my arms.
Just close enough that her shoulder touched mine.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
But it was something.
At six in the morning, someone knocked on the hotel door.
I sat up instantly.
Emily woke.
“Who is it?”
I moved toward the door.
“Ryan Mercer?” a man called.
I looked through the peephole.
Two detectives.
I opened the door.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
One held a folder.
“We need to ask your wife a few questions.”
Emily appeared behind me.
“About Jake?”
The detectives exchanged a glance.
“About the fraud, yes.”
One opened the folder.
“But also about a transfer made yesterday from an account in Mrs. Mercer’s name.”
Emily frowned.
“What transfer?”
The detective looked directly at her.
“Seventy-five thousand dollars.”
Emily’s face went blank.
“I didn’t transfer seventy-five thousand dollars.”
The detective nodded.
“That’s what we were hoping you’d say.”
My heart pounded.
“Where did it go?”
He looked at me.
“To an account belonging to someone named Carol Bennett.”
May you like
Emily stopped breathing.
“My mother.”
