Chapter 17 - The Men at the Door
Two federal agents stood outside.
Not police.
Not bankers.
Federal agents.
They showed identification and asked for Margaret Mercer.
Margaret’s knees seemed to soften.
Daniel whispered, “Mom?”
The lead agent explained only that they were investigating suspected wire fraud connected to an international transfer.
Dana stepped forward and identified herself as counsel for the trust.
The agents asked whether Margaret would speak voluntarily.
She refused.
Good choice, legally.
Terrible look emotionally.
Then one agent asked whether anyone had access to a silver Mercedes parked in the drive.
Margaret’s car.
She gripped her purse.
Daniel stared at her again.
“What’s in the car?”
“Nothing.”
The agent said, “Mrs. Mercer, we have a warrant for the vehicle.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Twenty minutes later, an evidence technician opened the trunk.
We watched from the front windows.
They removed a black document case.
Then another.
Charles inhaled sharply.
“The trust originals.”
There were also stacks of bank records and a small metal box.
Daniel looked like he might be sick.
Margaret turned on him before he could speak.
“You were losing everything.”
“You put stolen documents in your trunk?”
“I was fixing your mess!”
“My mess?”
“Yes, your mess! You wanted to be Richard Vance without understanding how Richard Vance became Richard Vance.”
Dad actually laughed.
Margaret snapped toward him. “You think this is funny?”
“No. I think it’s the first accurate thing you’ve said.”
The agents returned inside and asked Margaret to accompany them for questioning.
She looked at Daniel.
He did not move.
That hurt her more than anything else could have.
As she reached the door, she turned toward me.
“You think you won.”
I said nothing.
“You’ll learn. Money doesn’t make people love you.”
“No,” I said. “But taking away their money can show you who never did.”
She flinched.
Then she left.
Daniel watched the agents drive away with his mother.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Finally he turned toward me.
“Now are you satisfied?”
I looked at the $500 envelope still sitting on the table.
“No.”
I opened the laptop again.
This time, I pressed CONFIRM.
The screen spun for three seconds.
Then turned red.
REQUEST FAILED.
AUTHORIZATION REVOKED.
I stared at it.
Charles leaned over my shoulder.
“That’s impossible.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
May you like
And went completely still.
“Emily,” he said, “someone changed the trust administrator twelve minutes ago.”
