Chapter 2 - The Billionaire Who Knew Her Mother’s Name
The next morning, Claire received a message.
Your car has been repaired.
She stared at it.
Then another appeared.
A driver will bring it at noon.
She replied:
Who is this?
The answer came immediately.
Cole Mercer.
She stared at the screen.
Then typed:
Why?
His response was short.
Because you shouldn't be driving on those brakes.
Claire's eyebrows rose.
She called the number.
Cole answered on the second ring.
“You had my car inspected?”
“Yes.”
“Without asking?”
“Yes.”
“That's invasive.”
“Yes.”
“Do you always do this?”
“When I think someone is unsafe.”
She went quiet.
“You don't even know me.”
“I know enough.”
She didn't like how that made her feel.
“I'm returning your coat.”
“Keep it.”
“I don't want it.”
“You're keeping it anyway.”
“That's not how borrowing works.”
“It is now.”
She hung up.
That afternoon, the car arrived.
The brakes were replaced.
The tires were new.
The oil had been changed.
There was even a small envelope on the passenger seat.
Inside was a check.
Twenty-five thousand dollars.
Claire stared.
Then called Cole.
“What is this?”
“Payment.”
“For what?”
“Last night.”
“My photography invoice is twelve hundred dollars.”
“I know.”
“This is twenty-five thousand.”
“Yes.”
“I can't accept this.”
“You can.”
“No.”
“Claire.”
His voice became softer.
“It isn't charity.”
“Then what is it?”
“An advance.”
“On what?”
Silence.
“Cole?”
“On work I may need you to do.”
She frowned.
“What work?”
“Photograph for me.”
She almost laughed.
“You have a photographer.”
“I don't want him.”
“Why?”
“He doesn't see what you see.”
That answer stopped her.
They began working together three days later.
Cole hired Claire for a private project documenting the restoration of one of his historic hotels.
The work was normal.
Almost.
He knew where she was at all times.
He knew when she skipped lunch.
He knew when she had a migraine.
He knew when she was worried.
Claire found it unsettling.
Until one evening she asked him.
“Why are you watching me?”
He didn't deny it.
“Because someone else is.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What do they want?”
“You.”
She stared.
“I don't have anything.”
Cole looked at her.
“You don't know that.”
Then he told her about her mother.
Catherine Bennett had once worked for the Mercer family.
Not as a photographer.
As a financial auditor.
She had discovered unusual transfers.
Money moved through companies that didn't exist.
Properties bought through false identities.
Payments made to judges, police officers and city officials.
She had planned to expose them.
Then she disappeared.
“That's impossible.”
Cole shook his head.
“It isn't.”
“My mother taught photography.”
“That came later.”
“Why?”
“Because she was hiding.”
Claire felt dizzy.
“You knew her?”
“No.”
“But you knew about her.”
“My father did.”
She stared.
“What does your father have to do with this?”
Cole looked away.
“My father ordered the search for her.”
Claire's voice became thin.
“Did he kill her?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Cole didn't answer.
Because the truth was worse.
Nobody knew.
Catherine's death had been fabricated.
Her body had never been found.
The funeral had been based on dental records and personal belongings.
Claire had spent twenty years grieving a mother who might not have been dead.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She answered.
A man's voice said:
“You're wearing her necklace.”
Claire froze.
Cole immediately noticed.
The caller continued.
“Take it off.”
“Who are you?”
“You don't want to know.”
“What happened to my mother?”
Silence.
Then:
“Ask Cole what happened in the Red Room.”
The call ended.
Claire looked at Cole.
“What is the Red Room?”
Cole went pale.
May you like
For the first time since she met him, he looked afraid.
---
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