Chapter 7 - Diane Mercer
I called Helen before sunrise.
"Find every woman Samuel ever recommended for a senior role, consulting contract, or board assignment. Go back twenty years."
Samuel was in the library with police waiting for permission to leave.
I did not care whether he slept.
Helen called back forty minutes later.
"One name stands out. Diane Mercer. Financial risk consultant. Joined twelve years ago, terminated nine years ago after an internal leak investigation."
"Who led the investigation?"
Silence.
Then: "Samuel."
Claire was already pulling on her coat.
"Where is she now?"
Helen gave us an address outside Baltimore.
I turned to the detective.
"You can follow us or arrest me for being annoying. Pick one."
He followed.
Diane Mercer opened her door with a chain still latched and a phone in her hand.
She was in her early sixties, silver hair tied back, no makeup, sharp eyes.
"Richard Whitmore."
"You know me."
"I know your face. The company put it on enough walls."
"Samuel Grant."
Her expression changed.
The door started closing.
Claire put one hand against it.
"My mother was Margaret Whitmore."
Diane stopped.
She looked at Claire for a long time.
Then she removed the chain.
We sat at a kitchen table covered with tax forms and unopened mail.
Diane did not offer coffee.
"I signed a settlement," she said.
Martin, on speakerphone, answered from my car.
"If the agreement covered lawful employment matters, it does not stop you from reporting suspected crimes."
Diane looked at the phone.
"Lawyers always say that right before they send another lawyer."
I leaned toward her.
"Margaret is dead. My daughter was assaulted yesterday. Someone cloned my credentials and tried to steal my company. If Samuel is involved, I need the truth."
Diane tapped one fingernail against the table.
"He asked me a strange question."
"When?"
"Nine years ago."
"What question?"
She opened an old laptop.
"Samuel wanted models for succession risk. Normal at first. Death. Divorce. Tax exposure. Then he asked me to calculate what happened if you stayed alive but lost legal capacity."
Claire leaned forward.
"Like dementia?"
"Or stroke. Brain injury. Medication event. Anything that made a court or physician declare him unable to manage his affairs."
My mouth went dry.
Diane searched an archive folder.
"I told him that was legal's job. He said he needed preliminary scenarios for the board."
"Did you make them?"
"I made one. Then I saw what he was really asking. He wanted the shortest path from incapacity to permanent voting control."
A car door slammed outside.
Diane froze.
The detective stood and moved to the window.
A delivery driver walked up the sidewalk with a package.
Diane let out a slow breath.
"Two weeks after I refused, I was accused of leaking confidential numbers to a competitor. Samuel ran the investigation. They found files on my computer I had never downloaded."
"Why didn't you fight?"
"My husband was dying. I took the settlement and kept his insurance."
She found the email.
The subject line read CONTINUITY MODEL - PRIVATE.
Sender: Samuel Grant.
Diane turned the laptop toward me.
The email contained six questions.
The last one stopped my breathing.
ASSUME WHITMORE SURVIVES BUT IS NO LONGER LEGALLY COMPETENT.
Claire whispered, "He planned this nine years ago."
Diane shook her head.
"No."
She scrolled farther down.
A forwarded chain appeared beneath it.
The original request was older.
Much older.
She pointed at the date.
May you like
"He planned it before he ever hired me."
