I stared at her.
“Doing what?”
“Destroying your future.”
She adjusted her pearl bracelet.
“Divorces are expensive. Scandals are ugly. Women who challenge families like ours usually regret it.”
My eyes drifted toward the bracelet.
Then back to her face.
“Was that purchased through the Mercer Family Foundation?”
For the first time, her composure cracked.
The Mercer Foundation was their greatest source of public admiration.
Scholarships.
Hospital donations.
Community programs.
Brandon loved standing on stages promising to help vulnerable people.
Meanwhile, he abused his wife behind locked doors.
What neither of them knew was that I had spent months tracing foundation money through a network of shell companies.
Even more importantly, copies of every document already existed in three separate places.
With my attorney.
With an investigative journalist.
And with a federal investigator who trusted my work.
The first shock arrived later that afternoon.
Brandon’s attorney placed a document in front of me.
“A simple agreement,” he said.
“You confirm your injuries resulted from an accident. Mr. Mercer agrees to attend counseling. No criminal charges. No public controversy.”
Brandon smiled gently.
The same smile he used for cameras.
“Sign it, Claire. Let’s go home.”
Home.
The word almost made me laugh.
