Chapter 6 - The Legacy in the Alley
The phone in my pocket continued to vibrate, a steady, insistent pulse against my thigh, but my eyes remained locked on the attorney standing beneath the amber security light of Mercer Foods' receiving dock.
"My paternal grandfather?" I repeated, the words tasting foreign and absurd on my tongue. "My father told me his parents died in a car accident before I was born. He never spoke about Switzerland. He never spoke about any inheritance."
The attorney—whose silver-rimmed glasses caught the harsh glow of the security lamp—smiled faintly, a tight, practiced expression that held no warmth. " Arthur Mercer was a very private man, Ms. Mercer. Or perhaps your father had his own reasons for letting certain branches of the family tree disappear into the fog. People often rewrite history when millions of dollars are involved."
"Millions?" I echoed, the word feeling too large for the damp, freezing alleyway behind a regional grocery store.
"Mercer-Apex Holdings isn't a small-town grocery chain," the attorney said, stepping closer and extending the thick manila envelope toward me. "It is a multi-national asset management and real estate holding firm with primary portfolios in Zurich, Geneva, and New York. Your grandfather spent the last decade quietly restructuring his estate, cutting out secondary claimants who proved unworthy of the family name, and consolidating his primary controlling shares under a single, uncompromised bloodline."
He paused, his dark eyes fixing on mine. "Yours."
My hand hovered over the envelope, my fingers stiff against the cold. Just one week ago, I had been calculating whether I could afford a new winter coat while wiring fifteen hundred and twenty-nine dollars to sustain my parents' lifestyle and my sister's luxury car lease. Now, standing among empty cardboard boxes and recycling bins, a stranger was telling me I owned a slice of an international empire.
"Why me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "If he lived in Switzerland, how did he even know who I was?"
"Arthur Mercer kept meticulous records," the attorney replied smoothly. "He knew you worked sixty hours a week. He knew you carried the financial weight of an ungrateful family while they treated you like domestic help. He didn't want an heir who knew how to spend money; he wanted an heir who understood what it meant to carry the ledger."
The phone in my pocket finally stopped vibrating, sliding into a brief, heavy silence. Then it buzzed again.
I ignored the phone, reached out, and took the manila envelope from the attorney's hand. It was heavy, sealed with a red wax stamp bearing a sharp, unfamiliar crest.
"What happens next?" I asked.
"Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, a car will pick you up at your apartment," the attorney said, turning back toward the door of his sleek black town car. "There is a board meeting in Manhattan. Your signature is required to formally activate the portfolio transfer. I suggest you dress for a boardroom, Ms. Mercer—because the people currently running your grandfather's New York offices have no idea you're coming, and they aren't going to hand over the keys without a fight."
He slipped back into the town car. The door closed with a muffled, expensive thud, and within seconds, the vehicle melted away into the Binghamton night, leaving me alone with the wind and the manila envelope.
I stood there for a long moment, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
The missed call wasn't from my mother or Mallory. It was an unfamiliar number with a New York area code.
I pressed call back.
May you like
A sharp, authoritative voice answered on the first ring. "Miss Mercer? This is Victoria Sterling. We need to talk about your grandfather's estate—before you do something that destroys us both."
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