Then he convinced each sibling that the others were gone.
“He divided you,” I whispered.
Evelyn nodded.
“And we helped him by believing the worst of each other.”
The true architect had not been Mercer.
Not entirely.
It had begun with Harold Holloway.
A father who manipulated his own children into protecting different pieces of the same machine.
Michael sat completely still.
“He d/i/ed in 1994.”
“Yes.”
“So the messages?”
Evelyn looked confused.
Then Daniel spoke from the laptop.
“Wait.”
Everyone turned.
He had been searching archived nonprofit filings.
“I found something.”
He shared his screen.
The Holloway Foundation had three current trustees.
Mercer.
Rebecca.
And a third name.
Natalie Mercer.
Charles Mercer’s daughter.
Daniel stared.
“I have a sister.”
Rebecca had never mentioned her.
Natalie was fifty-one.
An attorney.
She had managed several Foundation accounts.
Lane immediately began making calls.
Within hours, agents located her at O’Hare Airport preparing to leave for London.
