Chapter 7 - MY FATHER WAS ALIVEWe did not storm into Vermont.
We verified.
Property records.
Tax filings.
Photographs.
Medical-board donation lists.
Then one image.
A charity dinner.
Older man.
Silver hair.
Scar on chin.
My father.
Eleven years older.
Alive.
I stared at the photograph until my eyes hurt.
Then I drove there with Mara and an investigator.
The house was modest.
Not mansion.
No guards.
Thomas Mercer opened the door himself.
He looked at me.
And dropped the mug in his hand.
“Evelyn.”
I slapped him.
Once.
Immediately regretted it.
Not because he didn’t deserve anger.
Because I didn’t want violence to become my family’s language.
He touched his cheek.
Then said:
“I deserved worse.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I’m not giving you that.”
Good.
Accountability without theater.
Then I asked:
“Why?”
He cried.
My father, who I remembered as impossible to frighten, cried.
The threat against me was real.
He disappeared.
Stayed hidden.
Then after four years, communications with Mom stopped because he discovered someone inside the family was leaking contact locations.
He suspected my uncle, Grant Mercer.
Mom’s brother.
So Thomas cut everyone off.
Including me.
He built a new identity using an old secondary legal name and eventually re-established legitimate documents through protected channels.
Not perfectly legal.
Complicated.
But survival had been the priority.
Then:
“Why visit Nathan?”
His face changed.
“I didn’t.”
I showed Rebecca’s statement.
Thomas shook his head.
“That wasn’t me.”
My stomach dropped.
A man resembling him had visited Nathan using Mercer’s name.
Who?
Thomas answered:
“My brother.”
Grant.
Same build.
Similar face.
Older.
Scar?
Yes.
Grant had one from a boating accident.
The mysterious visitor wasn’t my father.
May you like
It was my uncle.
And Grant Mercer had apparently been working with Nathan.
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