Chapter 8 - The Marriage Wasn't the TargetBy midnight, Sophie was asleep in Claire's bed.
Neither Claire nor Daniel planned to sleep.
They sat at the kitchen table with the copy of Robert Mercer's will between them.
Daniel had spent eight years believing his father's estate was simple.
Margaret retained control of the family investment company during her lifetime.
Daniel would inherit later.
He had never cared much about the details.
His own career had become successful enough that he didn't depend on Mercer money.
Apparently Margaret cared very much.
Claire read the clause again.
“‘Financially adverse to the family trust.’ Who decides that?”
“I don't know.”
“Margaret?”
“Maybe the trustees.”
“Who are the trustees?”
Daniel's silence answered.
Claire stared at him.
“You don't know?”
“I never asked.”
“Daniel.”
“I didn't want my life built around inheritance.”
“You understand that's exactly why someone else could build it around you.”
He leaned back.
She was right.
Again.
Detective Ross had warned them not to treat a photographed document as verified evidence. The will could be outdated. The handwritten note could mean anything.
But Daniel couldn't stop thinking about Margaret's behavior.
She didn't simply hate Claire.
She needed Daniel unmarried.
Or married to someone she could control.
“Claire changes everything.”
What had Claire changed?
Then Daniel remembered a dinner with his father.
Ten years earlier.
Claire and Daniel had just become engaged.
Robert had taken him aside afterward.
“She makes you think independently,” his father said.
Daniel had laughed.
“Is that good?”
Robert looked toward Margaret across the restaurant.
“Yes.”
At the time, Daniel assumed it was a compliment about Claire.
Now he wondered whether it had been a warning.
“Dad and Mom fought after we got engaged,” Daniel said.
Claire looked up.
“About me?”
“I thought it was about the wedding.”
“Was it?”
“I don't know.”
He remembered fragments.
Margaret shouting behind the study door.
Robert saying, He gets to have his own life.
Margaret responding, Not if it destroys everything we built.
Daniel had forgotten those words until now.
Claire studied him.
“Your father knew.”
“Knew what?”
“What Margaret was like.”
Daniel wanted to reject that.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Daniel Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Alan Weaver.”
Daniel sat straighter.
Claire noticed.
“The neurologist?”
“Yes.”
Dr. Weaver sounded uncomfortable.
“Detective Ross contacted my office regarding your mother.”
Daniel glanced at the clock.
“It's late.”
“I know. I was still at the hospital. I thought this shouldn't wait.”
“What shouldn't?”
A pause.
“Your mother's cognitive diagnosis.”
Daniel's grip tightened.
“What about it?”
“I never diagnosed her with dementia.”
Daniel stared at the wall.
“She told me—”
“I diagnosed mild cognitive impairment provisionally. That is not the same thing.”
“You said her episodes could worsen.”
“I said they required further evaluation.”
Daniel stood.
“What happened?”
“Your mother refused.”
Claire moved closer to hear.
Dr. Weaver continued.
“Several things concerned me.”
“Such as?”
“Her test results were inconsistent.”
“In what way?”
“She would perform poorly on extremely simple recall tasks, then demonstrate excellent memory on more complex information later in the same appointment.”
Daniel's pulse accelerated.
“You thought she was faking?”
“I considered several possibilities. Anxiety. Medication effects. Deliberate underperformance.”
Daniel went still.
“You suspected she was intentionally failing memory tests?”
“I suspected the results weren't reliable.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Your mother was my patient, not you. And suspicion is not diagnosis.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“What about medication?”
Another pause.
“She reported taking sedatives that could affect cognition.”
The pills.
Daniel looked at Claire.
“Did you prescribe them?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don't know.”
“Could she have taken them before appointments to appear impaired?”
“I can't speculate.”
But he didn't need to.
“What happened when you asked more questions?”
“She stopped attending.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
Claire had been right again.
“Doctor, did she ever ask you about legal competency?”
Dr. Weaver became quiet.
“Yes.”
Daniel's stomach turned.
“What did she ask?”
“She wanted to know whether cognitive impairment could affect responsibility for actions performed during an episode.”
Claire's eyes widened.
Daniel felt cold.
“How long ago?”
“Approximately seven months.”
Seven months.
One month before Daniel moved into Margaret's home.
One month before her supposed episodes became severe.
“Anything else?”
Dr. Weaver hesitated.
“She asked whether someone could behave aggressively during memory loss and later genuinely forget it.”
Daniel sat back down.
“When?”
“The same appointment.”
“Why?”
“She claimed a friend was experiencing it.”
Daniel looked toward the dark hallway leading to Sophie's room.
His mother had researched her defense before she needed it.
Or before Daniel knew she needed it.
After the call ended, Claire said nothing for almost a minute.
Then:
“She planned this.”
Daniel stared at the table.
“At least part of it.”
“No.”
Claire shook her head.
“She didn't suddenly pretend today because you walked in.”
Daniel looked up.
“She built the excuse months ago.”
The thought was unbearable.
Margaret's memory problem hadn't simply shielded her behavior.
It may have been created for that purpose.
Daniel's phone vibrated again.
This time it was Detective Ross.
She had received preliminary information from the surveillance-device technician.
The cameras inside Claire's home had been accessed remotely from three devices.
One was still unknown.
One connection came from Margaret's home Wi-Fi.
Daniel's pulse jumped.
“And the third?” he asked.
Ross hesitated.
“Your office.”
Daniel froze.
“My office?”
“Someone accessed your wife's camera feed from an IP address associated with your company.”
Claire stared at him.
Daniel felt the room tilt.
“That isn't possible.”
Ross continued.
“The access happened repeatedly.”
“When?”
“Over the last four months.”
Daniel looked toward his laptop bag.
His company employed dozens of people.
Only a handful had access to his private office.
Then he remembered something.
Margaret came to his office every Thursday.
May you like
She claimed she hated eating lunch alone.
Daniel had given her a spare key.
Related Stories
