Chapter 1 - The Woman in the White DressThe first time my husband looked at me during my murder trial, he smiled.
Not openly.
Daniel Mercer was far too intelligent for that.
It was only a slight movement at the corner of his mouth as he sat in the first row of the courtroom, dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my first car.
But I saw it.
And in that moment, I finally understood.
My husband wasn't waiting to discover whether I would be convicted.
He already believed he had won.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
The prosecutor's voice brought my attention back to the witness stand.
I was thirty-seven years old, wearing a plain white dress my attorney had chosen because she said juries responded well to “clarity.”
I hated that sentence.
But after four months in county custody, I had stopped arguing about clothes.
“Did you love your father-in-law?”
District Attorney Charles Whitaker asked.
I looked toward the jury.
“Yes.”
“Arthur Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“The billionaire founder of Mercer Development?”
“Yes.”
“And yet, on the night of March eighteenth, you were the last person known to be alone with him before his death.”
“Yes.”
Whitaker walked toward the evidence table.
He picked up a small glass vial.
Exhibit 42.
Digitalis.
The poison found in Arthur's bloodstream.
“And investigators later discovered this inside your bathroom cabinet.”
My attorney, Rebecca Sloan, stood immediately.
“Objection. Counsel is characterizing evidence before establishing chain of custody.”
“Overruled.”
The judge looked at me.
“You may answer.”
Whitaker repeated:
“Was this found in your home?”
“Yes.”
“Did it belong to you?”
“No.”
“Yet your fingerprints were found on it.”
“Yes.”
Daniel lowered his eyes.
Pretending sadness.
I knew that performance.
I had watched him use it at funerals.
Board meetings.
Even our wedding, when his mother cried during the speeches and Daniel placed a hand over his heart as if emotion were something he had practiced privately.
Whitaker continued.
“Arthur Mercer changed his will six days before he died.”
“Yes.”
“Under that will, you were to receive forty percent of his personal estate.”
“Yes.”
“A value exceeding one hundred and eighty million dollars.”
“Yes.”
The courtroom stirred.
Money always woke people up.
Whitaker stopped in front of me.
“So you had motive.”
“No.”
“You had opportunity.”
“No.”
“You had access to the poison.”
“No.”
“And Arthur Mercer died twelve minutes after drinking tea you personally prepared.”
I looked directly at Daniel.
Then at his mother.
Victoria Mercer sat beside him.
Seventy-two years old.
Elegant.
Silver hair.
Pearl earrings.
The grieving widow.
She had called me “daughter” for nine years.
Now she watched prosecutors try to send me to prison for the rest of my life.
I turned back to Whitaker.
“I made Arthur tea.”
“So you admit—”
“But I did not poison him.”
Whitaker smiled.
“Then who did?”
Rebecca stood.
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
Whitaker returned to his table.
“No further questions.”
The judge announced recess.
As officers approached to escort me away, Daniel stood.
Our eyes met.
For months he had refused to visit me.
Hadn't answered my letters.
Hadn't attended a single attorney meeting.
He said he couldn't bear to look at the woman accused of murdering his father.
Then, as I passed him, Daniel whispered:
“You should have signed the agreement.”
I stopped.
The deputy touched my elbow.
“Mrs. Mercer.”
But I didn't move.
“What agreement?”
Daniel's smile vanished.
Rebecca heard him.
So did the deputy.
Daniel immediately stepped back.
“I said nothing.”
I stared at him.
Then memory struck.
Two weeks before Arthur died, Daniel placed papers on our kitchen table.
A postnuptial agreement.
He wanted me to waive any future claim to Mercer family assets.
I refused.
He said it was tax planning.
Arthur found out.
And became furious.
That same evening, my father-in-law called me privately.
“If Daniel asks you to sign anything else, Grace, call me.”
I hadn't understood.
Now I did.
Back inside the holding room, Rebecca closed the door.
“What did he mean?”
“I don't know.”
“Grace.”
I looked at her.
“There was a postnup.”
Rebecca froze.
“What?”
“Daniel wanted me to waive all future inheritance-related claims.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before Arthur died.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought it had nothing to do with the murder.”
Rebecca stared.
“Your husband wanted you removed from the family money two weeks before the person who later left you nearly two hundred million dollars died.”
When she said it that way, I felt stupid.
“Did Arthur know?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They argued.”
Rebecca immediately opened her notebook.
“About what?”
“I only heard part of it.”
“What part?”
I closed my eyes.
Arthur's voice returned.
“You will not steal from her the way you stole from your sister.”
Rebecca stopped writing.
“Daniel has a sister?”
I looked at her.
“No.”
At least that was what I had always been told.
Daniel was an only child.
Arthur and Victoria had only one son.
Every family biography said so.
Rebecca slowly asked:
“Then who was Arthur talking about?”
Before I could answer, there was a knock.
A court officer entered.
“Ms. Sloan?”
“Yes?”
“You have a visitor.”
“Who?”
He looked toward me.
“Not for you.”
Then:
“For Mrs. Mercer.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
The officer hesitated.
“A young girl.”
Rebecca looked confused.
“So?”
“She says Arthur Mercer was her grandfather.”
I stopped breathing.
May you like
The officer continued:
“And she says Daniel Mercer killed him.”
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