Chapter 13 - The Pennsylvania Visit
The federal correctional institution in Allenwood, Pennsylvania, was a grim expanse of concrete and razor wire, set
against the rolling hills of the countryside. It was a place designed to strip a man of his identity, reducing him to a
number and a uniform. For Grant Mercer, who had once spent ten thousand dollars on a single weekend in Aspen, it
must have been a living hell.
I sat behind the thick plexiglass partition in the secure visitation room, my hands folded on the cold metal
counter. Elias stood just outside the heavy steel doors, accompanied by two armed marshals. I had insisted on doing
this part alone. Grant needed to see that I was no longer the quiet sister who hid behind numbers—I was the
accountant who held his fate in my pen.
The door on the opposite side opened, and a guard escorted Grant into the room. He looked unrecognizable.
His hair was shaved close to the scalp, showing streaks of grey that hadn't been there five years ago. His shoulders
were slouched, the heavy canvas prison jumpsuit hanging loosely off his thin frame. But when he looked through
the glass and saw me, his eyes flashed with the same arrogant, venomous light that had defined his youth.
He sat down, picking up the heavy plastic telephone receiver. I did the same, holding it to my ear without
saying a word, waiting for him to break the silence.
“Claire,” he said, his voice raspy and thin, stripped of the booming authority he used to project in boardrooms.
“You look well. Wealth suits you. Or should I say, Elias Vale’s wealth suits you.”
“The Noah Foundation received a donation of seven hundred thousand dollars from a Zurich trust two days
ago, Grant,” I said, bypassing any pleasantries. “The cryptographic signature belonged to your old Baltic accounts.
I’ve already turned the transaction details over to the federal prosecutor. Your sentence review is scheduled for next
month. A new money laundering charge will add seven years to your term. I wanted to come here and tell you
myself.”
Grant laughed—a dry, hacking sound that ended in a cough. He leaned closer to the glass, his breath fogging
the surface. “You always were too smart for your own good, Claire. But you’re wrong. I didn’t send that money. I
don’t have access to a calculator here, let alone a Swiss terminal. Do you really think I’d be sitting in this dump if I
had seven hundred thousand dollars sitting in a liquid account?”
I watched his expression closely, analyzing the micro-movements of his jaw and eyes. He wasn’t lying about
the access. He was genuinely miserable, and the desperation in his face was too raw to be staged. “If you didn’t
authorize the transfer, who has the key to the Baltic signature? Only three people had that code: you, Father, and the
external developer you hired to build the shell companies.”
“Father is dead,” Grant sneered, his fingers tapping against the metal counter. “And the developer died in a car
crash in Miami three years ago. Figure it out, little sister. You’re the big forensic genius. But here’s a hint: someone
else was helping Father clear those old accounts back in the nineties. Someone who never put their name on the
corporate roster but always managed to keep her jewelry collection pristine even when the banks were foreclosing
on the mansion.”
A cold dread settled deep in my stomach. Mother.
“She disappeared,” I said, my voice remaining steady despite the sudden racing of my heart. “She left the state
five years ago. We tracked her to a small town in Ohio, and then the trail went cold.”
“She didn’t go to Ohio to die in obscurity, Claire,” Grant smiled, a cruel, satisfied expression spreading across
his face. “She went to find the old safety deposit boxes Father set up before you were even born. She hates you.
She hates that bastard child of yours. She hates Elias Vale for stripping her of her crown. Did you really think she’d
let you live in peace on that beautiful riverfront campus while she lives in a trailer park?”
He leaned back, his eyes gleaming with malicious delight. “She’s coming for you, Claire. And she’s using the
very tools you used to destroy us. She’s going to make sure the Noah Foundation becomes a crime scene.”
I stood up, slamming the receiver onto its cradle. The sharp plastic click echoed through the quiet room. I
didn’t look back at him as he laughed behind the glass, his face distorted by the green reflection of the prison lights.
I walked out of the room, the heavy steel doors opening for me, and stepped into the corridor where Elias was
waiting.
He took one look at my face and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. “What did he
say?”
May you like
“It’s not Grant,” I said, looking up into his dark eyes, my voice tight with urgency. “It’s Mother. She’s found
the historical reserve accounts. We need to get back to the city, Elias. Now.”
