I drove directly to Elena's office.
By the time I arrived, my hands were still trembling.
“Faye says Roland's mother has the original agreement.”
Elena looked up.
“Did she explain why?”
“She said his mother signed it.”
My father was standing near the window.
“Then we need to see that document.”
“Can we get it?”
“Legally,” Elena said, “we don't simply take it.”
“Then how do we obtain it?”
“We request it.”
“And if she refuses?”
Elena closed the folder.
“Then we proceed through legal channels.”
I hated how calm she sounded.
My life had become a collection of documents, signatures, requests, and legal procedures.
Meanwhile, Roland was somewhere trying to save himself.
And Wren slept through all of it.
That evening, Roland's mother called.
“I heard you spoke with Faye.”
“Yes.”
“You should not believe everything she says.”
“Then tell me what she lied about.”
Silence.
“I know about the agreement.”
Her breathing changed.
“Who told you?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
“Did you sign it?”
She didn't answer.
I closed my eyes.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I was trying to help my son.”
“You signed a document involving my daughter's trust.”
“I didn't understand the legal language.”
“You understood enough to sign.”
“I thought it was temporary.”
“That's what Faye said.”
Another silence.
Then she whispered:
“Come to the house.”
I went the next morning.
Elena wanted to accompany me, but I asked her to stay nearby.
Roland's mother opened the door herself.
She looked exhausted.
“Come in.”
I followed her into the sitting room.
The house smelled of old wood and furniture polish.
She sat.
I remained standing.
“Where is it?”
She pointed toward a cabinet.
“Second drawer.”
I opened it.
A thick folder lay beneath several envelopes.
I pulled it out.
The original agreement was inside.
I read the first page.
Then the second.
Then I stopped.
There was a clause I hadn't seen in the draft.
I read it again.
“If the beneficiary's parent becomes unable to provide adequate financial support, the designated trustee may assume temporary administrative control.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Why was this clause added?”
She looked at me.
“Roland's attorney said it was standard.”
“Was it?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you read it?”
“I thought Roland had.”
I stared at her.
“He knew.”
She looked away.
“I think so.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don't know.”
“You're his mother.”
“He stopped answering my calls.”
I closed the folder.
“Did you know about his debt?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Not at first.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“And you still helped him?”
She began crying.
“I wanted to save my son.”
I understood that instinct.
I didn't forgive the choice.
“By risking my daughter.”
“I never wanted Wren hurt.”
“But you signed a document that could put her inheritance under someone else's control.”
“I thought it would keep the money safe.”
“From whom?”
She looked at me.
“From Roland.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He told me creditors were trying to seize everything.”
I stared at her.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why was he involved in the agreement?”
“I don't know.”
The answer sounded familiar.
Too familiar.
Everyone seemed to know enough to act but never enough to take responsibility.
I turned another page.
There was a signature beneath the clause.
Faye's.
Then another.
Roland's.
Then his mother's.
Three signatures.
Three people.
One plan.
But beneath them was something else.
A handwritten notation.
Pending Simone's consent.
I felt a strange sense of relief.
They had not obtained my signature.
The agreement remained incomplete.
I closed the folder.
“Thank you for giving this to me.”
She looked up.
“Simone.”
I stopped.
“I am sorry.”
I didn't answer.
Outside, Elena was waiting.
She read the agreement in the car.
“This changes things.”
“How?”
“This wasn't merely an attempt to borrow money.”
She tapped the page.
“They were preparing for a scenario in which you could be declared unable to manage your own affairs.”
I stared at her.
“Because I had just given birth?”
“Possibly.”
“That could mean anything.”
“Yes.”
“Then we don't assume.”
Elena nodded.
“Exactly.”
My father called.
“Where are you?”
“Leaving Mrs. Mercer's house.”
“Come home.”
Something in his voice made me uneasy.
“Why?”
“We found Roland's second set of financial records.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
“In the office.”
When I arrived, the records were spread across the dining table.
There were invoices, transfers, loan statements, and correspondence.
One document stood out.
It was a private memorandum.
I picked it up.
The date was three months before Wren's birth.
The title read:
Contingency Planning.
My father's face hardened.
Elena read over my shoulder.
The first section concerned Roland's company.
The second concerned creditors.
The third concerned family assets.
I turned the page.
There was a handwritten list.
Trust.
Property.
Wren.
Faye.
Mother.
Then one final name.
Simone.
My breathing stopped.
Beside my name was a note.
Need her cooperation before delivery.
I looked at Elena.
“Before delivery.”
She nodded.
I read the next line.
After birth, she will be physically and emotionally vulnerable.
My hands shook.
“That sounds like a plan.”
“It is certainly evidence of planning,” Elena said.
“Who wrote it?”
No signature.
But the handwriting was familiar.
Roland's.
I sat down.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then my father placed another page in front of me.
It was an email from Roland to Victor.
I read it.
He had asked whether the trust could be accessed if I were unable to act temporarily.
Victor's response was clear.
Only through an authorized legal mechanism.
I looked up.
“So Roland was asking how to get around me.”
Elena nodded.
“That's what this indicates.”
My phone rang.
Roland.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Safe from what?”
“From people who want to destroy me.”
“You did that yourself.”
He sighed.
“Simone, please listen.”
“I found the contingency memorandum.”
Silence.
“You found it?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In your records.”
He said nothing.
“Did you write it?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“You planned to use my condition after childbirth.”
“No.”
“It says exactly that.”
“I was trying to protect the company.”
“You wrote that I would be vulnerable.”
“I was worried you wouldn't understand.”
“You didn't want me to understand.”
“I knew you'd say no.”
There it was.
The sentence I had been waiting for.
He knew.
“You knew I would refuse.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you keep going?”
“Because I had no other choice.”
I almost laughed.
“You always had another choice.”
“Not when millions were at stake.”
“Your millions.”
“Our family.”
“No.”
I looked at Wren.
“Mine and hers.”
He became quiet.
Then he said:
“I need you to meet me.”
“Why?”
“Because there is something I haven't told you.”
“What?”
“I wasn't the one who came up with the plan.”
My blood ran cold.
“Who was?”
He hesitated.
“Victor.”
I looked at Elena.
Roland continued.
“And he has the original file that explains everything.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: Roland Blamed Victor for the Plan, but the File He Mentioned Contained a Detail That Put One More Person at the Center of Everything
Six Days Into Motherhood, I Thought My Husband Was Giving Me Space—Until One Small Detail Made Me Question Everything About His Disappearance
Part 6 of 20
