Chapter 3 - WHY THE TEST NEVER HAPPENED
My father stepped toward Juliette as though he barely recognized her.
“Tell me that is not your handwriting.”
She looked at the report, then at me.
“I was protecting the family.”
Grant gave a short, stunned laugh. “From her being alive?”
Juliette snapped, “You don’t understand what was happening then.”
“Then explain it,” I said.
For the first time, she looked afraid of my questions.
Three years earlier, I had woken at St. Anne’s with shattered memory and no identification. My fingerprints were damaged, my face swollen, and I could say only fragments: Caroline, Mercer, east corridor, fire.
By the time my memory cleared enough to give my full name, the state database already listed Caroline Mercer as deceased.
Every system trusted paper more than me.
“I asked for Dad,” I told the room. “I asked for Juliette. I described our mother’s blue music room. I knew the combination to the old wine cellar. I knew where Dad hid the spare keys when we were kids.”
Dad covered his mouth.
“And the investigator?” Grant asked.
Marcus nodded. “A private investigator named Henry Moss interviewed Caroline seven months after the fire. He concluded there was a high probability she was genuine and recommended DNA testing.”
“Why didn’t he do it?” Dad demanded.
“Because his client canceled the assignment.”
Everyone looked at Juliette.
She closed her eyes for half a second.
“I had reasons.”
“What reasons?” I asked.
Her gaze shifted toward the ballroom windows.
Marcus answered for her.
“By the time the hospital located the family, Caroline’s estate had already been distributed.”
He placed a stack of financial transfers on the table.
My shares in Mercer Urban Holdings.
My mother’s trust.
My apartment.
My investment accounts.
All moved after my legal death.
Most went to Juliette.
My father stared at the numbers.
“How much?” he asked.
May you like
Marcus met my eyes before answering.
“Enough that proving Caroline was alive would have destroyed more than a wedding.”
