Chapter 2 - The Severed Line
Grant Mercer stood frozen in his dimly lit executive office, the cold glow of the security tablet illuminating the hard angles of his face. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, rain beat against the glass in heavy, relentless sheets.
"Run that deletion request again," Grant said, his voice dropping to an icy register that made Owen Park hesitate.
Owen tapped the screen. "The request cleared through your wife’s encrypted terminal at eight fourteen AM three weeks ago. It was authorized using Elena’s private digital signature."
"Elena doesn't even know how to bypass the secondary firewall," Grant spat, stepping toward the window. "Someone had access to her private devices before she left for the recovery center. Or someone built a bridge into our home network."
Grant’s mind raced back to the moment six weeks ago when Elena had packed her bags. She had looked so fragile, worn down by post-partum exhaustion and the relentless grief of losing her father earlier that year. She had agreed to go to the St. Jude Wellness Institute in Vermont for a quiet, six-week restorative retreat.
For six weeks, Grant had received daily text updates from Dr. Harrison, the clinic director. Elena needs rest today. Elena isn't ready for phone calls. Elena requested zero visitors until her treatment cycle is complete.
Grant pulled out his personal cell phone. He bypassed his corporate assistant, bypassed his security secretary, and dialed the direct private line for St. Jude’s administration desk.
The phone rang four times before a receptionist answered.
"St. Jude Wellness, how may I direct your call?"
"This is Grant Mercer. I need to speak directly with Dr. Harrison. Now."
There was a long silence on the line, followed by the sound of paper rustling. "Mr. Mercer... Dr. Harrison is on leave. But... wait, Mr. Mercer? Your office called four days ago to confirm your wife's discharge papers were being processed."
Grant felt the blood drain from his face. "What discharge papers?"
"Your office informed us that you were personally managing her transition home and that she was not to send or receive external correspondence until the legal separation papers were finalized," the receptionist said nervously.
Grant grabbed his coat from the leather sofa. "Who called you from my office?"
"A woman named Miss Cross," the receptionist replied. "She said she was acting as your family’s private legal liaison."
Grant hung up the phone. The phone nearly shattered in his grip.
Vivienne.
Vivienne Cross was the daughter of Grant’s late father’s business partner. She had re-entered their lives four months ago under the guise of helping oversee the Mercer Charitable Trust. She had moved into the guest estate, bathed in the family’s hospitality, comforted Elena during her darkest hours, and positioned herself as an indispensable friend.
And all the while, she had been systematically severing Grant from his wife.
"Owen," Grant barked, turning to his head of security. "Get the SUV ready. We are driving to Vermont right now."
"What about Miss Cross?" Owen asked, his eyes darkening. "She's still at the main house with Miss Monroe and little Leo."
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"Keep two armed guards on the perimeter. Don't let Vivienne leave the grounds, but do not let her know we're onto her," Grant commanded, his jaw set like iron. "Tessa Monroe is staying right where she is. If Vivienne so much as looks at my son again, Tessa has full authority to lock the nursery down."
Within five minutes, the heavy black SUV roared out of the Mercer estate garage, cutting through the midnight storm.
