Chapter 4 - The Seat Beside Mine
Marina Holt disappeared.
Not metaphorically.
By the time state police reached the Boston address where she was supposed to be “sick,” the apartment was empty. Phone abandoned. Bathroom cabinet cleared. One suitcase missing.
That did not prove she poisoned Isla.
But it made coincidence difficult.
Detective Monroe asked Leo to provide employee records, communications, payment histories, and travel access.
He did.
That mattered to me.
Whatever else Leo Mercer was, he wanted the truth more than control in that moment.
The foundation booking records showed Marina had requested to accompany Isla on the flight three weeks earlier.
Then, two days before departure, she withdrew claiming fever.
Why had she wanted the seat beside me?
Amelia’s administrator had manually reassigned the empty seat to me after my original commercial flight was canceled.
That meant Marina could not have known with certainty I would take it.
Unless someone told her.
I called Amelia.
She answered on the fourth ring, breathless.
“Nora? Are you okay? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“Where are you?”
“Boston Children’s. Why?”
“Did you tell anyone I was taking your foundation seat?”
A pause.
“Of course. Travel coordination needed your information.”
“Who?”
“My assistant. Foundation logistics. Maybe Leo’s family office because it was his aircraft.”
“Did Marina Holt have access?”
Another pause.
“Marina?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.”
I hated that answer.
Then Amelia said, “Nora, what happened?”
So I told her enough.
The baby.
Formula.
Someone using my name.
Marina’s original seat.
Amelia went completely silent.
Then:
“I need to tell you something.”
My body tightened.
“What?”
“Camille Mercer asked about you before she died.”
I couldn’t speak.
“What?”
“Not by name at first. She asked whether I knew a bereaved mother still producing milk who might eventually participate in a donor-lactation program.”
My chest hurt.
“Why?”
“Because Isla had trouble with formula from birth.”
“Why not use a milk bank?”
“They did. But Camille was paranoid about supply chain.”
That word.
Paranoid.
I had learned to be careful with it.
“Why?”
Amelia lowered her voice.
“She thought someone inside the household was tampering with Isla’s care.”
I looked toward Leo.
He was across the hospital room speaking with Monroe.
“Did Leo know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why would Camille tell you and not her husband?”
“She said Leo protected people by confronting threats. She wanted evidence first.”
My skin went cold.
That sounded like someone who knew exactly how her husband operated.
“What evidence?”
“She never gave me details.”
“Did she mention Marina?”
“No.”
“Did she know about me specifically?”
“After Grace died, I mentioned you during a grief-support meeting. Not your private details. Just that my friend was struggling physically after infant loss and might someday want to help with donor milk if she chose.”
I closed my eyes.
Amelia had not volunteered me as wet nurse.
Not knowingly.
But my name existed within foundation conversations.
“Did Camille contact you after that?”
“Yes. Once.”
“When?”
“Eight days before she died.”
“What did she say?”
Amelia’s voice became shaky.
“She said, ‘If anything happens to me, don’t let them feed Isla from the house supply.’”
I stopped breathing.
“Why didn’t you tell Leo?”
“I tried after the funeral. His people said he wasn’t taking calls.”
“Owen?”
“I don’t know who.”
I looked at Owen across the room.
He caught my stare.
Something in my face must have registered because he came closer.
I put Amelia on speaker with her permission.
She repeated everything.
Leo stood completely still.
When she finished, he said:
“You called after Camille died?”
“Yes.”
“Who answered?”
“A man named Victor.”
Owen’s face changed.
Leo’s did too.
“Victor Lane?” Leo asked.
“Yes.”
I looked between them.
“Who is Victor?”
Owen answered.
“Leo’s chief financial officer.”
Not a guard.
Not a nurse.
The man who controlled Mercer Holdings’ money.
Leo’s voice went flat.
“Victor told you not to contact me?”
Amelia corrected him.
“He said you were grieving, the family had medical support, and further outside involvement would be disruptive.”
Leo turned away.
The room suddenly felt much smaller.
Then Monroe asked Amelia:
“Did Mrs. Mercer ever mention why someone might target the baby?”
Amelia hesitated.
“Yes.”
Leo turned back.
“What did she say?”
“She said Isla’s birth changed the ownership structure of something.”
Leo’s face lost color for the first time.
“What?”
“I don’t know. She only said, ‘As long as Isla lives, certain men can never inherit what they think is theirs.’”
The implication settled slowly.
This was not revenge against Leo.
Not primarily.
It might be succession.
Money.
Control.
Someone profited if Isla became too sick to survive.
Then Leo whispered one name.
“My brother.”
Owen looked at him sharply.
I did too.
“You have a brother?”
“Half-brother.”
“What’s his name?”
“Adrian.”
“And what happens if Isla dies?”
Leo stared at his sleeping daughter.
Then answered:
“My voting shares eventually pass into a family trust.”
“Controlled by?”
May you like
His jaw tightened.
“Adrian Mercer and Victor Lane.”
