Chapter 9
The home had been closed for another reason.
Land.
Of course.
There is almost always land when wealthy people start using the word transition.
St. Catherine’s occupied six acres near a district that had become expensive.
Very expensive.
Serena’s gala plan had two versions.
The public version:
Raise four million dollars to renovate the children’s home.
The private version:
Declare the building unsustainable after the gala.
Relocate the children permanently to Hawthorne House.
Convert St. Catherine’s into the Mercer-Vale Heritage Club.
Hotel suites.
Private dining.
A museum room about my childhood.
I stared at the presentation on Serena’s tablet.
She had planned to turn the place that raised me into luxury hospitality using my name.
“Did you think I would approve this?”
“Eventually.”
Future consent.
Again.
“Why raise money first?”
Her face tightened.
“Because donors needed to see the transition positively.”
There.
The gala was not funding rescue.
It was financing relocation and branding.
The children became emotional marketing for their own removal.
I almost admired the cruelty of the structure.
“What happened to the four million?”
“Still held.”
Good.
At least not spent yet.
“Who knew?”
Gideon.
Two Vale advisers.
The hotel development partner.
And one Mercer associate.
There.
My side.
“Name.”
Serena hesitated.
“Paul Mercer.”
No blood relation.
Father Thomas Mercer’s nephew.
Fifty-eight.
He had overseen St. Catherine’s property maintenance for years.
I trusted him because of his uncle.
Another inherited assumption.
Paul believed the home should close.
Not because he hated children.
Because he thought Gabriel Mercer’s story had become more valuable than the institution itself.
Turn history into a brand.
Use the money to fund placements elsewhere.
Efficient.
Cold.
Not entirely irrational.
That made him dangerous.
He arrived after I summoned him.
Looked at the notebook.
Then me.
“I was going to tell you.”
I laughed once.
“When?”
“After the gala.”
“After the children were gone.”
“Yes.”
At least honest.
“Eli?”
His expression changed.
“I didn’t know he was missing.”
I believed him.
Serena had accelerated the closure after Eli found the notebook.
Her secret hijacked even their development plan.
I looked at Paul.
“Did your uncle ever tell you why he kept St. Catherine’s open?”
Paul shook his head.
I opened the notebook.
May you like
“Because sometimes a building is the only witness children have left.”
Paul looked away.
