Chapter 3
The Mercy Table had existed under my father.
Different name then.
The Patron Circle.
Twelve wealthy families donated money to support widows, injured associates, children of dead crews, and household staff in crisis.
In return?
Nothing official.
Unofficially, they sat closer to power.
My father tolerated it.
I ended it after becoming head because charity that buys access is not charity.
That decision made enemies quietly.
Apparently Doreen remembered.
“You rebuilt it.”
She stared at her stained pearls.
“No.”
Russell answered.
“We modernized it.”
I laughed.
Bad choice of word.
“How?”
Private donor dinners.
Emotional appeals.
Video updates.
Patron sponsorship.
Each donor pledged money to “Lockwood relief.”
Then Russell assigned them levels.
Bronze.
Silver.
Gold.
Founders.
The higher the pledge, the greater the private access to family meetings he promised after “leadership restructuring.”
I stared at him.
“What restructuring?”
No answer.
I opened another message.
RUSSELL: Serena won’t reopen the advisory table herself. We need leverage she can’t publicly reject.
SEBASTIAN: The boy?
RUSSELL: Her image.
There.
Not Arthur.
Me.
They were filming my son because Arthur was my private weakness.
I had deliberately kept him away from public Lockwood life.
No society photographs.
No family publicity.
No donor events.
Outside the inner family, very few people knew exactly what he looked like.
Perfect.
Russell could present him as one of the “children helped by the Lockwood Relief Fund.”
Dirty clothes.
Soot.
Empty plate.
Tears.
Anonymous suffering.
Then, once donors were emotionally invested, reveal privately that the child was Serena Lockwood’s son.
Proof that even the head of Lockwood “shared the sacrifice.”
Doreen spoke softly.
“They liked knowing you weren’t above the cause.”
I looked at her.
“You starved my son to make me relatable?”
“He was never starving.”
Arthur had asked permission to eat his own bread.
I stood.
Doreen finally looked afraid.
Then Russell interrupted.
“The money helped people.”
“Did it?”
His expression changed.
Good.
That was my next question.
“How much of it reached anyone who needed help?”
Neither answered.
I opened the donor totals.
Four point eight million dollars.
Three months.
May you like
I knew immediately.
Our support accounts had not received even half of that.
