Chapter 7 - THE DEALDerek refused to tell me where he was.
Instead, he spent eleven minutes trying to convince me he was not a criminal.
People often imagine guilt sounds like confession.
Sometimes it sounds like grammar.
Technically.
Temporarily.
Misunderstood.
Authorized.
Borrowed.
That was Derek.
“The money from Noah’s account was temporary.”
“Stop calling it temporary.”
“I had cash-flow problems.”
“You stole from your son.”
“I had every intention of replacing it.”
“How?”
Silence.
“Derek?”
“I had investments.”
“With money from Mercer Atlantic?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
He exhaled.
“You don’t understand how complicated this is.”
“That sentence usually means someone doesn’t want to explain.”
“I made mistakes.”
“Mistakes don’t require shell companies.”
My father watched from across the room.
Agent Ross wrote on a notepad.
Keep him talking.
I hated being part of an operation.
But I hated imagining Derek fleeing permanently more.
“Where are you?” I asked again.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Then I can’t help.”
“You can.”
“How?”
“Talk to your father.”
I almost laughed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You don’t want me. You want Richard Mercer.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What would be fair, Derek?”
He went silent.
Then, surprisingly, his voice broke.
“I’m scared.”
The words affected me more than I wanted.
For seven years, Derek had treated fear as weakness.
Now he sounded like the young man who had once spilled wine on our first date.
“I know,” I said.
“I’m going to prison.”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No. I know you committed crimes. I don’t know what happens next.”
“Richard can make this disappear.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“He won’t.”
“You didn’t even ask.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You’re his daughter.”
“And?”
“He owes you.”
The sentence hit somewhere old.
My father looked down.
I said, “No one owes me corruption.”
“Emily.”
“What?”
“If I come back, I lose everything.”
“You already left everything.”
“My career.”
“Gone.”
“My marriage.”
“You abandoned your wife on your wedding night.”
“Brittany knew the risk.”
“Did she know you planned to take money and run?”
Silence.
“Derek?”
“No.”
There it was.
For the first time he admitted something plainly.
I looked toward Ross.
He nodded.
Enough.
“Turn yourself in.”
“I can’t.”
“For Noah.”
“Don’t use him.”
I nearly shouted.
“You used him in court papers, your wedding speech, and then emptied his college account.”
“I said I’d replace it!”
“And I’m saying his name doesn’t belong in your defense.”
Derek started crying.
Quietly.
It would have broken me years earlier.
Now I felt sad.
Not soft.
Sad.
There is a difference.
“I loved you,” he said.
I looked toward the window.
“I know.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then help me.”
“No.”
His breathing stopped.
I continued.
“Because loving someone does not mean helping them escape what they did.”
The line went quiet.
Then Derek whispered, “Tell Noah I’m sorry.”
“Tell him yourself.”
He disconnected.
Ross immediately began tracing possibilities.
The call bounced through internet routing services.
No location.
But Derek had made a mistake.
He mentioned hearing boat horns.
Marcus identified several likely coastal areas.
Police expanded the search.
That evening Brittany asked to speak with me.
I almost refused.
Hannah said go.
“Public place. Lawyer present.”
We met in a private room at Hannah’s office.
Brittany looked nothing like the bride from twelve hours earlier.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
Gray sweatshirt.
She sat with her arms crossed.
Her attorney was beside her.
“I didn’t know he was leaving,” she said immediately.
I sat opposite.
“I believe you.”
That surprised her.
“You do?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because Derek sounded desperate. He wanted my father to save him.”
Brittany laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
Then her eyes filled.
“He married me and left six hours later.”
I didn’t respond.
There was a strange irony in watching the woman who participated in ending my marriage discover Derek could abandon hers too.
But cruelty would have been easy.
I didn’t want to be Derek.
Brittany wiped her face.
“You hate me.”
“For sleeping with my husband?”
“Yes.”
“I hated you.”
She nodded.
“Past tense?”
“I don’t know you well enough to spend energy hating you now.”
That seemed to hurt more.
She looked toward Hannah.
Then back at me.
“I want to tell you something about the custody case.”
My body stiffened.
“What?”
“Derek never wanted Noah full-time.”
“I know.”
“He wanted leverage.”
“For what?”
“Your apartment.”
I frowned.
“What about it?”
“He thought you had money hidden somewhere.”
“Why?”
“Because during the divorce you never seemed afraid.”
I stared at her.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I told him that.”
She laughed once.
“He thought you were hiding an inheritance.”
My father’s existence had apparently haunted Derek without him even knowing it.
“What did custody have to do with that?”
“He thought you’d pay him to withdraw the petition.”
Hannah leaned forward.
“Did he say that explicitly?”
Brittany looked at her attorney.
The attorney nodded reluctantly.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“Can you document it?”
“Texts.”
My heart began pounding.
Brittany pulled out her phone.
“Derek said if he pushed hard enough, Emily would ‘find family money.’”
I closed my eyes.
He had threatened to take Noah because he suspected I had access to wealth.
Brittany continued.
“I didn’t know Richard Mercer was your father.”
“Would it have changed anything?”
She hesitated too long.
That answer was honest enough.
Then she said, “I’m cooperating with prosecutors.”
Her attorney shifted.
“Brittany.”
“I am.”
She looked at me.
“The companies were in my name. Derek told me they were tax structures.”
“You signed invoices.”
“He said they were consulting contracts.”
“You never wondered why hundreds of thousands of dollars entered accounts you controlled?”
She looked ashamed.
“I liked the money.”
At least that was honest.
“I didn’t ask enough questions because I liked what the answers bought.”
For a moment we understood each other in an uncomfortable way.
Derek had not forced Brittany to participate.
But he had exploited exactly what she wanted.
Status.
Luxury.
Proof she had won.
She handed Hannah screenshots.
Then she said something else.
“The speech wasn’t Derek’s idea.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“It was mine.”
My stomach hardened.
“I told him it would be funny.”
“Calling Noah baggage?”
“I didn’t write that part.”
“But you encouraged it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Because I was jealous.”
“Of a six-year-old?”
“Of you.”
I almost laughed.
“You were marrying my ex-husband in a ballroom.”
“And he still talked about you.”
That stopped me.
“What did he say?”
“That you never begged.”
I stared.
“He hated that.”
Brittany gave a small, broken smile.
“He said after he left, you just handled things. You got a lawyer. Found an apartment. Took care of Noah. He expected you to collapse.”
I remembered Derek accusing me of being unemotional.
Maybe my survival offended him.
Brittany continued.
“I wanted him to prove you didn’t matter.”
“So you humiliated a child.”
“Yes.”
Her voice cracked.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her for a long time.
“I don’t forgive you.”
She nodded.
“But I hope someday you become someone who wouldn’t do it again.”
She covered her face.
That night, police found Derek.
Not at a marina.
Not at an airport.
At the cheap Italian restaurant where we had our first date.
He was sitting alone in a booth.
The owner recognized him from the viral video.
When officers approached, Derek didn’t run.
He placed both hands on the table.
In his jacket pocket they found Noah’s wedding drawing.
Folded carefully into quarters.
And beside it, a receipt.
One dinner.
Two place settings.
He had apparently been waiting for someone.
May you like
The security camera showed who.
My father.
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