Chapter 18: Grant Was Waiting at My Gate

I stared at the photograph on my phone.

Grant stood outside the iron gate of Lighthouse Hill with both hands in his coat pockets.

He wasn't alone.

Two Mercer security vehicles were parked behind him.

My stomach tightened.

“How did he get there?” I asked.

The attorney stood and looked over my shoulder.

“He shouldn't have been able to access the property.”

“He doesn't need access,” I said quietly. “He thinks I'll give it to him.”

My phone rang again.

Grant.

I declined the call.

A message appeared immediately.

“Mara, we need to talk face-to-face.”

Another message followed.

“You can't shut me out forever.”

I put the phone down.

The attorney watched me carefully.

“You don't have to meet him.”

“I know.”

For once, I wasn't afraid of disappointing Grant.

I was afraid of what would happen if I underestimated him.

I asked the attorney to contact the local authorities and confirm that Grant had no permission to enter the property.

Then I asked him to pull every document connected to Lighthouse Hill from the past ten years.

“Everything,” I said. “Even documents that seem unrelated.”

He nodded.

“I'll have them sent tonight.”

Before we left, he handed me one final document from my mother's file.

It was a handwritten inventory of the property.

At the bottom was a note I had never seen before.

“Mara must never sign a Mercer family trust agreement without independent counsel.”

My mother's warning suddenly felt like a voice in the room.

I folded the paper and placed it inside my bag.

That evening, I returned to the hotel.

There were already reporters outside.

Apparently, the canceled Mercer wedding had become a story.

One reporter shouted my name.

“Ms. Bennett, did you leave Grant Mercer because of another woman?”

Another called out, “Did the Mercer family steal your wedding?”

I kept walking.

Inside my room, I finally opened the folder my attorney had sent.

The first documents were ordinary.

Property taxes.

Renovation records.

Insurance policies.

Then I found something strange.

A draft trust agreement dated six months earlier.

My name was typed at the top.

The beneficiary section listed the Mercer Family Foundation.

And beside my signature line was a handwritten note.

“To be executed immediately following marriage.”

I stared at the page.

They had prepared it months before Grant and I were supposed to marry.

Then I noticed the initials at the bottom.

G.M.

Grant Mercer.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, the message wasn't from Grant.

It was from Eleanor Vale.

“Now you understand why your mother was afraid.”

A second message appeared.

“But there is something else in that file you haven't found yet.”

I looked down at the stack of documents.

My heart began to pound.

If Eleanor was right, the Mercers hadn't merely planned to take control of my property.

They had planned for me to sign away my future before I even knew I was signing it.

I reached for the next folder.

And on the first page was a name I had never expected to see.

Sloane Mercer.