Chapter 8 - The Safe Deposit Box
An hour later, Ethan stood in the private viewing room of the Chase Bank vault on 57th Street, holding a thick black leather binder retrieved from Box 412.
He opened the cover.
Inside were five years’ worth of detailed surveillance reports, bank records, and private investigator photographs.
Victoria had not simply paid Hannah to leave. She had tracked her every move for five years.
There were photos of Hannah working late nights at a small architectural drafting firm in Buffalo. Photos of her carrying a baby car seat into a small rented apartment. Photos of Avery’s first steps in a public park. Photos of Hannah applying for domestic cleaning work when the drafting firm went bankrupt during the economic downturn.
Victoria had known about Avery from the very beginning.
Ethan’s hands trembled with an absolute, terrifying rage as he flipped through the pages.
His mother had watched her own granddaughter grow up in poverty, living in cheap rented apartments, wearing hand-me-down clothes, while sitting on a hundred-million-dollar trust fund.
Attached to the back of the final report was a handwritten note in Victoria’s elegant cursive handwriting:
‘The child is definitely Ethan’s. Keep the mother impoverished so she never has the financial resources to hire legal counsel in New York. If Ethan ever finds out, ensure the mother is blamed for taking the initial settlement.’
Ethan closed the binder with a heavy thud.
He pulled out his phone and dialed his chief legal counsel.
“Marcus,” Ethan said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
“Yes, Ethan?”
“Draft a total severance of all Mercer Family Trust funds allocated to Victoria Mercer,” Ethan ordered. “Transfer her remaining personal accounts into a restricted escrow fund. She is to be evicted from the Manhattan penthouse by Friday.”
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“Ethan... she’s your mother,” Marcus warned quietly over the line. “The social scandal—”
“The scandal is already over, Marcus,” Ethan said, clutching the black binder tight. “My mother died to me five years ago.”
