Chapter 2 - What Was Supposed to Happen “Tomorrow”
David got Noah out of the dining room first.
He took Sarah and their son into the quiet sunroom overlooking the water, shut the French doors behind them, and crouched in front of Noah until he could look at him at eye level.
“Noah,” he said carefully, “I need you to tell me exactly what happened.”
Noah’s lip trembled. He kept one hand twisted in Sarah’s sleeve. “Grandma told me to carry my plate back by myself. I dropped some potatoes. Then she said I had to stay down there and clean it because that’s where parasites belong.”
Sarah closed her eyes for one second, steadying herself.
David’s jaw tightened. “Why did she say I’d lose everything?”
Noah swallowed. “Because she said tomorrow the lawyer comes. And when he does, she’s gonna prove we’re all just living here off her kindness.”
David looked up sharply.
“What lawyer?” Sarah asked.
David stood. “Thomas Bell.”
Sarah frowned. “Your father’s estate attorney?”
He nodded slowly. “He was supposed to come next week. Mom said the paperwork still wasn’t ready.”
That was the first lie.
David’s father, William Mercer, had died six weeks earlier. Since then, Margaret had played the grieving widow perfectly—controlled, immaculate, generous in public, almost saintly. She told everyone the estate process was moving slowly. She told David there was no reason to rush. She told Sarah they should all spend one last family weekend at the mansion before legal business turned everything cold.
Now Noah was saying Thomas was coming tomorrow—and Margaret had somehow worked a child into whatever she was planning.
“Did Grandma say anything else?” Sarah asked gently.
Noah nodded. “She said after tomorrow, you’d both finally understand who belongs in this family.”
The room went still.
Sarah rubbed her hand over his hair. “Baby, did Grandpa ever say anything to you before he died? Anything strange?”
Noah hesitated.
Then, with a frightened glance toward the dining room, he reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a small cream envelope, folded twice and creased from being hidden.
“I wasn’t supposed to show anyone unless Grandma got mean,” he whispered. “Grandpa gave it to me.”
David stared at the envelope.
On the front, in William Mercer’s unmistakable handwriting, were five words:
May you like
For Sarah, if Margaret starts.
---
