Chapter 6 - The Name on My Birth Certificate
“Robert Mercer is not your father.”
I read Thomas’s sentence again.
Then I looked at the name written beneath it.
VICTOR HALE.
Claire stood beside me with one hand gripping my arm.
Michael said nothing.
For several seconds, the only sound in our living room was the faint radio chatter from the police officer outside.
Finally, I laughed.
One short, empty sound.
“No.”
Claire looked at me.
“Daniel—”
“No.”
I enlarged the scanned birth certificate.
The document looked old. My name was correct. My date of birth was correct. Mom’s maiden name was correct.
But Robert Mercer’s name had been crossed out in red.
Victor Hale had been handwritten underneath.
“That proves nothing,” I said.
Michael nodded.
“You’re right.”
I looked at him.
“It could be fake?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thomas could have made it.”
“Yes.”
“Victor could have made it.”
“Yes.”
“Anybody could have made it.”
“Yes.”
I wanted Michael to keep agreeing.
Instead, he added, “But someone clearly wants you to believe it.”
Claire lowered herself onto the couch.
I looked at the photograph of my nineteen-year-old self beside the wrecked car.
Then the messages.
ASK ROBERT WHO HIT YOUR CAR.
YOUR FATHER LIED ABOUT THE ACCIDENT.
THOMAS LIED TOO.
And now this.
Victor Hale.
The man Thomas said had laundered money through my father’s businesses.
The man who had just spoken to me while apparently holding my sister.
The man who claimed my father had hidden me from him for sixteen years.
I called Mom.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I called a third time.
Voicemail.
Michael said, “Don’t go over there.”
“I need answers.”
“You need facts.”
“My mother has facts.”
“She also has a twenty-year history of deciding which facts you’re allowed to know.”
That hurt because it was true.
Claire looked at me.
“Call Thomas.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“The email.”
Michael was already checking the header.
“Could be routed through an anonymous service.”
“Can you reply?”
“Yes.”
I typed:
CALL ME.
Less than thirty seconds later, my phone rang from a blocked number.
I answered.
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Is Victor Hale my father?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“It’s complicated.”
I nearly threw the phone.
“If one more person says that—”
“I don’t know.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“I don’t know if Victor is your biological father.”
“You sent me a birth certificate.”
“I sent you a document your mother gave me sixteen years ago.”
I looked at Claire.
“When?”
“After your accident.”
“Why?”
“Because she was terrified Victor would come after you again.”
“Again?”
Thomas exhaled.
“I shouldn’t have used that word.”
“But you did.”
“Daniel—”
“Did Victor cause my crash?”
“I believe so.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“I don’t know whether he intended to kill you.”
“That is not comforting.”
“I know.”
“What happened that night?”
Thomas went silent.
“Tell me.”
“I was supposed to meet Robert at a warehouse.”
“The meeting Mom mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Robert had decided he wanted out.”
“Out of Hale’s operation?”
“Yes.”
“Why then?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Because of you.”
I sat down.
“What did I have to do with his business?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“Victor had started asking questions.”
“About me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Your mother.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Every answer produced another secret.
“What about her?”
“Victor and Evelyn knew each other before she married Robert.”
I looked at Claire.
She heard it.
Michael did too.
“Knew each other how?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
I lowered my voice.
“Were they together?”
“Yes.”
The word hit me harder than I expected.
“How long?”
“A year, maybe longer.”
“Did Dad know?”
“Not when he first met her.”
“And later?”
“Yes.”
“When did Victor decide I might be his son?”
“When you were nineteen.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why wait nineteen years?”
“Because someone sent him a photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“You at a Mercer Foundation event.”
I remembered it.
College sophomore year.
Dad had insisted I attend.
There had been photographers everywhere.
“Victor saw you?”
“Yes.”
“And decided what?”
“That you looked like him.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s his evidence?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“He knew the timing.”
My stomach tightened.
“The timing of what?”
“Your mother leaving him.”
I stood.
Claire said my name quietly.
I couldn’t sit.
“Why didn’t Mom tell me?”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Because she was afraid.”
“Of Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Was she afraid he really was my father?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Yes.”
That was worse.
I walked toward the window.
A police cruiser remained outside.
A normal suburban street beyond it.
Everything looked ordinary.
Nothing was.
“Why did Victor hit my car?”
“I told you, I don’t know if that was the intention.”
“What was the intention?”
“To stop you.”
“From doing what?”
“Leaving town.”
I turned.
“I was driving home from college.”
“You were supposed to leave the next morning for an internship.”
Chicago.
I remembered.
Six-month placement with a major construction firm.
The accident had destroyed that plan.
I spent three months recovering.
“Victor wanted me to stay?”
“He wanted time to confirm who you were.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad knew?”
“Robert knew Victor was asking questions. That’s why he called me.”
“To protect me?”
“Yes.”
“So why didn’t Dad warn me?”
“He thought he could handle Victor himself.”
That sounded painfully believable.
Dad always believed he could handle everything until he couldn’t.
“What happened after the crash?”
“I got there first.”
“You pulled me out.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad?”
“He arrived minutes later.”
“Victor?”
“Gone.”
“You saw him?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know he was involved?”
Thomas paused.
“Because the truck that hit you belonged to one of his companies.”
The room went cold.
Michael leaned closer.
“Ask him the company name.”
I did.
Thomas answered.
“Hale Freight Logistics.”
Michael wrote it down.
“Still operating?”
“No. Dissolved fourteen years ago.”
“What happened after the accident?”
“Robert met Victor.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“And?”
“Victor disappeared from our business for several years.”
“Because Dad paid him?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Thomas was quiet too long.
“Thomas.”
“Because Robert gave him something.”
“What?”
“I never knew.”
I didn’t believe him.
Before I could push harder, Michael pointed toward the phone.
“Ask about Melissa.”
“Where is my sister?”
Thomas immediately said, “I don’t know.”
“You took the flash drive from her.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“A parking garage.”
“Was Victor there?”
“No.”
“She told me she was with the man who hit my car.”
Thomas swore.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“Then Victor got to her after I left.”
“What’s on the drive?”
“Records.”
“Of what?”
“Your father’s transactions with Hale.”
“Why did Dad give it to Melissa?”
“I have no idea.”
“Where is the drive now?”
“With me.”
“Bring it to the police.”
“No.”
“Thomas.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because some of the people named on it are still powerful.”
“That’s exactly why you take it to law enforcement.”
“You think I haven’t tried?”
Michael gestured.
“Ask him what he means.”
I did.
Thomas sighed.
“Years ago, I gave information to a federal investigator.”
“And?”
“He disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Transferred, according to the agency.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No.”
My phone beeped.
Another incoming call.
Mom.
“I have to go.”
“Daniel, wait.”
“What?”
“Do not trust the birth certificate.”
I froze.
“You sent it.”
“I sent it because you needed to know the question existed.”
“That’s a strange way to phrase it.”
“Because I don’t think Victor is your father.”
“Why?”
Thomas went silent.
“Why?”
“I think Robert had a DNA test done sixteen years ago.”
My heart started pounding.
“What did it say?”
“I never saw the result.”
“Who did?”
“Robert.”
The call with Mom continued buzzing.
“Where would it be?”
Thomas answered quietly.
“The red folder.”
I ended the call and answered Mom.
“Where are you?”
“At the house.”
“Police?”
“Downstairs.”
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Still missing.”
“Melissa?”
“No one can find her.”
I swallowed.
“Mom, I need you to answer one question.”
She was quiet.
“Did you have a relationship with Victor Hale?”
Nothing.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Michael looked away.
“Could he be my biological father?”
Mom began crying.
“Could he?”
“Yes.”
I sat down again.
“Does Dad know?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since you were nineteen.”
“The accident.”
“Yes.”
“Did he have a DNA test done?”
Mom stopped crying.
That was my answer.
“He did.”
“What was the result?”
“I never saw it.”
“Why not?”
“Robert said it didn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“He said you were his son regardless.”
For the first time that night, something in my chest loosened.
Not much.
But something.
Dad had known there was a possibility.
And whatever the test said, he had still called me his son.
Then I remembered the kidnapping.
“Mom, the red folder.”
“What about it?”
“Thomas says the DNA result might be inside.”
“I don’t know.”
“The police need to open the safe.”
“No.”
“Why are you still fighting this?”
“Because there are things in that safe that could destroy all of us.”
“Then maybe they should.”
“Daniel.”
“I’m done protecting secrets.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand that my wife got assaulted in that house while everyone laughed. I understand I own a property apparently tied to criminal money. I understand my dead uncle is alive, my father has been kidnapped, my sister is missing, and a man who may be my biological father is threatening us.”
Claire reached for my hand.
I continued.
“So whatever you’re protecting, Mom, it’s already destroying us.”
She said nothing.
Then, quietly:
“You’re right.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“I said you’re right.”
I heard movement.
“Where are you going?”
“To the office.”
“Police are there.”
“I know.”
“Give them the safe.”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
The line remained open as she walked.
I heard voices.
An officer.
Mom explaining.
Then the office door.
A few minutes later, Michael’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Yes?”
He listened.
His expression changed.
“What do you mean empty?”
I stood.
“What?”
He held up one finger.
“When was it opened?”
Another pause.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
“The safe is empty.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“The police opened it. Nothing inside.”
“But someone sent me a picture.”
“I know.”
“The red folder was there.”
“Not anymore.”
Claire whispered, “Who took it?”
One person came immediately to mind.
“Melissa.”
But Michael shook his head.
“If she already had the flash drive, why take the folder too?”
I called Mom again.
“Did Melissa go into Dad’s office today?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
“I was upstairs.”
“Before Dad disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“Could she have?”
“Maybe.”
“Does she know the safe combination?”
“I didn’t even know the safe existed.”
Then Mom said, “Wait.”
“What?”
“Robert’s security cameras.”
“What about them?”
“The office has one.”
Dad had installed cameras after a burglary scare three years earlier.
“Can police access the footage?”
“Yes.”
“Tell them to check it.”
Twenty minutes later, an officer emailed me a still image.
Timestamp: 4:31 p.m.
Someone entered Dad’s office.
Not Melissa.
Not Thomas.
Dad.
He opened the hidden safe.
Removed the red folder.
Then looked directly toward the security camera.
The next frame showed him holding up a handwritten note.
I zoomed in.
DANIEL — TRUST NO ONE UNTIL YOU SEE THE TEST.
The next frame was Dad placing the folder inside a black briefcase.
At 4:34, he left the office.
At 4:39, the front camera showed him being forced toward the SUV.
The briefcase was still in his hand.
Claire whispered, “They have it.”
“Yes.”
Victor had Dad.
Victor had the DNA result.
And Victor knew I was looking for it.
My phone rang again.
Unknown.
I answered.
Victor’s voice.
“You found the footage.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Where is my father?”
“Still calling him that?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
Then Victor laughed.
“Interesting.”
“Let Melissa go.”
“She isn’t here anymore.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Where is she?”
“She made a choice.”
“What choice?”
“To go with Thomas.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Ask him.”
“Put Dad on.”
“Soon.”
“Now.”
Victor sighed.
“You sound like Robert.”
I hated how much that affected me.
“What do you want?”
“To correct a mistake that should have been corrected thirty-three years ago.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“You might after you see the test.”
“Then show me.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Look outside.”
Claire immediately stood.
I grabbed her arm.
“No.”
Victor chuckled.
“Relax. I’m not outside your house.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Your driveway.”
I moved carefully toward the side window.
A courier envelope lay beside our front gate.
Police were already approaching it.
“What’s inside?”
“A copy.”
“Of the DNA test?”
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“Why give it to me?”
“Because Robert lied to you.”
“And you don’t?”
Another pause.
“Read it.”
The call ended.
Police inspected the envelope before bringing it inside.
Michael put on gloves and opened it.
One document.
Private laboratory report.
Sixteen years old.
Subject A:
Daniel James Mercer.
Subject B:
Robert Edward Mercer.
Probability of paternity:
0.00%.
Claire squeezed my hand.
I stared at the number.
Robert wasn’t my biological father.
There was a second page.
Subject A:
Daniel James Mercer.
Subject C:
Victor Samuel Hale.
Michael slowly turned it over.
The probability line had been blacked out.
But beneath it was a handwritten note in Dad’s unmistakable handwriting.
VICTOR CAN NEVER LEARN THE REAL RESULT.
I looked at Michael.
“What real result?”
Before he could answer, Claire’s phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Her face went pale.
“Who is it?”
She turned the phone toward me.
MELISSA.
Claire answered on speaker.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Melissa whispered:
“Daniel, don’t believe the test Victor sent you.”
“Where are you?”
“I found Dad’s original.”
My heart stopped.
“Where?”
“With Thomas.”
“Is Dad there?”
“No.”
“Melissa, what does the original say?”
She began crying.
“Daniel…”
“What does it say?”
A door slammed somewhere behind her.
Melissa gasped.
“Someone’s here.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Footsteps approached her.
Fast.
“Melissa, get out.”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me the result.”
The footsteps stopped.
She whispered three words.
“Victor isn’t yours.”
Then another voice came through the phone.
A woman.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Give me the test, Melissa.”
Claire suddenly gripped my wrist.
I knew that voice too.
Melissa screamed.
The call went dead.
I stared at Claire.
She stared back at me.
May you like
Because the woman demanding my DNA test was someone who should have been standing inside my parents’ mansion with the police.
It was my mother.
