“Magnus, Midas, Father. From all of us sharing your spectacular legacy, to the hundreds of assembled colleagues, friends, and connections celebrating here with us tonight, a very happy birthday to you, and many more. You are the pinnacle of what it is to be a man and a mogul. You lead the way, and we thank you for that. To Magnus.”
“To Magnus.” The echo of the three syllables makes the room spin. I lift the glass to my lips but stop short of taking a sip. I will not drink to that fucking man. I will not.
Trystan and Bri stare expectantly at me across the boardroom table. We’re all dressed in jeans and sweaters, as casually as one can be in three-thousand-dollar jeans and cashmere that cost double that again. Helen has taken time off to see her family again, with my best wishes. After next week, she might be out of a job; we all could be. Knowing how much my name and reputation would be smeared and sullied means I will never work in media again, never work in an executive capacity or in New York again either. How the next few days pan out with information places all of us on a sword’s edge. This is not a project I’m taking lightly.
“Okay,” Trys begins, his latte still steaming. “Now that you’ve got your hounds digging up your evidence, do you want to tell Bri and me how this began?”
Blowing out a long breath, I steel myself to share with the two people dearest to me other than my sister and her family, and Marin, what the fuck I’ve been brooding over for the past twenty-four months. Trys mentioned on more than one occasion about a skeleton in the closet. If only he knew how close to the truth he was. Typical. He’s so attuned to my moods.
“This all began around two years ago. Well, it began a lot earlier than that, but this is where the drama started, for want of a better word. This is why we’re here with investigativejournalists today. And yesterday, and tomorrow.” I take a sip from my steaming cup, eyeing Bri over the rim. She’s cautious, her face bereft of makeup and expression. “When we were tested for a suitable bone marrow match for Ava when she got sick, there was an anomaly with the test results. I didn’t think much of it at the time but scooped everything up into a briefcase to study later. Nic and Fraze were a mess—it was the least I could do. My sister was at risk of losing her baby girl.”
They nod, comprehension of how close Ava came to not spending Christmas with us finally sinking in. She was so sick. Bri’s own sister is facing a catastrophic medical diagnosis, so this news must be hitting very close to home for her. In the past weeks, she has cemented herself by my side; a pillar of strength, a compassionate and non-judgmental ear, and as such, a trusted confidant. In truth, she has woven her own fibers into my own. We are forming a great team in more than the boardroom and the bedroom. I’ve had more than one daydream about her tied up with sail rope on the Illusion years from now. Years… fuck. I deal in six-minute increments, chargeable time, and closing deals. In broadcast hours, broadsheet papers, and influencer blogs. Decision-making that was once so black and white is now melding with shades of gray. Driven by emotional feelings I never believed myself capable of. I am falling in love with Sabrina Broe, and I don’t want to stop myself from falling further. She might just be the one.
“Anyway, markers that Nic and Mitch had were missing on mine. Some markers I had; they didn’t. It got me thinking. So, I found a lab in the UK to cross-reference the tests. It turns out Nic and Mitch are brother and sister, but I’m not their brother.”
“What the fuck?” Trystan looks up, appalled. His usual pale skin tone has taken on an unhealthy, ashen white. “You’re not a Mercer?”
“Oh, it gets better, but I had to be 100% sure, so I kept cross-checking and researching. I tracked down and spoke to a few skeletons shaken out of closets.”
Come the day after New Year’s Day, the day Magnus is due to step down after sixty-five years of incredible servitude to media and mining among lesser performers like property, tech, and finance, I’ll have my announcement to make.
“Oh my God. How far do you expect the blast radius to carry? Are we talking a stone dropped in a pond, or a plane crashing to earth? And do you know who your father is?” He drags his palms over the surface of the table, exhaling a long breath.
I nod. “We’re talking lies and betrayal. For decades. Get comfy, my friends. It’s going to be a long day and night.” Neither of them move a muscle. They can see how important this is, and we only get one shot at doing it right. “It took Ava getting sick for this fucked-up family secret to come out. I’m so thankful that she is okay now and they have her and Ramsey. Life is good now, from what was a horrendous place. Similarly, if Caitlin didn’t need to see a specialist, you and I might never have met Bri. I’d be here, and you’d be out there somewhere. But her tragedy was the Venn diagram that connected us. That’s got to mean something special, right?”
Bri nods, sipping her coffee with thoughtful poise. The year is drawing to a close, and I can’t comprehend beginning another one without her by my side. All those months ago, I warned her not to fall in love with me. This was a contract, and she was the receiving party. She was risking termination, and she understood that. Terminated. Such finality surrounding that word. It’s a word I used to throw around without consequence. Now all I can think about are the ramifications. The bomb I’m about to pull the pin on and lob at the feet of my family will change everyone’s lives, not just mine, or Bri’s, or Trystan’s.Everyone. No one, Mercer or otherwise, will be immune, and my finger is itching to pull that pin. Jesus fucking Christ, if they want a war, then I’m bringing one to them.
Michael picks up the speech where he’d left things last night. The pouring of praise onto the shoulders of the man who forged a dynasty. We’re in the largest conference room at Mercer Group; the boardroom is insufficient for the assembled media wanting to immortalize the changing of the Mercer Guard. Sixty-five years of unparalleled, uninterrupted service to media, mining, property, and tech. There is no end to the pies he thrust his fingers into. We have all our networks here, and if Michael was surprised at NBC, CBS, FOX, ABC, and PBS among others, he didn’t show it. He’ll be thrilled to learn that TMZ, ENews, and People are assembled downstairs to catch departing family members. The footage will be a time capsule of such a momentous event. As such, Alice Mercer is styled to perfection in a Chanel suit, thirsty for any positive airtime. The ascending queen in play on a chessboard of her own making. This woman turned defense on its head and has been a master manipulator for most of her life. Today marks a new dawn, and not only by calendar year. I see her moves for what they were and still are. Pure fucking malice. Will she glide, or will she falter?
Michael wastes no time farewelling Magnus, all too eager to move on to his more favored subject: himself. “As head of Mercer Group, there will be changes. Every new leader has the right to assert his own flair and flavor,” he continues, outlaying a skimmed-over version of his planned restructuring. He answersquestions posed to him by Pat Estra, one of our top correspondents. Michael nods and rests his chin on his hand before considering his answers. Answers that were meticulously rehearsed and so far from spontaneousI want to scream.
“That seems kind of harsh for the man heading up the media arm at the moment, Michael. How hard was this decision to make?”
Harsh, Pat? You have no fucking idea how toxic Michael Mercer can be. But please do continue answering the question,Dad.
“Mason is a Mercer. He has grit and fortitude, but alas, no children yet. This decision was made to reflect the legacy of this family, as reflected by myself and Magnus only yesterday at his birthday celebration. Mason understands this is a business decision.”
Several cameras pan to me by the side of the makeshift conference console where Michael and Magnus are positioned. Mitch stands on the other side.
“I’ll be making my announcement at the conclusion of this press conference,” I add, and Pat’s eyebrows arc. I may not have a microphone, but my voice carries across the room. “Today isn’t about Mason,” Michael protests, but it’s clear the assembled media have a whiff of something else and are ready to circle the chum-drenched water like sharks.
“I said at the conclusion,” I affirm, again with my sonorous tone. “You take all the time you need to sell your strategy to the press.” Magnus turns to pierce me with a look I have never seen before. You’re a retired, old man. What are you going to do, huh?
“Mason,” my mother hisses, her French-tipped talons pinched around my bicep to the point of pain. My security step forward, and she releases her hold while I stoke down the fabricof my suit to remove any trace of her. Michael continues to posture, bringing Mitch in on certain answers and touting the importance of family and continuing the legacy. Pat had requested that Nic talk about her own children and the struggles they had faced, but she refused. She wouldn’t be here today, standing next to Mitchel if she could avoid it. Every time the cameras swing her way, you can feel the discomfort pouring from her in waves. She has moved so far out of shot that an assistant has moved her back to the X marked on the floor for her.
“That concludes the conference, everyone. Please be advised that catered refreshments will be served in the adjacent executive foyer.” Tracey, Michael’s PA, announces breezily into her earpiece microphone. As some gather belongings and shut down equipment, others turn to me for more of my promised announcement.
“Mason, you mentioned earlier that you have your own announcement to make. Can you share with us, please?”
“I can, Pat. Members of the media, I suggest you remain where you are to document what comes next. You won’t want to buy the story from a rival network because I can just imagine the price they’ll put on it.” All movement stops. Time pauses.
“Mason,” Michael growls, but I’ve already commandeered a floor mic.
“If it’s okay with all of you, I’d like to proceed uninterrupted and would appreciate it if you could save questions for the end.” All correspondents nod or offer verbal assurances. Alice totters in her spiked heels, that same pallid face of calm hiding an ire replicated by Mitchel and Michael. Magnus just looks confused, his head bobbing from one side to the other. Bri and Trystan fall into place by my side, armed with prepared press packs for distribution as soon as the facts unfold and the vultures need to feed.
“Further to the family focus andfamily firstmentality that predominated most of Michael’s speeches both today and last night, I’d like to give my mother the opportunity to tell you all what she was up to almost exactly thirty and a half years ago. Mother?”
Alice Mercer remains stony-faced and silent. She looks at the panel of speakers still present and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. An elegant hand slides up to stroke her precision bob, the downward movement practiced and precise. She’snervous.
