“Go on, Malice. Fill them in with what you were up to,” I encourage, “who you were fucking.”
The press gasp. Marin’s hand flies to cover her mouth. Sorry, not sorry, Grandma.
“Watch it,” Michael hisses. “You’re bitter about the decision, but that’s the way it has to be. For God's sake, get a hold of yourself.”
“This wasn’t set into motion by your restructuring, Michael; this was decades ago. Go on—tell them what you did, Alice. Unless Magnus has the balls to. They work, right, Mother?”
Michael’s face darkens from a rosy red to purple. “Enough. I’m warning you.”
“Or what? You’ll have me struck out? You already have that plan ready. But it is not your call to make. You may have manipulated the marionette strings, and your filthy secret might have been safe. Only the cards you played toppled the house down. Right?” Alice’s lip curls with a cruel spite I’ve only seen directed at the homeless daring to litter the pavement with cardboard mats and cups begging for money near a favorite boutique or lunch spot.
“It’s okay, Mother. You may have nothing to say, but I have plenty. Ladies and gentlemen, when Michael went to Spain foreight weeks back in 1995 and Marin took Mitch and Mon on vacation, how did you pass your time, Alice? I know! You were busy bouncing on a different cock—his.” I point to Magnus as the room spins to face the new retiree. The one with a cake bearing his name, awaiting the knife in the foyer.
“Alice?” Michael turns to his wife, his mask one of irate tension. A vein throbs in his neck and temples.
“Members of the assembled press, my assistants will now distribute bound documentation corroborating everything I mention here today. Medical records have been omitted or heavily redacted to maintain the privacy of those involved, but you will find comprehensive email trails, facsimile receipts, and sworn statements from witnesses.”
Marin’s voice cuts through the now silent room. “Magnus, what is he talking about?
He avoids her eyes, instead searching the room for safe passage away from what he knows is coming.
“Oh, you weren’t aware, Gran? Let me fill you in. Let me fill youallin. Michael Mercer heads to Barcelona for two months in 1995. Aviation manifests show he flew out on Sunday, July 9, and returned to New York on September 2, which was a Saturday. His calendar showed a planned meeting with the Spanish minister for resources, only the meeting never happened. Michael spent most of his time away on the island of Majorca, not on mainland Spain as planned.”
“To be with his whore,” Alice whisper-quips, forgetting the media in the room with us mere feet away. Hypocritical much? Hands gratefully accept the bound documents, some flipping them open immediately, while others wait for me to continue. “It seems he was all set to leave you for his mistress, Alice. He had papers drawn up and everything, preliminary copies of which you will find in the reference.” Turning to face Alice, I continue as if no one else is in the room. “Then, lo-and-behold,he arrives home to serve you, and you’re conveniently pregnant. So, he stays out of obligation. Only the dates don’t match, do they, Mother? By all accounts, the two of you hadn’t been intimate in weeks. My due date should have been around April 7, as per the report from the sonographer before you convinced her she was mistaken. Then you were induced to line the dates up to hide your infidelity. Me being born on February 29, 1996. Now, thankfully for you, I looked just like Michael when I was born—Marin said as much. The blood work wasn’t out of the ordinary, so no DNA test was needed. But because I was induced and premature rather than full term, I needed time in the NICU. People started asking questions. Like, how a full-term baby had underdeveloped lungs and weighed less than five pounds? The housekeeper, Barbara, knew. You knew, and Magnus knew. So, you fired Barbara and made it impossible for her to get another job. Nice touch adding the contrived theft and alcoholic baggage—that really helped your manufactured probable cause.”
“She is an alcoholic!” Alice screeches. “She does not know what she’s talking about.”
“Was, Mother. She drank, but has remained sober for twenty-two years. It might have been the brush you tarred her with. Anyway, she has a better memory than all of us put together.”
“She’s lying!You’relying!” she seethes.
“No. No, we’re not, you see, because I have proof.” I nod to the stack of bound documents.
“She remains bound by an NDA. She can’t share anything,” Magnus interrupts.
“About that…her NDA stipulates she not share anything outside of the household. And she didn’t. The conversation was instigated by me, a member of the very household she had diligently worked in for over eleven years. I signed no such document, and what I do with the information is beyond her reproach. For someone so attuned to the law, you really should check the fine print of all contracts. You taught me that yourself, remember. But then again,Dad, sticking your dick into your daughter-in-law was a new low, even for you.”
Magnus squirms in his seat. Michael nods to his security, jaw set, imploring them to drag me out of the room. As they step forward, so do my security, a silent gesture of an impending throwdown. Expecting such a confrontation, I brought in all twelve of mine, ex Seals and armed forces. Michael’s two are outmatched and outmuscled. Always know more than your opponent.Always.
“Ava’s leukemia. Do you remember the bone marrow testing? When it came back and there were no family matches, Nic and Fraze were too distraught to do anything other than take care of their little girl, understandably. I kept the results and went through them one afternoon. Imagine my surprise when my markers did not match Nic’s or Mitch’s? How? I’m no scientist, but there are plenty of labs to explain it. There was no way Michael Mercer was my father, but wewererelated. That’s because he’s my half-fucking brother.”
“What!” The room erupts again. Fingers are licked, pages are flicked, and a swarm of eyes volley over pages like watching a tennis match play out. Pagers and cell phones vibrate with incoming alerts while frenzied fingers work double time to type out more. TMZ must be losing their shit downstairs.
“You heard me.Magnusis my father; Michael and I are half-brothers. Nic and Mitch, despite being years older, are my niece and nephew.”
I drop the microphone back onto the desk with a heavy clunk. Turning to my family, the ones responsible for the might of the fickle industry I work in, I address them as a unit directly, rather than the gathered room. “So, assholes. If you are ready toinvoke that new trust structure, brother. I fucking dare you. Because if you do, my share is more than double yours, nephew of mine, and as your brother, Mikey boy, equal to yours. If the split goes ahead in the current format, I’ll see you cunts in court.”
Everything comes back to black and white, or shades of gray. If the Mercer mess was a sketch, I’d scribble over it, tear it up, and burn the pieces of paper to ensure it was gone for good. Nothing left but ash and coal, all the materials needed to birth a new story. One of a phoenix rising to reclaim his identity and leave behind the lies, betrayal, and pain.
TMZ was vicious. Magnus and Alice were both tarred with a heavy brush of betrayal and infidelity. Michael’s ignorance was evident in his belief that his spin doctors could manipulate the situation to his advantage. The journalists Mason had handpicked to dig up dirt in Spain had come through with incredible detail, even after three decades. Then there were current photos of him with a blonde woman who was not Alice Mercer, along with his long-time reiki therapist, an auburn-haired beauty with a penchant for seafood restaurants in quaint locations like the Amalfi Coast and Mykonos. All accessed on the MG private jet when it was logged for maintenance. Page after page of disturbing allegations, surveillance footage, and witness statements. Mason had effectively buried the whole family under a landslide of muck. Marin emerged unaffected, remaining stoic in her love for herentirefamily. Ever the peacemaker, she asked the press for time and privacy while her family tried to work things out away from the media blowtorch. An interestingrequest, considering the woman married a media mogul. People whose careers he had formed and guided now wanted her exposé.
Nic was the casualty I ached over. The catalyst for this whole cataclysm was the DNA results stemming from bone marrow testing. Nic and Frazer had fought to keep their precious daughter’s diagnosis a secret from the prying press, and Mason had just shit all over that request. As an outsider, Fraze tried to reassure her that if there was another way for Mason to drop his bomb, he would have. That Ava’s medical records were omitted or redacted tempered little; Nicwas pissed. The blanket ban they’d put in place when she first fell sick still applied, was her argument, and I see her point of view. If Caitlin’s health and future outlook were public knowledge for everyone to discuss, she would be devastated.
The sliver of light piercing the darkness from the announcement and very public fallout, is my relationship with Nic, Fraze, and the kids. While she’s still furious with her younger brother because she refuses to call him uncle, she has kept the lines of communication open via texts and telephone conversations with me. I surprised her with a gallery visit only yesterday, bringing her some of Helen’s famous spiced sweet potato soup with yoghurt and cardamom crumbs. Her wide-eyed expression of awe was the most wondrous sight I’d seen in days. She accepted the thermos of soup and crusty bread for dipping. As we walked around the gallery space, I couldn’t help but marvel not only at the work on display, but also at how proud she was to gush about the work and artist backstories. It’s an edgy, hipster space with whitewashed walls and exposed scrubbed red brick in divided sections for contrast and warmth.
“I can see your sketches here, Bri. A series of charcoal and mixed media works: portraits, landscapes. Perhaps some still lifes, as long as Mason isn’t the model.”
“Can you imagine?” I shriek. “He would never do anything so… outrageous.”
