Chapter 18 - The Meeting Behind the Steakhouse
Thursday night, Andrew sat in a private room beneath an expensive Manhattan steakhouse.
Ten years earlier, he would have entered through the front.
Now Mercer’s men brought him through the service alley.
The humiliation was deliberate.
Andrew understood that.
A microphone no larger than a grain of rice had been sewn inside his shirt collar.
Thomas listened from a surveillance van two blocks away.
Emma sat beside him.
“You’re too tense,” Thomas said.
“My ex-husband is meeting a man who tried to kill my father.”
“A fair point.”
Inside the restaurant, Gideon Mercer entered wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal suit.
Andrew stood automatically.
Mercer smiled.
“Still trained.”
Andrew’s mouth tightened.
“Where is my money?”
Emma heard the question through her headset.
Good.
Andrew sounded greedy.
Believable.
Mercer poured wine.
“After your testimony.”
“We agreed half before.”
“We agreed many things.”
Andrew sat.
“I’m not risking prison on credit.”
Mercer laughed.
“That attitude is why Emma beat you.”
Andrew’s face hardened convincingly.
“Don’t say her name like you know her.”
“Oh, I know women like Emma.”
“No.”
Andrew picked up the wine but did not drink.
“You know powerful people. That isn’t the same thing.”
Emma glanced at Thomas.
That line had not been scripted.
Mercer leaned closer.
“Careful.”
Andrew shrugged.
“What exactly do you need?”
Mercer’s attorney slid documents across the table.
Andrew would state that Emma had secretly photographed Weston Capital loan documents months before their separation.
He would claim she had discussed “destroying” him with unknown financial advisers.
He would testify that their marriage had remained functional until she engineered the default.
Every sentence was false.
Andrew flipped through the pages.
“And the custody case?”
Mercer smiled.
“There it is.”
Andrew looked up.
“You promised me my son.”
“Your son is leverage.”
Inside the van, Emma’s hand tightened.
Andrew went very still.
“What did you say?”
Mercer calmly cut into his steak.
“Emma’s greatest weakness is not her company.”
He chewed.
“It’s the boy.”
Andrew’s breathing changed.
Thomas whispered, “Stay with it.”
Mercer continued.
“You don’t need custody. You need litigation.”
“Why?”
“Because mothers make mistakes when they’re frightened.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Mercer put down his knife.
“Everyone does eventually.”
Andrew’s voice lowered.
“What happens to Arthur?”
Mercer smiled.
“Nothing, if Emma behaves.”
Emma felt Thomas’s hand move toward the recorder controls, as if physically touching them could make the evidence safer.
Andrew asked, “And if she doesn’t?”
Mercer’s attorney interrupted.
“That question is irrelevant.”
“No,” Andrew said. “It isn’t.”
Mercer stared at him.
For a moment Emma feared Andrew had pushed too hard.
Then Mercer leaned back.
“Children survive difficult transitions every day.”
Emma felt cold.
Andrew did too.
“I want something in writing that nobody touches him.”
Mercer laughed.
“You’re adorable.”
“I’m serious.”
“That boy has never met you.”
Andrew’s face changed.
“No.”
Mercer’s smile sharpened.
“He doesn’t know your voice. He doesn’t know your face. Emma made certain of that.”
Andrew said nothing.
“You are not his father in any meaningful sense.”
Emma expected anger.
Instead Andrew whispered:
“I know.”
Mercer looked surprised.
Then Andrew leaned forward.
“But I know what it feels like to have a father who treats children like assets.”
Mercer’s eyes narrowed.
Wrong direction.
Thomas reached toward the transmitter.
“Abort.”
Emma stopped him.
“Wait.”
Andrew continued.
“My father measured everything by what it could buy him. I became exactly like him.”
Mercer pushed back from the table.
“I’m losing interest.”
Andrew glanced toward the attorney.
“Fine. I’ll testify.”
Mercer relaxed slightly.
“But I want half the money tomorrow.”
“You’ll receive it.”
“And the photographs stop.”
Mercer smiled.
“Of course.”
Andrew stood.
Mercer spoke again.
“One more thing.”
Andrew turned.
“Your warehouse supervisor has a sixteen-year-old daughter named Sophie.”
Andrew froze.
“If you decide to become heroic…”
Mercer casually sipped his wine.
“…remember that innocent people often suffer for other people’s conscience.”
Emma’s heart slammed.
Thomas immediately began typing.
Mercer knew about the operation.
Maybe not the microphone.
But enough.
Andrew walked toward the exit.
Then Mercer said:
“Tell Emma I said hello.”
Silence.
Andrew stopped.
The surveillance van went dead quiet.
Mercer smiled at the hidden microphone.
“Yes, Emma.”
He looked directly toward Andrew’s collar.
May you like
“I know you’re listening.”
Then every feed went black.
