Chapter 39 - The Call From Indiana
The call came at 2:14 in the morning.
Unknown number.
I nearly ignored it.
Then I thought of Grant.
I answered.
“Is this Laurel Pike?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Officer Daniel Ruiz with the Carmel Police Department in Indiana.”
I sat upright.
“What happened?”
“Do you know Clifford Mercer?”
Every instinct in my body sharpened.
“Yes.”
“He listed your father as an emergency contact several years ago. We have been unable to reach him.”
“Why?”
“There has been an arrest.”
I closed my eyes.
“For Cliff?”
“Yes.”
The officer would not give me details beyond what was appropriate.
Fraud allegations.
A business dispute.
No physical danger.
Grant was not present.
That last sentence mattered most.
I called Bryn.
She answered immediately because mothers who have survived bad phone calls do not sleep deeply.
“What?”
“Grant is safe.”
I said it first.
Then I told her.
Silence.
Finally, “Of course.”
Not shock.
Exhaustion.
“Do you know what happened?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll contact my attorney.”
“Good.”
“Don’t do anything.”
I almost laughed.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“That sentence sounds unnatural coming from us.”
“Growth.”
By morning, we knew more.
Cliff had been operating a fundraising consulting business under another name.
A small one.
Mostly online campaigns.
The complaint involved money collected for a family whose home had been damaged by a tornado.
The family claimed thousands of dollars were missing.
My stomach turned.
Same pattern.
New names.
Different tragedy.
Audrey warned me not to connect events publicly.
I had no desire to.
This was not vindication.
Somewhere in Indiana, another family was learning that generosity could become evidence.
Grant found out from Bryn before school.
He refused to go.
She brought him to my house.
He sat on the couch for nearly an hour without speaking.
Then he asked, “Is Dad a bad person?”
Nobody moved.
Bryn looked at me.
I gave her a look back.
This one was hers.
She sat beside him.
“Your dad has made serious choices that hurt people.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know.”
Grant’s voice broke.
“Is he bad?”
Bryn swallowed.
“I don’t know how to reduce a whole person to one word.”
That was better than anything I could have said.
Grant stared at the floor.
“Everyone at school is going to know.”
“Maybe.”
“I hate him.”
Bryn nodded.
“Okay.”
“I love him.”
“Okay.”
“I hate that.”
“I know.”
He leaned into her.
She held him.
No correction.
No request that he protect Cliff.
No demand that he forgive.
I went into the kitchen and cried quietly.
Not because the moment was beautiful.
Because it was what Bryn should have received from our mother decades earlier.
Permission to have two feelings at once.
Dad arrived around noon.
The police had finally reached him.
He looked shaken.
“Cliff used my name as an emergency contact.”
“Old paperwork.”
“I know.”
“He probably forgot.”
“I know.”
Dad sat down.
“I don’t want to go.”
“To Indiana?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t.”
“He may not have anyone.”
I looked at him.
“You are not required to become someone’s emergency because they wrote your name on a form.”
Dad breathed out.
“That sounds obvious when you say it.”
“Most boundaries do.”
He did not go.
Cliff obtained counsel.
Bryn handled necessary custody changes.
Grant’s visits were temporarily paused.
The Indiana case expanded.
Investigators contacted families from the old external drive.
Patterns connected.
Not every campaign involved theft.
Enough did to matter.
Marcus Vale released a statement saying he had “no knowledge of Mr. Mercer’s alleged conduct outside the family dispute.”
His podcast went quiet.
The anonymous complaint against the Curiosity Grant was formally closed.
No evidence.
No misconduct.
No mystery anymore either.
Investigators confirmed Cliff had mailed it.
I expected satisfaction.
Instead, I felt nothing.
Almost nothing.
Because Cliff was no longer surprising.
That might have been the saddest consequence of all.
That evening, Nico asked whether Grant would live with us if something happened to Aunt Bryn.
“Why would something happen to her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then stop writing tragedies.”
“I’m preparing.”
“You sound like Grandma.”
His face went horrified.
“Never mind.”
I laughed for the first time all day.
Then Arlo entered holding a new list.
THINGS WE CAN CONTROL.
He had written:
OUR WORDS.
OUR DOORS.
WHO GETS THE LAST COOKIE, SOMETIMES.
I added a fourth.
WHETHER WE ANSWER UNKNOWN NUMBERS AT 2:14 A.M.
Arlo crossed it out.
“What if it’s important?”
I looked toward Grant sleeping on our couch.
“Fair point.”
May you like
Some calls still had to be answered.
The trick was learning which problems belonged on the other end.
