Chapter 6 - The House Above the OceanJulian’s jet landed outside Lisbon shortly before dawn.
By morning, the red room had been sealed and placed under twenty-four-hour security.
Every document was photographed.
Every piece of paper was cataloged.
Marcus contacted a former federal prosecutor without revealing names.
Evelyn began tracing corporate entities.
And Rosa watched Julian slowly become someone she no longer recognized.
Not colder.
Focused.
There was a difference.
The billionaire who had once tested a maid by pretending to sleep now questioned everything he had been told about his own life.
His father, Theodore Mercer, had supposedly died in a private-plane accident when Julian was fourteen.
The aircraft disappeared over the Atlantic during a storm.
Debris was recovered.
Theodore’s body never was.
Julian had mourned him anyway.
Not deeply.
Their relationship had been complicated.
Theodore had been distant, severe, and obsessed with turning Julian into an heir worthy of the Mercer name.
Still, he had been his father.
Now a bank transfer suggested Theodore might be alive.
Marcus entered the study at 6:40 a.m.
“I traced the transfer.”
Julian turned from the window.
“Where?”
“Cayman account to a holding company in Lisbon.”
“Owner?”
“Layered through trusts.”
“Beneficial owner?”
“Still working.”
Julian rubbed his eyes.
Marcus placed a second folder on the desk.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Theodore’s death certificate.”
Julian looked up.
“It was filed in New York based on presumed death.”
“I know.”
“No medical verification. No remains.”
“That was normal under the circumstances.”
“Maybe.”
Marcus sat.
“But your uncle handled the probate process.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
Of course he had.
After Theodore disappeared, Charles became Julian’s guardian and temporary controller of the family assets.
Three years later, when Julian turned seventeen, Charles pushed him toward elite schools, corporate apprenticeships, and eventually Mercer Capital.
Julian had always believed Charles saved the company.
Perhaps Charles had saved himself.
A knock came at the door.
Rosa entered carrying coffee.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That seems to be a family tradition.”
Marcus smiled.
Julian did not.
Rosa set down a plate.
Sofia followed her, still wearing pajamas.
Julian looked at Rosa.
“I thought she was sleeping.”
“So did I.”
Sofia climbed onto the sofa.
“Are we finding the bad man?”
Rosa closed her eyes.
“Sofia.”
“What? Everybody whispers.”
Julian looked at Marcus.
“She has a point.”
Rosa glared at him.
“Do not encourage her.”
For a moment, tension loosened.
Then Evelyn entered without knocking.
Her face ended the humor.
“I found the company.”
Julian stood.
“What company?”
“The Lisbon holding company.”
She placed a tablet before him.
The corporation owned several properties in Portugal, Switzerland, and Argentina.
One property mattered.
A private estate outside Cascais.
Purchased nineteen years ago.
Management fees were paid through accounts connected to an alias.
Thomas Mercer.
Julian stared.
“Thomas?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Your father’s middle name.”
Silence.
Rosa whispered, “He may be alive.”
Julian felt no joy.
Only anger.
If Theodore lived, then he had abandoned his fourteen-year-old son.
If he lived, he had allowed Julian to believe himself orphaned.
If he lived, he knew something about Margaret’s death.
“Book the plane.”
Marcus immediately objected.
“No.”
Julian turned.
“No?”
“You don’t fly across the Atlantic into an unknown situation without knowing who is there.”
“It’s my plane.”
“And I’m your security director.”
“You work for me.”
“Yes. Which means sometimes my job is preventing you from doing something reckless.”
Julian stepped closer.
“Book it.”
Rosa spoke quietly.
“He’s right.”
Julian looked at her.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
The second the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Rosa’s expression changed.
“Actually, it does.”
“Rosa—”
“My mother spent most of her adult life terrified because of your family.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“She died carrying this secret.”
Julian softened.
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Rosa stepped toward him.
“You get to be angry that your father might be alive. I get to wonder whether the threats my mother lived under came from him.”
Sofia watched silently.
Rosa lowered her voice.
“So don’t tell me this doesn’t concern me.”
Julian nodded.
“You’re right.”
Marcus looked between them.
“Can we return to the part where nobody flies into a possible trap?”
They compromised.
Marcus would investigate locally through trusted contacts.
No travel until they had confirmation.
For forty-eight hours, Mercer House became an unofficial command center.
Rosa recovered upstairs.
Sofia colored at the dining table.
Julian worked with Evelyn and Marcus.
On the third afternoon, Marcus received a photograph.
A private investigator in Portugal had taken it outside the Cascais property.
An older man sat on a terrace.
White hair.
Thin frame.
Walking cane.
But the face was unmistakable.
Theodore Mercer.
Alive.
Julian stared at the photograph for a long time.
Then he walked outside.
Rosa found him in the garden twenty minutes later.
Autumn leaves covered the stone path.
Julian stood beside a dry fountain.
“My father is alive.”
“I know.”
“He watched me bury an empty coffin.”
Rosa said nothing.
“I was fourteen.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I stood in a church next to Charles while people told me I had no parents left.”
Rosa stepped closer.
“You were a child.”
“I became everything he wanted anyway.”
She looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“My father used to tell me weakness was expensive. Emotion made you easy to control. Need no one, owe no one.”
Julian laughed bitterly.
“I spent twenty years becoming him.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
“You’ve known me three weeks.”
“I know you slept in a hospital chair because my daughter was afraid.”
“That proves nothing.”
“You paid attention when I told you I didn’t want charity.”
“Basic respect.”
“You think basic respect is common?”
Julian looked away.
Rosa continued.
“You may have learned his rules. That doesn’t mean you became him.”
Something passed between them.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
Neither named it.
Then Sofia ran into the garden.
“Mr. Julian!”
Julian turned.
She held a sheet of paper.
“I made our family.”
Rosa froze.
“Sofia.”
The child proudly displayed the drawing.
Three stick figures stood beneath a large yellow sun.
One had curly hair.
One wore a purple dress.
One was absurdly tall.
Above them, Sofia had written in shaky letters:
MAMA
ME
MR JULIAN
Julian stared.
Sofia pointed.
“That’s you.”
“I gathered that.”
“You’re too tall because I ran out of paper.”
Rosa tried to take the drawing.
“Sofia, sweetheart, Mr. Julian isn’t—”
“It’s fine.”
Julian’s voice was quiet.
Rosa looked at him.
He accepted the drawing.
His eyes stayed on it longer than necessary.
That evening, Julian framed it.
He told no one.
The next morning brought worse news.
Marcus entered the breakfast room.
“We intercepted a message from Charles’s former attorney.”
Julian put down his coffee.
“What message?”
“Charles is leaving the country tonight.”
“Where?”
“Portugal.”
Rosa looked at Julian.
“They know we found him.”
Marcus nodded.
“Probably.”
Julian stood.
“Then I’m going too.”
This time Marcus did not object.
Because there was more.
Charles had purchased three tickets.
One in his own name.
Two under false names.
Evelyn enlarged the passenger information.
Rosa’s blood turned cold.
One alias matched a name from her mother’s letters.
Victor Hale.
The private physician who treated Julian after the incident behind the red door.
May you like
The man who had erased a five-year-old boy’s memory from the official record.
And according to public records, Victor Hale had also been dead for twenty-two years.
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