I had identified his body.
I had attended his funeral.
I had scattered his ashes beside my mother's grave.
Yet there he was.
Photographed six months ago.
My father.
Thomas Mercer.
Alive.
The body buried under my father's name had been cremated before I saw it.
A closed coffin.
Hospital paperwork.
Identification handled by Laura.
Everything suddenly made horrifying sense.
Laura had helped fake his death.
But she had believed he'd died for real two years later.
Apparently, she'd been deceived too.
Maya explained that Thomas Mercer had never been the quiet accountant I believed him to be.
Before I was born, he had worked in financial intelligence.
Not officially.
Not in any record easily accessible.
He built money trails for government investigations.
Later, he left.
Or claimed he did.
Then he became obsessed with criminal networks operating through banks and property companies.
He had known about Alex's activities before I ever met him.
