Chapter 4 - The Paper Trail
The private intelligence firm hired by Grant took three days to locate the faint trail left by Claire Mercer.
Marcus Vance, a quiet, methodical investigator with thirty years of corporate and private experience, sat across from Grant in the corner office of Mercer Development. Grant looked like a ghost of himself—his eyes were sunken, his tie was absent, and three days of dark stubble covered his jaw. He had canceled every meeting, ignored four major investment boards, and left Daniel to manage the falling operations.
“She was very thorough, Mr. Mercer,” Vance said, opening a sleek black file. “She closed her primary bank accounts three weeks ago. She transferred her personal savings—which were modest, roughly fourteen thousand dollars—into a new account at a regional credit union.”
“Where did she go?” Grant demanded, leaning forward. “Is she in the city? Is she with her sister?”
“No,” Vance replied. “Her sister hasn't spoken to her in a week, and bank records confirm she bought a one-way bus ticket out of Port Authority on Friday morning.”
“To where?”
“A small coastal town in Maine. St. Jude’s Bay. Population: four thousand.”
Grant blinked. “Maine? She doesn't know anyone in Maine. We went there once... seven years ago. We stayed in a tiny bed-and-breakfast near the lighthouse when we had no money.”
“That appears to be precisely why she chose it,” Vance said softly. “She rented a small, furnished cottage on the edge of the cliffs. Six-month lease paid in cash upfront. She registered under her maiden name: Claire Vance.”
Grant closed his eyes, relief and agony washing over him in equal measure. She was safe. She was alive.
“Should I deploy a team to bring her back, or set up surveillance?” Vance asked.
“No,” Grant said immediately, opening his eyes. “No surveillance. No teams. Just give me the address.”
“Mr. Mercer,” Vance cautioned gently, “she took extraordinary measures to erase her presence from your life. Pushing her too hard right now might cause her to move again, further away, under a completely dark identity.”
May you like
Grant looked out the massive glass window of his office at the Manhattan skyline. The sprawling city, which had always seemed like a chess board he was winning, now looked like a cold, meaningless canyon of steel.
“I'm not going there to force her home,” Grant said, his voice flat and firm. “I'm going there because I can't live another day in this city knowing what I let happen to her.”
