Chapter 8 - The Last Dinner
Friday night arrived with a heavy storm rolling across the Piedmont region of North Carolina. Rain lashed against the tall glass windows of the Mercer estate, and thunder rumbled softly in the distance, shaking the crystal drops of the grand foyer chandelier.
The long dining table was set for four.
Silverware gleamed against a dark linen tablecloth. Fresh white lilies—the same flowers that had filled the clinic hallway—sat in a tall crystal vase in the center of the table.
Dr. Adrian Keller sat on the left, looking extremely uncomfortable in his grey suit, his fingers nervously spinning his wine glass. Victoria Vance sat beside him, wearing a dark red dress, her eyes darting toward the hallway every time she heard a footstep.
Grant sat at the foot of the table, sweating through his shirt, his smile strained as he poured a bottle of vintage Bordeaux into four glasses.
"Claire is just finishing up upstairs," Grant said, his voice forced and unnaturally high. "Thank you both for coming on such short notice."
"Grant, this is insane," Victoria whispered fiercely, leaning across the table. "Why did you let her invite us here? She’s playing with you! She’s acting completely different!"
"Keep your voice down," Grant hissed, looking toward the door. "She triggered an audit with her father’s trust board. If we don't keep her calm until the probate hearing on Tuesday, the whole deal falls apart!"
"I don't like this, Grant," Dr. Keller muttered, taking a heavy gulp of his wine. "The state board called my office this morning. They received an anonymous request to verify the batch origin of the donor eggs used in the October 12th procedure."
Grant froze, the wine bottle pausing over Victoria’s glass. "What?"
"I stepped into the room just in time to hear that," my voice echoed from the entrance of the dining room.
The three of them turned simultaneously.
I stepped into the warm glow of the chandelier. I was wearing a stunning black evening gown, floor-length, fitted, with a simple diamond necklace sparkling at my collarbone. I looked powerful, radiant, and entirely unburdened by grief.
Behind me walked two men in dark suits carrying heavy black leather cases.
"Claire?" Grant stood up slowly, his eyes fixing on the two men. "Who are these people?"
"This is Mr. Marcus Thorne, Senior Partner at Thorne & Associates Criminal Litigation," I said, walking to the head of the table and taking my seat. "And his associate, Mr. Vance—no relation to your uncle, Victoria. They are here to act as official recording witnesses for our dinner conversation."
Victoria stood up so fast her chair screeched against the hardwood floor. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"Sit down, Victoria," I said, my voice dropping into an absolute command that filled the entire room. "You pushed me down my own stairs three weeks ago. The least you can do is stay for dessert."
"You're insane!" Victoria screamed, reaching for her purse. "Grant, she’s out of her mind! I’m leaving!"
"I wouldn't touch that purse, Miss Vance," Mr. Thorne said calmly, pulling a laminated document from his jacket. "Two homicide detectives from the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department are currently standing in the foyer with a search warrant for your residence and vehicle."
Dr. Keller’s glass slipped from his hand, shattering against the white linen tablecloth, red wine spreading like a fresh pool of blood across the fabric.
"Claire..." Grant stammered, stepping toward me with his hands outstretched. "Claire, baby, please... you're having a relapse... you don't know what you're saying—"
"I know exactly what I'm saying, Grant," I said softly.
I pulled my tablet from beside my plate, tapped the screen twice, and turned it toward the center of the table.
The large eighty-inch smart television mounted on the dining room wall clicked to life.
The video played in glorious, terrifying high definition.
The room went dead silent except for the sound of the rain beating against the glass windows outside.
They watched Victoria push me. They watched me fall down twenty-two stone steps. They watched my body hit the marble floor. They watched the blood soak through my dress.
And then, the entire room watched Grant Mercer pull out his silver pocket watch.
The digital timer on the screen counted up:
00:01... 01:00... 02:00... 03:00... 04:00... 04:12.
Four minutes and twelve seconds of absolute, merciless silence amplified through the dining room surround-sound speakers.
Dr. Keller covered his mouth with both hands, his eyes wide with horror as he looked at Grant. "You... you waited four minutes? You let the babies die?!"
Victoria turned to Grant, her face contorted in disgust and terror. "You monster! You told me you called them immediately!"
Grant didn't look at Victoria. He didn't look at Dr. Keller.
He collapsed into his chair, staring at the screen where his own face was frozen in a cold, calculating smirk as he took a sip of his water while his wife bled at his feet.
"You took everything from me, Grant," I said, standing up from the head of the table, my voice ringing clear and steady through the quiet room. "You took my career. You took my trust. You violated my body with your mistress's eggs. And then you sat in a chair and watched your own biological children suffocate so you could buy a plot of land in South End."
I stepped around the table, stopping directly behind Grant's chair.
"Four minutes," I whispered into his ear. "That's how long you made me wait for help. Now you're going to spend the next forty years waiting in a six-by-eight cell for your life to end."
The heavy oak front doors of the mansion burst open downstairs.
Heavy footsteps echoed up the grand spiral staircase, and six uniformed police officers, accompanied by two detectives, flooded into the dining room with their handguns drawn.
"Grant Mercer, Victoria Vance, Dr. Adrian Keller," the lead detective announced, pulling three sets of steel handcuffs from his belt. "You are all under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, aggravated assault, medical fraud, and destruction of evidence."
Victoria began screaming hysterically as the officers pinned her arms behind her back, forcing her down against the dining table. Dr. Keller didn't fight; he wept silently as the steel clicked around his wrists.
Grant sat frozen.
As the detective pulled him up from his chair and forced his hands behind his back, Grant looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic plea for mercy.
"Claire..." he choked out, his voice cracking. "Claire, please... I loved you..."
I picked up my glass of Earl Grey tea, took a calm, measured sip, and looked him dead in the eyes.
May you like
"Your four minutes are up, Grant," I said.
And I watched them drag him out of my house into the storm.
