Chapter 13 - SERAPHINA’S SECOND CONFESSION
Seraphina lived in a rented apartment above a pharmacy in Wilmington.
No staff.
No driver.
No diamonds.
The building’s front door stuck in humid weather.
I learned all of that before I saw her because Owen believed preparation prevented stupidity.
“You don’t have to go,” he said.
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because Marisol named her.”
“That’s a legal reason to send counsel.”
“It’s also a human reason to ask directly.”
Owen looked unconvinced.
My mother was worse.
“You are not going alone.”
“Mom.”
“I did not survive sixty-eight years, one fountain, and your terrible garden repairs to let you walk into an unknown apartment with a woman who once planned to erase me.”
So Eleanor came.
Seraphina opened the door wearing jeans and a gray sweater. Her blonde hair was shorter, cut just below her jaw. She looked at me first.
Then at my mother.
Her face emptied.
“Mrs. Ward.”
“Eleanor,” my mother said. “You used my hair once. You don’t get formality now.”
Seraphina stepped aside.
The apartment was clean but sparse. Books. Two plants. A secondhand table. No photographs.
I placed a copy of Marisol’s still image on the table.
“Where is she?”
Seraphina sat slowly.
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer,” I said.
“It’s the truth.”
My mother remained standing.
“Then tell the truth around it.”
Seraphina looked at her.
Something passed between them that had nothing to do with forgiveness.
Recognition, maybe.
Or shame finally meeting the person it had tried to destroy.
Seraphina folded her hands.
“My father used household employees to create false contractor records. Their identities made the vendors look real. Most workers never knew. Marisol did.”
“You knew too,” I said.
“Yes.”
The word came without performance.
That made it harder.
“Why didn’t you tell prosecutors?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“You pled guilty.”
“To what they could prove.”
My jaw tightened.
My mother spoke before I did.
“What happened to Marisol?”
Seraphina looked toward the window.
“She came to me with copies. She said she would go to the police unless I helped protect her sister.”
“Did you threaten Ana?”
Seraphina closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
Ana’s accusation had been true.
My mother’s face hardened.
“I told her I could ruin her sister’s job. I wanted time. I wanted her afraid enough to wait.”
“And then?” I asked.
“She returned two days later. She had been followed. She said Daniel Hume had offered to move her somewhere safe.”
“Did you trust him?”
“No. But I trusted my father less.”
“Why was your scarf in her locker?”
Seraphina’s eyes opened.
“I gave it to her.”
“For what?”
“She had blood on her sleeve.”
The room went still.
“Whose blood?” Owen asked from the doorway.
Seraphina startled. She had not realized he was there.
“Marisol’s. Someone grabbed her outside Eastlake. Her wrist was cut on a fence.”
“Who grabbed her?”
“She wouldn’t say. She kept repeating one name.”
“Mercer,” I said.
Seraphina nodded.
“Gideon Mercer.”
The name meant something.
Not personally.
Financially.
Gideon Mercer had operated a private intelligence and crisis-management firm for wealthy families. Discreet investigations. Reputation control. Asset tracing. Litigation strategy that lived near the border between legal and useful.
Charles had paid him.
“How much?” I asked.
“Millions over ten years.”
“For what?”
“I never knew all of it. Political favors. Opposition files. Employee surveillance. Women my father wanted silenced.”
My mother sat at last.
“What did Mercer do with Marisol?”
Seraphina’s voice dropped.
“I arranged for her to leave.”
“Where?”
“A safe apartment in Philadelphia. Daniel drove her.”
“Did she arrive?”
“I received one message.”
Seraphina stood and crossed to a drawer. She removed an old phone sealed inside a plastic bag.
“I kept it.”
The message was six years old.
I’m safe for tonight. Daniel lied about Mercer. Do not trust the confession. The ledger is with the woman who sees everything.
No further messages.
“The woman who sees everything,” my mother repeated.
Seraphina looked at her.
“My father used to call housekeepers invisible.”
My mother’s mouth tightened.
“Which means we see everything.”
Seraphina nodded.
“Marisol may have meant another worker.”
“Or you,” I said.
Seraphina laughed once without humor.
“I saw plenty. I understood almost nothing.”
“You understood enough to help manipulate me.”
“Yes.”
“You understood enough to threaten Marisol.”
“Yes.”
“You understood enough to humiliate my mother.”
Her face broke then.
Not dramatically.
A small collapse behind the eyes.
“Yes.”
My mother watched her.
“Why tell us now?”
“Because I thought Marisol was dead. And if she isn’t—”
“What?”
Seraphina looked at me.
“Then Mercer will know you’re searching.”
Owen’s phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
“We need to leave.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“Someone broke into the center.”
My mother stood.
“Was anyone hurt?”
“No staff inside.”
“The records?”
“Unknown.”
We moved toward the door.
Seraphina caught my sleeve.
I looked at her hand until she released it.
“There’s one more thing,” she said.
“What?”
“The first confession. Daniel Hume’s.”
“Yes.”
“It wasn’t written to protect Charles.”
“Then who?”
May you like
Seraphina’s face turned pale.
“It was written to protect me.”
