Chapter 23
The Mercer Meeting
Eleanor led David Mercer down the short hallway toward the conference room.
Behind them, she could practically feel Lucy vibrating with curiosity and Deck pretending not to listen.
Frannie’s voice floated from the reception desk.
“Lucy Patel, if you eavesdrop, I will revoke your coffee privileges.”
Lucy muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Worth it.”
Eleanor closed the conference room door and gestured toward a chair.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“David,” he said.
She nodded once. “David.”
He sat, running a hand across the back of his neck—like a man who hadn’t slept much lately.
Up close, he looked exactly like the photographs she’d seen online that afternoon. Tall. Well built. Early forties, maybe. Dark hair threaded lightly with silver at the temples. The steady composure of someone used to managing people and problems.
But there was something else in his eyes.
Exhaustion.
The particular kind that came from spending years as one line in someone else’s story.
Eleanor took the seat across from him.
“How bad was it today?”
David let out a tired, humorless sound.
“Two camera crews. Three reporters. One drone.”
“Creative.”
“One of them tried to follow my truck onto the site.”
“That’s illegal.”
“Didn’t seem to slow them down.”
Eleanor folded her hands on the table.
“Tell me why you’re here.”
David held her gaze.
“Because I can’t do this again.”
The room went still.
The words were quiet, but they landed hard.
“They’re tearing it open,” he continued. “Podcasts. News outlets. Investors are already calling, asking if the rumors are true.”
Eleanor said nothing.
“I cooperated eight years ago,” he went on. “DNA. Polygraph. Everything the sheriff’s office asked for.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“My son was one year old when Caroline disappeared,” he said.
The name hung between them.
"Now he’s nine. He’s at the age when the foundation is being laid, Eleanor. I’m not letting the internet crack it."
David looked down at the table for a moment.
Something shifted quietly in Eleanor’s chest.
She understood that feeling.
There was a time an entire city had decided what kind of woman she was based on a handful of photos and a headline.
“Then you came to the right place,” she said.
David studied her.
“You know what this is like.”
It wasn’t a question.
Eleanor leaned back slightly in her chair.
“Yes.”
She’d spent years convincing herself she was done being part of someone else’s narrative.
“I thought you might,” he said.
A small silence settled between them.
Then Eleanor spoke again.
“If I represent you, there are no surprises.”
David looked up.
“I’ll need full access to everything connected to that investigation. Records. Business projects at the time. Anyone who might have reason to talk.”
“Understood.”
“And my investigator will be involved.”
David’s brow lifted slightly.
Eleanor opened the door.
“Deck.”
Deck O’Rourke appeared almost instantly, which meant he’d absolutely been listening in the hallway.
He stepped into the conference room with his coffee and gave Mercer a long, measuring look.
“Mr. Mercer.”
“David.”
Deck nodded. “Declan O’Rourke.”
The Irish brogue was light for the moment.
He took the chair beside Eleanor and folded his arms.
“So,” he said calmly, “the internet thinks you buried a woman under a mountain of concrete.”
David met his gaze.
“That’s what I’m hearing.”
Deck watched him closely.
“And did you?”
Eleanor shot him a look, but she didn’t stop him. If Mercer couldn’t handle the blunt version from their side of the table, he’d never survive what was coming from the other.
David didn’t flinch.
“No.”
Deck studied him another moment.
Then nodded slightly.
“Good answer.”
Eleanor turned back to Mercer.
“Deck will start by reviewing everything we can get from the original case and from your end.”
David nodded. “Whatever you need.”
Eleanor hesitated.
“David… there’s something you should understand.”
He waited.
“The people driving this story don’t care about truth,” she said quietly. “They care about attention.”
David gave a faint, humorless smile.
“I figured that out around noon today.”
“They will dig into your life,” she continued. “They’ll speculate. Twist things. And if they can’t find something damaging, they’ll invent it.”
“Vultures,” Deck muttered.
David looked between them.
“I can handle speculation.”
Eleanor held his gaze.
“Most people think they can.”
She’d thought so too—until they had turned her into a headline and strangers had decided they knew exactly what kind of woman she was.
Silence settled briefly over the table.
Then David stood.
“I appreciate you meeting with me.”
Eleanor rose as well.
“I’ll review what we have and call you tomorrow.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Deck escorted him toward the door.
As David walked past the reception desk, Frannie was already on the phone, her voice a polite stone wall. “No, Mr. Calloway, she’s currently in a meeting... Yes, I’ll tell her you called.”
When the door closed behind him, the office fell quiet again.
Deck walked slowly back into the conference room.
Eleanor was still standing near the table.
“Well,” she said. “What do you think?”
Deck leaned against the wall and took a slow sip of coffee.
Then he looked at her.
“Aye,” he said thoughtfully. “He’s likable enough.”
Eleanor crossed her arms.
“I think there’s more to him than what they’re saying.”
Deck’s eyebrow lifted.
“Do you now?”
He didn’t question her instincts lightly. He’d seen her wrong about people before, but not often—and never without bleeding for it.
She held his gaze.
“Yes.”
Deck studied her for a long moment.
Then he set the coffee cup down.
“Well,” he said quietly, “let’s hope you’re right, lass.”
A beat passed.
Then he added:
“Because if he did kill her…”
His gaze slid briefly toward the door David Mercer had just walked through.
“We’ve just invited the fox into the henhouse.”