38. Mason
Michael picks up the speech where he’d left things last night.
The pouring of praise onto the shoulders of the man who forged a dynasty.
We’re in the largest conference room at Mercer Group; the boardroom is insufficient for the assembled media wanting to immortalize the changing of the Mercer Guard.
Sixty-five years of unparalleled, uninterrupted service to media, mining, property, and tech.
There is no end to the pies he thrust his fingers into.
We have all our networks here, and if Michael was surprised at NBC, CBS, FOX, ABC, and PBS among others, he didn’t show it.
He’ll be thrilled to learn that TMZ, ENews, and People are assembled downstairs to catch departing family members.
The footage will be a time capsule of such a momentous event.
As such, Alice Mercer is styled to perfection in a Chanel suit, thirsty for any positive airtime.
The ascending queen in play on a chessboard of her own making.
This woman turned defense on its head and has been a master manipulator for most of her life.
Today marks a new dawn, and not only by calendar year.
I see her moves for what they were and still are.
Pure fucking malice. Will she glide, or will she falter?
Michael wastes no time farewelling Magnus, all too eager to move on to his more favored subject: himself.
“As head of Mercer Group, there will be changes. Every new leader has the right to assert his own flair and flavor,” he continues, outlaying a skimmed-over version of his planned restructuring.
He answers questions posed to him by Pat Estra, one of our top correspondents.
Michael nods and rests his chin on his hand before considering his answers.
Answers that were meticulously rehearsed and so far from spontaneous I want to scream.
“That seems kind of harsh for the man heading up the media arm at the moment, Michael. How hard was this decision to make?”
Harsh, Pat? You have no fucking idea how toxic Michael Mercer can be. But please do continue answering the question, Dad.
“Mason is a Mercer. He has grit and fortitude, but alas, no children yet. This decision was made to reflect the legacy of this family, as reflected by myself and Magnus only yesterday at his birthday celebration. Mason understands this is a business decision.”
Several cameras pan to me by the side of the makeshift conference console where Michael and Magnus are positioned. Mitch stands on the other side.
“I’ll be making my announcement at the conclusion of this press conference,” I add, and Pat’s eyebrows arc.
I may not have a microphone, but my voice carries across the room.
“Today isn’t about Mason,” Michael protests, but it’s clear the assembled media have a whiff of something else and are ready to circle the chum-drenched water like sharks.
“I said at the conclusion,” I affirm, again with my sonorous tone. “You take all the time you need to sell your strategy to the press.” Magnus turns to pierce me with a look I have never seen before. You’re a retired, old man. What are you going to do, huh?
“Mason,” my mother hisses, her French-tipped talons pinched around my bicep to the point of pain.
My security step forward, and she releases her hold while I stoke down the fabric of my suit to remove any trace of her.
Michael continues to posture, bringing Mitch in on certain answers and touting the importance of family and continuing the legacy.
Pat had requested that Nic talk about her own children and the struggles they had faced, but she refused.
She wouldn’t be here today, standing next to Mitchel if she could avoid it.
Every time the cameras swing her way, you can feel the discomfort pouring from her in waves.
She has moved so far out of shot that an assistant has moved her back to the X marked on the floor for her.
“That concludes the conference, everyone. Please be advised that catered refreshments will be served in the adjacent executive foyer.” Tracey, Michael’s PA, announces breezily into her earpiece microphone.
As some gather belongings and shut down equipment, others turn to me for more of my promised announcement.
“Mason, you mentioned earlier that you have your own announcement to make. Can you share with us, please?”
“I can, Pat. Members of the media, I suggest you remain where you are to document what comes next. You won’t want to buy the story from a rival network because I can just imagine the price they’ll put on it.” All movement stops. Time pauses.
“Mason,” Michael growls, but I’ve already commandeered a floor mic.
“If it’s okay with all of you, I’d like to proceed uninterrupted and would appreciate it if you could save questions for the end.
” All correspondents nod or offer verbal assurances.
Alice totters in her spiked heels, that same pallid face of calm hiding an ire replicated by Mitchel and Michael.
Magnus just looks confused, his head bobbing from one side to the other.
Bri and Trystan fall into place by my side, armed with prepared press packs for distribution as soon as the facts unfold and the vultures need to feed.
“Further to the family focus and family first mentality that predominated most of Michael’s speeches both today and last night, I’d like to give my mother the opportunity to tell you all what she was up to almost exactly thirty and a half years ago. Mother?”
Alice Mercer remains stony-faced and silent. She looks at the panel of speakers still present and shakes her head almost imperceptibly. An elegant hand slides up to stroke her precision bob, the downward movement practiced and precise. She’s nervous.
“Go on, Malice. Fill them in with what you were up to,” I encourage, “who you were fucking.”
The press gasp. Marin’s hand flies to cover her mouth. Sorry, not sorry, Grandma.
“Watch it,” Michael hisses. “You’re bitter about the decision, but that’s the way it has to be. For God's sake, get a hold of yourself.”
“This wasn’t set into motion by your restructuring, Michael; this was decades ago. Go on—tell them what you did, Alice. Unless Magnus has the balls to. They work, right, Mother?”
Michael’s face darkens from a rosy red to purple. “Enough. I’m warning you.”
“Or what? You’ll have me struck out? You already have that plan ready.
But it is not your call to make. You may have manipulated the marionette strings, and your filthy secret might have been safe.
Only the cards you played toppled the house down.
Right?” Alice’s lip curls with a cruel spite I’ve only seen directed at the homeless daring to litter the pavement with cardboard mats and cups begging for money near a favorite boutique or lunch spot.
“It’s okay, Mother. You may have nothing to say, but I have plenty.
Ladies and gentlemen, when Michael went to Spain for eight weeks back in 1995 and Marin took Mitch and Mon on vacation, how did you pass your time, Alice?
I know! You were busy bouncing on a different cock—his.
” I point to Magnus as the room spins to face the new retiree.
The one with a cake bearing his name, awaiting the knife in the foyer.
“Alice?” Michael turns to his wife, his mask one of irate tension. A vein throbs in his neck and temples.
“Members of the assembled press, my assistants will now distribute bound documentation corroborating everything I mention here today. Medical records have been omitted or heavily redacted to maintain the privacy of those involved, but you will find comprehensive email trails, facsimile receipts, and sworn statements from witnesses.”
Marin’s voice cuts through the now silent room. “Magnus, what is he talking about?
He avoids her eyes, instead searching the room for safe passage away from what he knows is coming.
“Oh, you weren’t aware, Gran? Let me fill you in.
Let me fill you all in. Michael Mercer heads to Barcelona for two months in 1995.
Aviation manifests show he flew out on Sunday, July 9, and returned to New York on September 2, which was a Saturday.
His calendar showed a planned meeting with the Spanish minister for resources, only the meeting never happened.
Michael spent most of his time away on the island of Majorca, not on mainland Spain as planned. ”
“To be with his whore,” Alice whisper-quips, forgetting the media in the room with us mere feet away.
Hypocritical much? Hands gratefully accept the bound documents, some flipping them open immediately, while others wait for me to continue.
“It seems he was all set to leave you for his mistress, Alice. He had papers drawn up and everything, preliminary copies of which you will find in the reference.” Turning to face Alice, I continue as if no one else is in the room.
“Then, lo-and-behold, he arrives home to serve you, and you’re conveniently pregnant.
So, he stays out of obligation. Only the dates don’t match, do they, Mother?
By all accounts, the two of you hadn’t been intimate in weeks.
My due date should have been around April 7, as per the report from the sonographer before you convinced her she was mistaken.
Then you were induced to line the dates up to hide your infidelity.
Me being born on February 29, 1996. Now, thankfully for you, I looked just like Michael when I was born—Marin said as much.
The blood work wasn’t out of the ordinary, so no DNA test was needed.
But because I was induced and premature rather than full term, I needed time in the NICU.
People started asking questions. Like, how a full-term baby had underdeveloped lungs and weighed less than five pounds?
The housekeeper, Barbara, knew. You knew, and Magnus knew.
So, you fired Barbara and made it impossible for her to get another job.
Nice touch adding the contrived theft and alcoholic baggage—that really helped your manufactured probable cause. ”
“She is an alcoholic!” Alice screeches. “She does not know what she’s talking about.”
“Was, Mother. She drank, but has remained sober for twenty-two years. It might have been the brush you tarred her with. Anyway, she has a better memory than all of us put together.”
“She’s lying! You’re lying!” she seethes.
“No. No, we’re not, you see, because I have proof.” I nod to the stack of bound documents.
“She remains bound by an NDA. She can’t share anything,” Magnus interrupts.
“About that…her NDA stipulates she not share anything outside of the household. And she didn’t.
The conversation was instigated by me, a member of the very household she had diligently worked in for over eleven years.
I signed no such document, and what I do with the information is beyond her reproach.
For someone so attuned to the law, you really should check the fine print of all contracts.
You taught me that yourself, remember. But then again, Dad, sticking your dick into your daughter-in-law was a new low, even for you. ”
Magnus squirms in his seat. Michael nods to his security, jaw set, imploring them to drag me out of the room.
As they step forward, so do my security, a silent gesture of an impending throwdown.
Expecting such a confrontation, I brought in all twelve of mine, ex Seals and armed forces.
Michael’s two are outmatched and outmuscled.
Always know more than your opponent. Always.
“Ava’s leukemia. Do you remember the bone marrow testing?
When it came back and there were no family matches, Nic and Fraze were too distraught to do anything other than take care of their little girl, understandably.
I kept the results and went through them one afternoon.
Imagine my surprise when my markers did not match Nic’s or Mitch’s?
How? I’m no scientist, but there are plenty of labs to explain it.
There was no way Michael Mercer was my father, but we were related.
That’s because he’s my half-fucking brother. ”
“What!” The room erupts again. Fingers are licked, pages are flicked, and a swarm of eyes volley over pages like watching a tennis match play out. Pagers and cell phones vibrate with incoming alerts while frenzied fingers work double time to type out more. TMZ must be losing their shit downstairs.
“You heard me. Magnus is my father; Michael and I are half-brothers. Nic and Mitch, despite being years older, are my niece and nephew.”
I drop the microphone back onto the desk with a heavy clunk.
Turning to my family, the ones responsible for the might of the fickle industry I work in, I address them as a unit directly, rather than the gathered room.
“So, assholes. If you are ready to invoke that new trust structure, brother. I fucking dare you. Because if you do, my share is more than double yours, nephew of mine, and as your brother, Mikey boy, equal to yours. If the split goes ahead in the current format, I’ll see you cunts in court. ”