Chapter 5 - The Woman Who Notarized Everything

At eight the next morning, I was sitting in Dana Brooks's office with a paper cup of coffee I had forgotten to drink.

Dana was in her late forties, wore a navy suit with no jewelry except a wedding band, and had the expression of someone who charged by the hour because other people refused to tell the truth for free.

Mitch sat beside me.

Across the table, Dana read the printed timeline we had made before dawn.

When she finished, she looked at me.

"First question. Are you here because you want to punish your wife or protect your children?"

"Protect my children."

"Good answer. I don't care whether it's true yet."

"It is."

"Then prove it by your behavior. No threats. No social media. No telling your daughter details about the affair. No using the children to carry messages."

"I wouldn't."

"Everybody says that on day one."

Mitch smirked.

Dana pointed at him.

"You too. You're his brother, not his attack dog."

"I feel seen."

She ignored him.

"Grant, based on what you've described, I can seek temporary orders concerning supervision while this is investigated. Erin's decision to leave Tessa alone with an infant for hours is serious. The messages about manufacturing a pattern are more serious."

"Will she lose the kids?"

"Courts don't exist to award children as prizes. We ask what arrangement is safe and stable."

"She loves them."

Dana studied me.

"You can be furious with someone and still tell the truth about them. That's useful."

"She made a terrible choice."

"Several."

"Yes."

"Do you believe she intended for either child to be physically harmed?"

"No."

"Do you believe Ryan influenced her?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe influence removes her responsibility?"

"No."

Dana nodded.

"Good. Keep those four answers. They will matter."

My phone rang.

Unknown number.

I declined it.

It rang again.

Dana said, "Answer on speaker."

I did.

"Grant Mercer?"

An older woman's voice.

"Yes."

"My name is Marjorie Keene."

Every person at the table stopped moving.

I looked at Mitch.

He mouthed, Record if legal.

Oklahoma was a one-party consent state. I tapped record.

"How did you get my number?" I asked.

"Your brother left a message at my office. I don't work much anymore, but the number forwards."

Mitch whispered, "Fastest callback in legal history."

Dana gave him a look.

Marjorie said, "Is Michael Mercer there?"

"Mitch. Yes."

"Henry's younger boy."

Mitch leaned toward the phone.

"I'm fifty-one, but sure."

A dry chuckle came through.

"You sound like your mother."

I had not expected warmth.

That made me more cautious.

"Ms. Keene, I need to ask about a sixty-thousand-dollar payment from my father."

Silence.

"I wondered when somebody would."

"What was it for?"

"Not your daughter."

My chest loosened so suddenly I had to sit back.

"You know about Tessa?"

"Ryan Vale called me last month. He asked whether Henry paid me because there was a problem with a child's parentage. I told him he was disgusting."

Mitch muttered, "I like her already."

"Why would he ask that?"

"Because the payment date was close to your daughter's birth, and Ryan likes facts best when he can twist them into weapons."

"Then what was the payment?"

Marjorie exhaled.

"Restitution."

"For what?"

"For using my notary seal on documents I should never have touched."

Dana leaned forward.

"Ms. Keene, I'm attorney Dana Brooks. Are you comfortable continuing with me present?"

"I assumed lawyers were already circling."

"Fair."

Marjorie continued.

"Seventeen years ago, Clay Barlow brought me a stack of drilling-company papers. Henry was with him. Some signatures were present. Some were not. Clay told me the signers had authorized completion. I knew better."

"You notarized blank signatures?" Mitch asked.

"Yes."

"That's a crime."

"It was."

"Were you charged?"

"No. The investigation never reached me. Henry came back months later and told me Clay was laundering contract money through Cobalt Prairie. Henry wanted out. He also wanted documents proving he'd acted under pressure."

"So he paid you?" I asked.

"Eventually. Not for silence exactly. He paid because Clay ruined my husband's business after I refused to notarize another set. Sixty thousand was what we lost. Henry called it a settlement. I called it guilt."

I looked at the memo line on the photocopy.

Settlement.

"Why six days after Tessa was born?"

"Because your father had a heart attack scare that week."

I remembered.

Not the medical details, but Dad sitting in a hospital chair holding newborn Tessa with tears in his eyes.

Marjorie's voice softened.

"He called me from the hospital. Said holding his granddaughter made him tired of carrying old sins. He paid me the next day."

I closed my eyes.

Ryan had taken one of my father's rare acts of conscience and turned it into a threat against my child.

"Do you have records?"

"I have everything."

Mitch straightened.

"Everything?"

"Copies of the Cobalt papers. Letters from Henry. A recording Clay left on my answering machine."

"Why did you keep it?"

"Because men like Clay only become history after everyone they frightened dies."

Dana said, "Would you be willing to provide copies?"

"Yes."

"And a sworn statement?"

"Yes."

"Why now?"

Marjorie was quiet.

"Because Ryan called me again yesterday."

My skin prickled.

"What did he say?"

"He asked whether Grant had contacted me. I said no."

"That was before Mitch called?"

"Yes."

"What else?"

"He told me if anybody asked, I should remember that Henry paid me to alter family records."

Dana's pen stopped.

"Did you ever alter family records?"

"Never."

"Did you ever notarize anything related to Tessa Mercer?"

"No."

I exhaled.

Marjorie continued, "Ryan isn't trying to prove something about your daughter. He's trying to make you afraid that he can."

"Why?"

"Because frightened men negotiate badly."

Mitch looked at me.

I thought of the messages.

Temper.

Custody leverage.

Tessa's name.

Everything had been designed to make me react.

"Where are you now?" Dana asked.

"Norman."

"Can you come to Oklahoma City today?"

"I can do better. I'm already driving."

Dana raised an eyebrow.

"To my office?"

"To the county recorder first. Somebody filed another document at eight twelve this morning."

Mitch shot upright.

"What document?"

"An affidavit claiming Henry Mercer's old Cobalt lien was satisfied only because Grant Mercer agreed to assume private obligations."

I stared at the phone.

"I didn't."

"I know."

"Who signed the affidavit?"

"Clayton Barlow."

The room went silent.

Clay was not history.

Clay was back.

Mitch opened his laptop and began typing.

"I thought he was in Texas."

"He was," Marjorie said. "Maybe he still is. But the affidavit is electronically notarized by a Nevada service."

Dana looked at me.

"This is no longer just Ryan improvising."

"I know."

"Stop saying that," Mitch said.

I almost smiled.

Dana tapped the table.

"We need to know what they want. Fraud usually has an objective. Land? Cash? Leverage?"

"Ryan told Erin the facility could be taken."

"Maybe because they want you to settle title by paying them."

Mitch said, "Or because the land is worth more now than Grant realizes."

That possibility hung in the room.

Mercer Working Dogs sat north of Oklahoma City, where development had been moving outward for years. I had ignored unsolicited offers because I had no intention of selling.

"How much?" I asked.

Mitch was already searching recent transactions.

"Neighboring parcels are moving at crazy numbers."

"Define crazy."

"Commercial assemblage on the east side closed at ninety thousand an acre."

"That doesn't mean mine would."

"No. Yours has road access, utilities, and frontage."

Dana said, "How many acres now?"

"Thirty-two. I bought adjoining land over the years."

Mitch did the math.

"Potentially several million, depending on zoning."

I laughed quietly.

"I train dogs there."

"Developers don't care what you love," Dana said. "They care what they can build."

My phone chimed with an email from the forensic accountant Mitch had contacted.

Preliminary trace completed.

I opened it.

The forty-two thousand Erin moved had not gone into a safety account.

It had passed through an account labeled Prairie Family Security, then into Red Plains Equipment.

From there, thirty-five thousand had been wired to a title services company.

The reference line read:

MERCER PARCEL - OPTION FEE.

I showed Dana.

"Option fee?"

She nodded slowly.

"Someone may be trying to make it appear that you accepted money for an option to purchase or encumber the land."

"With stolen marital funds."

"Yes."

"That is insane."

"It's paper. Paper can be insane for years before a judge fixes it."

My phone rang again.

This time it was Erin.

Dana said, "Answer."

"Grant?"

Her voice sounded breathless.

"Where are you?"

"At Kelly's. Somebody left something on her porch."

"What?"

"An envelope."

"Don't touch it."

"Too late."

Dana closed her eyes.

"What's inside?"

Erin started crying.

"Pictures of Tessa."

I stood.

"What kind of pictures?"

"School pickup. Soccer. Walking into your training facility. Nothing obscene. Nothing like that."

That did not make me feel better.

"How recent?"

"Some are from this week."

Dana was already writing something.

"Anything else?"

"A note."

"Read it."

Erin hesitated.

"It says, 'You were supposed to make Grant cooperate. Now he thinks he's the one making choices.'"

I gripped the edge of the table.

"Call the police."

"I did."

"Stay inside. Keep Kelly inside."

"Grant, there's one more thing."

"What?"

"One picture is from yesterday."

"Tessa was home yesterday."

"I know."

"Then what is it?"

Erin's voice dropped.

"It's Tessa in the kitchen holding Miles."

Nobody in Dana's office moved.

"Taken from where?" I asked.

"Outside the window."

The room seemed to tilt.

Ryan had not merely known Erin left the children alone.

Someone had been watching them while it happened.

Dana spoke first.

"Grant, do not go home yet."

"My kids are with a sitter."

"Who?"

"My mother."

"Call her now. Have her take them somewhere else."

I was already dialing.

My mother answered cheerfully.

"Everything okay?"

"Mom, take the kids and leave the house."

Silence.

Then her voice changed.

"Where?"

"Mitch's."

"What's wrong?"

"I'll explain later. Do not use the regular route."

"Grant—"

"Please."

"We're leaving."

I ended the call.

Mitch was staring at his screen.

"What?" I asked.

"I found Clay Barlow."

"Where?"

"Not Texas."

"Where?"

He turned the laptop.

A business filing dated three months earlier listed Clayton Barlow as consultant to Northline Communities, a regional developer.

Northline had recently purchased three parcels bordering my training facility.

Dana read the filing.

"There is your objective."

I looked at the map.

Northline owned land on three sides of me.

My property was the hole in the middle.

They did not need my dogs.

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They needed my dirt.

And somebody had spent seven months trying to make sure I would be too frightened, too angry, too broke, or too busy fighting for my children to protect it.