Chapter 3 - The Art of the Vanishing Act
When Harrison Mercer unlocked the door to his penthouse at 12:30 PM on Christmas Day, he expected a war. He expected Clare to be pacing the living room, weeping, throwing pillows, demanding answers about Sienna. He had spent the entire cab ride from Sienna’s apartment rehearsing his gaslighting strategy. He would tell Clare she was being paranoid. He would blame her pregnancy hormones. He would buy her a diamond tennis bracelet next week to smooth things over.
He walked into the foyer and shrugged off his charcoal coat.
"Clare?" he called out.
The penthouse was dead silent. The Christmas roast from the night before was still sitting on the dining table, the fat congealed and cold. The tree was still lit.
Harrison walked into the living room. Beneath the glowing branches of the tree, the small Tiffany box remained unopened. But sitting perfectly centered on top of it was Clare’s three-carat diamond wedding ring.
Panic, cold and sharp, finally pierced through Harrison’s arrogant armor. He rushed into the master bedroom. Clare’s closet was half-empty. Her suitcases were gone. Her bathroom vanity was completely cleared of her perfumes and makeup.
He pulled out his phone, his hands suddenly shaking, and dialed her number. It went straight to a disconnected voicemail. He checked the joint banking app to see if she had booked a flight or a hotel. The app loaded, but the primary savings account—the one holding five million dollars in liquid cash—was completely drained.
"What the hell..." Harrison breathed.
He ran into his home office, intending to pull up his corporate accounts. But resting on the center of his mahogany desk was the empty wooden box that used to belong to his father. The velvet lining was bare. The brass key was missing.
Harrison’s heart stopped beating. The room spun violently.
He tore through the drawers of his desk, ripping papers out, screaming in absolute terror. He knew exactly what that key opened. He had spent four years desperately trying to find it after discovering his father's true will was missing from the estate attorney's files, assuming William had destroyed it before he died.
His phone buzzed. It was a text message from an unknown number.
May you like
I told you not to expect the same wife waiting for you when you came back. Enjoy your Christmas, Harrison. It will be the last one you ever spend in that apartment.
Harrison dropped to his knees in the center of his office, the realization crashing over him like a collapsing skyscraper. Clare hadn't just left him. She hadn't just taken her clothes and her pride. She had found the ghost he had been hiding from for four years, and she had handed it the keys to his kingdom.
