Chapter 6 - The Midnight KnockThree weeks after Jason’s arrest, I was sitting on the porch of a rented wooden cabin overlooking Lake Michigan, watching the sun dip below the horizon in a blaze of amber and violet.
The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore was the only sound cutting through the evening air.
Then, headlights swept across the gravel driveway.
A sleek black sedan pulled up, and an elderly woman stepped out from the passenger side. Even in the dim light, I recognized her posture, her immaculate silver hair, and the sharp, piercing eyes that Jason had inherited.
Eleanor Mercer.
Jason’s mother. A woman who had spent ten years looking down her nose at me because my family’s wealth couldn't compare to her aristocratic old-money pedigree in Boston. She had only visited our home twice, both times inspecting the moldings and critiquing my career choices with thinly veiled contempt.
She walked slowly up the wooden steps, leaning heavily on an expensive ebony cane.
“Evelyn,” she said, her voice trembling slightly against the wind.
I didn’t stand up immediately. I crossed my arms, looking at her with cold neutrality. “Mrs. Mercer. To what do I owe the profound displeasure of a visit?”
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She didn't bristle at my tone. Instead, she clutched her cashmere shawl tighter around her shoulders, her face unnaturally, frighteningly pale—as if she had just seen a ghost walk out of the lake.
“I need to tell you something,” Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking. “Something Jason doesn't know. Something his father took to his grave.”
