Chapter 2 - The Boy Who Knew Too Much"Don't say anything else," Grace whispered.
Oliver's tiny fingers tightened around her sweater.
"She's going to be mad."
"Look at me."
Grace gently lifted his chin.
"You're not in trouble."
Behind them, Vivian was already giving orders.
"Turn those phones off! Every single one of you!"
Several guests lowered their devices.
Others pretended they hadn't been recording.
Peter Sloane hurried across the ballroom, careful to avoid the frosting scattered over the marble.
"Vivian, we need to handle this privately."
"Then handle it!"
She pointed toward Grace.
"That girl attacked me!"
Grace stood with Oliver pressed against her side.
"You hit both of us."
Vivian laughed bitterly.
"Your brother disrupted a private celebration, and you assaulted me in front of sixty witnesses."
"He didn't hurt anyone!"
"That's enough!"
A gray-haired guest stepped forward.
"Vivian, perhaps someone should check on the children."
Vivian turned on him.
"Stay out of my family."
The man stopped.
Grace recognized that silence.
She had heard it for months.
People saw Vivian's cruelty, but her wealth made them reluctant to challenge her.
Grace had made excuses for that silence.
Tonight, she refused.
She took out her phone.
"I'm calling 911."
Vivian's expression tightened.
"You wouldn't dare."
Grace pressed the emergency call button.
"My stepmother attacked my seven-year-old brother and slapped me. We're at Hawthorne House on Briarwood Lane. We need police."
Vivian stepped toward her.
Peter caught her elbow.
"Don't," he murmured.
Grace heard him.
And she saw how quickly Vivian obeyed.
That frightened her more than the shouting.
Within fifteen minutes, two police officers and an ambulance arrived.
A female paramedic knelt in front of Oliver.
"Hi, sweetheart. I'm Dana. Can I take a look at you?"
Oliver glanced at Grace.
She nodded.
The paramedic carefully cleaned the frosting from around his eyes.
"Does anything hurt?"
"My head a little."
"Did you fall?"
He shook his head.
"She pushed the cake on me."
Grace watched his face.
He sounded embarrassed, as though admitting what happened was somehow shameful.
The paramedic examined him for injuries while another officer photographed Grace's reddened cheek.
Across the room, Vivian spoke dramatically to a male officer.
"That girl deliberately drove a heavy trolley into me. I could have been killed."
The officer listened without agreeing.
"We'll need everyone's account, ma'am."
"I expect her to be arrested."
Grace heard the words.
Her stomach dropped.
She had pushed the trolley.
That part was true.
She could still feel the cold metal handle beneath her palms.
A female officer named Rebecca Harris approached.
"Grace, I'd like to speak with you separately."
"Can Oliver stay with me?"
"For now, yes."
Officer Harris led them toward the quiet dining room.
Grace described the frosting, the slap, and the trolley.
She didn't leave anything out.
"Why did you push it?" Harris asked.
Grace swallowed.
"I wanted her away from him."
"Did you intend to hurt her?"
"No."
"Did you realize the trolley might knock her down?"
Grace hesitated.
Her answer mattered.
But lying would make everything worse.
"Not until it was moving."
Harris wrote something down.
"Thank you for being straightforward."
Oliver sat beside Grace, holding a clean towel against his shirt.
Officer Harris lowered herself to his eye level.
"Oliver, can you tell me what happened before your stepmother put cake on you?"
His gaze dropped.
"I said something bad."
"What did you say?"
He squeezed the towel.
"That Daddy wouldn't want her selling our house."
Grace turned sharply.
"Oliver?"
He began crying again.
"I wasn't supposed to tell."
Officer Harris waited.
Oliver wiped his nose.
"I heard her talking in Daddy's office. She said the papers had to be finished before Gracie's birthday."
Grace's eighteenth birthday was March fourth.
She looked toward the closed dining-room doors.
"Who was she talking to?"
Oliver whispered.
"Mr. Peter."
A dreadful silence settled over the room.
Grace's father, Daniel Mercer, had died four months earlier.
The mansion, its surrounding land, and much of the family estate had been left in a trust intended to protect his children.
Vivian was their temporary legal guardian.
Peter Sloane managed the trust.
Grace had been told the property was secure.
She had believed them.
Officer Harris made another note.
"Did you see the papers, Oliver?"
He nodded.
"They were blue. And there was a picture of our house."
"Where did you see them?"
"Under the silver tray in Daddy's office. Vivian hid them when she saw me."
Grace remembered the tray.
It had been lying near Oliver when the cake hit him.
She had assumed he'd dropped it in fright.
Now she wasn't so sure.
Officer Harris asked whether Oliver felt safe remaining at Hawthorne House.
The boy didn't answer immediately.
He looked at Grace.
Then he shook his head.
"No."
Across the hallway, a raised voice interrupted them.
Vivian was arguing with someone on her phone.
"You promised me this would be finished before Christmas!"
A pause.
Then she spoke more quietly.
"Raymond, if that little boy saw the documents, we have a serious problem."
Grace went completely still.
May you like
Raymond Vale was Vivian's older brother.
And until that moment, Grace had never understood why he had been visiting Hawthorne House so frequently.
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