Chapter 10 - I HAD TO CHOOSE BETWEEN MY EMPIRE AND MY CHILDREN
Remission did not mean home immediately.
The twins remained in Philadelphia for monitoring.
Their immune systems were fragile.
Every fever mattered.
Every blood test mattered.
But they laughed again.
That changed everything.
Jonah demanded pizza.
Blythe wanted her hair to grow back purple.
Mara bought temporary purple tattoos for her scalp instead.
Camille objected.
Then allowed one.
Medical compromise.
I had almost forgotten normal problems existed.
Then Prescott arrived from Chicago carrying a folder thick enough to ruin the afternoon.
He waited until the twins were asleep.
Mara sat near the window.
“What?”
Prescott placed the folder on the table.
“War.”
I sighed.
“Dramatic.”
“Accurate.”
Roman’s arrest created a power vacuum.
Three crews refused my order to suspend illegal operations.
One had taken over a South Side gambling network.
Another seized warehouse cash.
A third threatened Prescott.
“Names?”
He gave them.
I knew all three men.
One had been at my wedding.
Another held Jonah when he was baptized.
The third helped carry Genevieve’s coffin.
Family again.
Always family.
“What do they want?”
“You back in Chicago.”
“Why?”
“To prove you still control things.”
“I don’t.”
Prescott stared.
“I thought we were temporarily freezing operations.”
“We were.”
“And now?”
“Permanent.”
His face changed.
Mara looked at me.
I continued.
“Legal businesses only.”
“Lawson.”
“Sell anything that cannot survive an audit.”
“That could cost hundreds of millions.”
“Good.”
Prescott actually laughed.
“You really mean it.”
“Yes.”
“Men will come after you.”
“They already did.”
“They may come after the twins.”
That silenced me.
Mara stood.
“Then we need federal agreements.”
Prescott looked offended.
“Do you enjoy saying federal?”
“More every time you react like that.”
I almost smiled.
Mara continued.
“Lawson has evidence on Roman’s network.”
“Yes.”
“He can cooperate regarding legitimate financial structures without becoming an informant on every person he has ever met.”
Prescott stared.
“You’ve been planning.”
“She plans.”
I said.
“Annoyingly.”
Mara ignored me.
“Lawson can divest.”
“Create independent boards.”
“Put the twins’ holdings under professional trustees.”
Prescott looked at me.
“Did Genevieve put you two in the same room just to make my life impossible?”
“Probably.”
The plan took weeks.
Attorneys.
Accountants.
Federal negotiations.
State regulators.
Tax authorities.
I spent more time reading corporate documents than weapons reports.
It was humiliating.
Also strangely peaceful.
Some businesses were clean enough to save.
Mercer Freight.
Three hotels.
Commercial real estate.
A logistics software company Genevieve had encouraged me to buy because she said “criminals still need spreadsheets.”
Other operations collapsed once illegal cash was removed.
Good.
Men who built careers under Mercer protection left.
Some threatened.
Two were arrested on unrelated warrants.
One tried to have Prescott killed.
Prescott survived.
The shooter did too, mostly because I ordered my people to stop solving everything permanently.
Prescott complained.
“This legal phase is irritating.”
“Adapt.”
Then came Roman’s offer.
His attorney contacted mine.
Roman would plead guilty to financial conspiracy and cooperate regarding Franklin.
In exchange, he wanted one thing from me.
A private meeting.
Mara said no.
Prescott said absolutely not.
I went.
Federal detention.
Glass wall.
Telephone.
Roman looked older.
Still proud.
He picked up the receiver.
I did too.
“You look tired.”
“My children are alive.”
His expression changed.
“So I heard.”
I watched.
“Does that bother you?”
He looked away.
“No.”
I believed him.
That made everything more complicated.
“You loved them.”
“Yes.”
“You tried to kill them.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“I convinced myself they were dying anyway.”
I stared.
“That made it easier.”
“Yes.”
At least honest.
“What do you want?”
Roman looked at me.
“Don’t dismantle everything.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s why you wanted the meeting?”
“Our father built—”
“My father is dead.”
“Your grandfather—”
“Also dead.”
“The Mercer name—”
“Is not a child.”
Roman’s face hardened.
“You think becoming legitimate makes what you did disappear?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I thought of Genevieve’s video.
“They need a father more than an empire.”
Roman closed his eyes.
“She always hated me.”
“No.”
I smiled sadly.
“She pitied you.”
That hurt him more.
“What happens to me?”
“Not my decision.”
He looked surprised.
“Since when?”
“Recently.”
I stood.
Roman lifted the receiver quickly.
“Lawson.”
I looked back.
“Genevieve’s death…”
My body tightened.
“I did not know Franklin’s dose would kill her.”
“Stop.”
“I need you to know.”
“No.”
I stared through the glass.
“You don’t get to make intention smaller than consequence.”
Roman’s eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
Maybe he meant it.
I no longer needed to decide.
I put down the phone.
Walked away.
Outside, Mara waited.
I frowned.
“You said not to come.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“In case you needed someone.”
I looked at her.
“I did.”
She smiled faintly.
Then:
“Do you?”
“What?”
“Need someone.”
The question became more than the room.
More than Roman.
More than Philadelphia.
I understood.
So did she.
I thought of Genevieve.
Guilt arrived immediately.
Mara saw it.
“No.”
“What?”
“Don’t.”
She looked away.
“I’m not asking you to replace my sister.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Her voice softened.
“Because I could never be Genevieve.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to be.”
I stared.
“You shouldn’t.”
Silence.
Then I reached for her hand.
Not romance exactly.
Not yet.
Something honest.
She took it.
May you like
And for the first time since Genevieve died, holding another woman’s hand did not feel like betrayal.
It felt like continuing to live.
