Chapter 11 - The Private EyeThe legal battle did not end in the judge's chambers. Arthur Vance was too clever, and the Mercer estate was too deep, to let a single recording destroy them without a fight.
Within forty-eight hours of the confrontation, the Mercers launched a counter-offensive. A private security firm hired by Vance began hovering around the edges of Thomas's property. Unmarked black SUVs parked at the entrance of the gravel spit, their windows dark, their occupants watching the cabin through telephoto lenses.
Thomas knew their tactics. He had seen the same pattern in intelligence briefs: surveillance, intimidation, the quiet gathering of leverage.
He called in an old friend—Jack "Mack" MacIntyre, a retired military police investigator who now ran a private agency out of Richmond. Mack arrived at the cabin in a battered pickup truck, smelling of cheap cigars and wet dog, carrying a laptop and three thick manila folders.
"They're digging deep, Thomas," Mack said, spreading the papers across the kitchen table. "They’ve hired a digital forensics team to go through Claire’s phone records and email history. They’re trying to find anything—any draft email, any search history about anxiety, any online pharmacy orders—that they can use to prove she was self-medicating before Evan ever intervened."
"They won't find it," Claire said, sitting by the wood stove. "I never ordered anything online."
"Doesn't matter if you did or didn't, kiddo," Mack said gently, looking at her over his reading glasses. "In a high-stakes divorce, they don't need the truth. They just need enough smoke to make the judge think there's a fire. They’re also looking into your father’s military travel records. They’re trying to claim he used government funds for personal security."
Thomas looked out the window. One of the black SUVs was visible through the pines, parked just past the property line.
"Let them dig," Thomas said. "Mack, I want you to look into the doctor who wrote those prescriptions. Dr. Aris. The one from the Charlottesville records in Helen's ledger. Find out where he got his license, and more importantly, find out who paid his malpractice insurance."
Mack grinned, a yellowed, dangerous smile. "Already on it, Colonel. And guess whose name is on the insurance policy for Aris’s private clinic?"
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"The Mercer Family Trust," Thomas said.
"Bingo," Mack said. "We don't just have a bad husband here, Thomas. We have an entire medical-legal pipeline designed to keep young women quiet and medicated. And the paper trail goes straight to Arthur Vance’s personal bank account."
