Brandon was sitting in the Dunkin’ Donuts on Tenth Avenue and Thirty-Sixth Street when Maybelle Holder called his cellphone. “Where you at, Brandon?”
He told her.
“Oh man, everybody got something to say about you today.”
“Yeah, well, it’s all lies. I didn’t do anything.”
“I believe you,” assured the caregiver. “But Merchant got Hodges on his side now.”
“What do you mean?”
“They doing a big press conference here at five o’clock.”
“A press conference?”
“Right outside the building. Her majesty call everybody together and tell us nobody allowed to come and go from the building while it going on—even on our break.”
Brandon stood up and tossed his coffee cup into the trash. “I’m coming up there. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks, Maybelle.”
“You watch yourself, Brandon.”
Brandon caught the Number 7 subway at the Hudson Yards, transferred to the Number 6 at Grand Central, and was in front of Park Manor twenty-five minutes later. A large crowd had gathered just around the corner from Madison Avenue in front of Park Manor’s main entrance. Cameramen held heavy camcorders on their shoulders. At least six or seven reporters gripped microphones connected to satellite uplink vans nearby. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered as well. Brandon positioned himself at the back of the crowd.
They all waited at least twenty more minutes in the cold. The sun had descended now, and bright lights mounted on tripods illuminated the steps to Park Manor. Finally, several people emerged from within the building. Brandon spotted Constance Hodges and Thomas Merchant among them.
Hodges stepped in front of a microphone stand and introduced herself. Her hair was perfectly coiffed. She had applied fresh lipstick. She stared into the crowd confidently and said, “As you know, a sad event occurred at Park Manor on Monday morning. Lucy Martinelli Merchant passed away. I can tell you that all of us at Park Manor are honored to have provided a caring, comfortable home to Mrs. Merchant in the last eighteen months of her life. We share her loving family’s deep grief, and we join them—Thomas and Julia—in extending our condolences to everyone around the city and around the world who also mourn her death.”
Hodges paused and stared at the faces in the crowd. She was a polished speaker, Brandon thought, but everything she said was a lie.
“There are still unanswered questions surrounding Mrs. Merchant’s death,” Hodges acknowledged, “and Park Manor is working hand-in-hand with the police and the Merchant family to answer those questions.” She paused before adding, “The recent suicide of our care coordinator Baiba Lielkaja has come as an additional shock to our Park Manor community, and we mourn her loss as well.” She gave a tight smile that Brandon knew from experience was completely insincere although others, he surmised, would interpret it as fortitude. “Watching a loved one face devastating illness is not for the faint of heart. As the executive director of Park Manor, I have seen many residents take their final journeys. I have watched family members struggle to come to terms with loss. I have observed many courageous acts of love and loyalty. Lucy Merchant’s family has stood by her throughout her illness. Thomas Merchant is here with me today, and I’d like to turn the microphone over to him with a message for all of you.”
Brandon watched the carefully choreographed movements of Hodges and Merchant as they traded places on the Park Manor steps. Merchant had to bend slightly to be closer to the mics. He spoke confidently and with no script. “I first saw Lucy Martinelli on the stage of the Majestic Theater when she was performing Vegas Nights in 1993, and I had the honor of going backstage to meet her after the show. What can I say except that Lucy was beautiful inside and out. She was a brilliant performer. And she was a loyal friend, wife, and mother. I will always treasure the years we had together.”
He paused, took out a handkerchief, and wiped at his left eye before he continued.
“My wife, as many of you know, was uncompromisingly committed to the arts. I remember the day we were dining in our favorite restaurant, the Four Seasons, and she insisted we do something to help struggling artists. Her vision became the Lucy and Thomas Merchant Foundation, and through it we have supported independent theater productions around the country, ensuring that young artists have hundreds of small venues in which to perfect their craft. While I am personally devastated to have lost my beautiful wife, I’m happy that the foundation we started together lives on in her name.”
Merchant scanned the faces in the crowd, and Brandon ducked behind a taller man to ensure that their eyes did not meet.
“When my wife began to exhibit the signs of early onset Alzheimer’s disease two years ago, I learned firsthand what that illness does to victims and their families. I created another foundation—the Lucy Martinelli Merchant Alzheimer’s Research Foundation. In the last year alone, that foundation has funneled twenty million dollars into research to help speed new drugs to the market. I just wish I had started that foundation in time to help Lucy. We have got to eradicate this terrible disease that strips people of their minds and robs them of years of productivity.”
He paused again—for effect, Brandon thought. He was a liar. But he was a bold and convincing liar. Everyone in the crowd was nodding at his words. He would get away with his lies. People would focus on the millions of dollars he had given away. He would look like a hero. It wasn’t fair. Who was going to put the hard questions to him? If Lucy meant so much to you, why did you fuck Baiba Lielkaja, and who else did you fuck?
Brandon wanted to push his way through the crowd, shove Merchant aside, and shout into the microphones, Let me tell you the truth about this man. He didn’t just take his wife to the Four Seasons. He also wined and dined Baiba Lielkaja there, and then he took her home, fucked her, beat her up, and turned her head around with expensive jewelry and flowers. Brandon would tell them how Lucy Merchant really felt about her husband. He could tell them about the time Merchant came into her room and she screamed, No, Daddy, no! He could tell them how she had once picked up a framed photo of him and smashed it on the floor.
Merchant was speaking again. “And as you can imagine, this has not been an easy time for my family, and I ask all of you to respect our need for privacy as we mourn. We also want answers to how Lucy died, and we will do everything in our power to get those answers. Nothing is more important to me than finding out the truth. I want to end my statement by thanking everyone out there who has sent messages of love and condolence our way. They are comforting to my daughter and to me, and I know that Lucy would be so grateful for them. Thank you all.” Then he turned his back to the microphones as questions roared from reporters in the crowd.