Chapter 11 - Sloane Without an Audience
Sloane disappeared from social media for nine days.
On the tenth, she came to Harbor House.
Alone.
No phone visible.
Grace saw her through the front windows and nearly walked into the kitchen.
Then stopped.
Running would not make the conversation less real.
Martin approached.
“Do you want me to remove her?”
Grace noticed the change.
A week earlier Martin would have asked what ownership wanted.
Now he asked Grace.
“Yes,” Grace almost said.
Instead:
“Ask why she’s here.”
Martin returned.
“She wants five minutes.”
Grace agreed.
They sat at a corner table before opening.
Sloane looked different.
Not transformed.
Just tired.
“No camera?” Grace asked.
Sloane winced.
“No.”
“Good.”
Silence.
Sloane began:
“I’m sorry.”
Grace waited.
“For the Coke.”
Still waited.
“For the comments.”
Sloane looked uncomfortable.
“For making you a target.”
Grace said:
“Why?”
Sloane frowned.
“Why am I apologizing?”
“Why did you do it?”
Sloane looked toward the window.
“Evan dared me.”
“No.”
Grace’s voice stayed calm.
“That explains five hundred dollars.”
She leaned forward.
“Why was humiliating me worth performing for forty thousand people?”
Sloane’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“Then your apology is incomplete.”
Sloane looked irritated.
There she was.
The woman Grace remembered.
“I came here, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“My father cut me off from Mercer.”
“That’s between you and your father.”
“My accounts are suspended.”
“Also not me.”
“My name is everywhere.”
“You livestreamed it.”
Sloane’s eyes flashed.
“So I deserve all this?”
Grace stared.
Sloane immediately realized the question had betrayed her.
“This is what I mean.”
“What?”
“You are still measuring consequences against your discomfort.”
Sloane looked away.
Grace continued:
“You poured Coke over me because you thought my discomfort was entertainment.”
“You ordered footage erased because your discomfort became risk.”
“You posted about me because consequences became my fault.”
Sloane whispered:
“I didn’t order the footage deleted.”
“You started the call.”
“I told them to keep it from leaking.”
“Same family language.”
“What?”
“Control reality, then rename it.”
Sloane stood.
“This was a mistake.”
Grace nodded.
“Probably.”
Sloane stopped.
Then sat again.
“I hate you.”
Grace almost laughed.
“Okay.”
“You’re so calm.”
“I’m not calm.”
“You act like you’re better than me.”
“No.”
Grace’s voice changed.
“I act like I don’t need you to like me.”
That silenced her.
Sloane stared at the table.
Finally:
“I picked you because of your weight.”
Grace said nothing.
Sloane continued.
“I thought people would laugh.”
“They did.”
“I know.”
“What did that give you?”
Sloane’s eyes filled.
Grace remained still.
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
Sloane wiped her face angrily.
“My whole life, if people are laughing, I know where I stand.”
Grace frowned.
Sloane continued:
“At school. At events. Online. If I make the joke first, I’m not the person everyone is looking at.”
That was not an excuse.
But it was finally an answer.
“People laughed at you?”
Sloane shrugged.
“Everyone gets laughed at.”
Grace did not let her escape.
“For what?”
Sloane looked humiliated.
“For being Richard Mercer’s daughter.”
Grace almost said that was ridiculous.
Then understood.
People wanted access.
Money.
Invitations.
Resentment.
Every friendship carried doubt.
Sloane discovered that being cruel first created control.
Grace said:
“So you learned to choose the target.”
Sloane nodded.
“And Friday you chose me.”
“Yes.”
“Because you thought I was safer to hurt than to be.”
Sloane cried then.
Quietly.
Grace felt sympathy.
She hated that.
Not because sympathy was wrong.
Because it complicated anger.
“I’m still not forgiving you.”
Sloane nodded.
“I know.”
“No, you need to hear it.”
Grace looked directly at her.
“Understanding why you became cruel does not make me responsible for making you feel better about it.”
Sloane nodded again.
This time more honestly.
She reached into her bag.
Grace immediately stiffened.
Sloane placed a phone on the table.
Old phone.
Cracked screen.
“What?”
“The original livestream device.”
Grace stared.
“My lawyers told me to give it to them.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Sloane looked ashamed.
“Because there are messages on it.”
“With whom?”
“Owen.”
Grace’s heartbeat changed.
Sloane continued:
“He told me after the livestream started that if I accidentally captured business talk, I needed to delete the local video.”
“Did you?”
“I deleted the app copy.”
“But?”
“Cloud backup stayed.”
Grace looked at the phone.
“What else?”
Sloane swallowed.
“Owen knew the city reimbursement draft could cause problems.”
“How do you know?”
“He texted me Friday afternoon.”
“Why would he text you?”
“He wanted me to keep Evan from talking.”
Grace almost laughed at the stupidity.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Clearly.”
Sloane looked at her.
“I was going to destroy the phone.”
“What stopped you?”
“My father told me I’d spent my whole life assuming consequences were things other people cleaned up.”
Grace stared.
Sloane continued:
“So I’m not cleaning this one.”
She pushed the phone forward.
Grace did not touch it.
“Give it to your lawyer.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“They made a forensic copy.”
“Then why bring it to me?”
Sloane’s answer surprised her.
“Because I wanted you to know I didn’t erase this.”
Grace looked at the phone.
Then at Sloane.
For the first time, Sloane Mercer had brought Grace something without trying to control how Grace reacted.
That was not redemption.
But it was movement.
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The investigation changed again.
