Chapter 4: Leah Mercer

The passport photograph was Isabella's face, but stripped of every soft thing that had made people trust it. Hair darker. Skin paler. Eyes unsmiling. Leah Mercer looked like a woman who had learned early that kindness cost extra. Isabella stared at it beneath the flickering light of a laundromat bathroom in Queens while Megan Chen cleaned blood from her temple with paper towels. "Who are you?" Isabella asked. "A waitress," Megan said. "A liar when necessary. Your only ride out of tonight." "Who sent you?" Megan's hand paused. "Someone who owed your real mother a debt." Real mother. The words landed too close to Martha's wrong girl, right cradle. Isabella gripped the sink. "My mother is Catherine Thorne." Megan looked at her through the mirror. "Then why did Catherine let them put you in that car?" It should have made Isabella hate her. Instead it made the room spin. She remembered Catherine's collapsed face, Richard's delayed shout, Martha's calm voice. The wrong girl in the right cradle. Outside, sirens moved toward the burning car. Megan handed her a hoodie, jeans, and a pair of cheap sneakers. "In twenty minutes, every channel in New York will say Isabella Thorne died fleeing police after a fraud confession. If they find you breathing, they will correct the mistake." "I did not confess." "They do not need you alive for that." Isabella reached for her phone, but Megan snatched it first and dropped it into a cup of bleach. "My evidence," Isabella snapped. "Your tracker," Megan said. "If there is evidence, tell me you did not keep it on that." Isabella pulled the flash drive from her stocking. Megan's eyes changed. "Good. Hide it better." The laundromat television switched from a weather warning to breaking news. Footage showed the burning wreck near the bridge. A female anchor, face solemn, said sources close to the Thorne family confirmed Isabella had been emotionally unstable for weeks. Then the screen cut to Olivia weeping into Sebastian's shoulder. "She was my sister," Olivia sobbed. "I wish I had seen her pain." Isabella's fingernails cut into her palms. Megan turned off the television. "You can scream later. Now choose. Isabella dies, Leah lives, and one day you come back with proof. Or you go to the police tonight and let Martha choose which doctor declares you delusional." Isabella looked at the passport again. Leah Mercer had no family, no trust fund, no fiance, no surname worth killing for. That made her useful. "I need a job," Isabella said. Megan almost smiled. "You need a grave first." She opened the bathroom door. A gray-haired woman waited outside with a black urn and a hospital bracelet printed with Isabella Thorne's name. Megan lowered her voice. "We have one hour to bury you."