Chapter 3 - The Business That Was Supposed to Be Dead
Mercer Residential Services had no website.
No public storefront.
No obvious advertising.
But it was active.
Thomas Mercer was listed as manager.
Mailing address:
My home.
I had never seen the registration.
I searched my mail archive.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
Dad collected physical mail almost every afternoon.
He called it helping.
I called the Secretary of State’s public line the next morning and confirmed only publicly available information.
Formation date.
Status.
Registered agent service.
No ownership details beyond the filing.
Then I searched county permit records.
Mercer Residential Services appeared on six residential renovation permits.
Floor installation.
Trim work.
Kitchen refinish.
Small jobs.
Not a dead company.
A smaller successor business.
I stared at the permits.
Dad had been working.
Maybe not full time.
Enough to generate income.
Why lie?
I called Marcus.
My brother answered on the second ring.
“Hey, stranger.”
“When did Dad restart flooring work?”
Silence.
“What?”
“Mercer Residential Services.”
Marcus hesitated.
“Why are you asking?”
“Because I am tired of being the last person in this family who receives information about my own money.”
“Elena.”
“How long?”
“A couple years.”
I closed my eyes.
“You knew.”
“He did small jobs.”
“He told me he had no income.”
“I thought you knew.”
“Why would I pay his insurance if I knew?”
Marcus exhaled.
“I do not know what you two discuss.”
“Did you know they have seventy two thousand dollars?”
Longer silence.
“Yes.”
There it was.
“Did they tell you I am paying everything?”
“They said you insisted.”
I laughed.
“What?”
“Mom said you would not accept rent because it complicated taxes.”
I stood from my desk.
“I asked them for grocery money twice.”
Marcus sounded confused.
“They said you wanted them saving for their move.”
“Move where?”
“Near me.”
“So you knew that too.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone think to tell me?”
“I assumed they had.”
The family’s favorite excuse.
Assumption.
I asked Marcus whether Dad’s new business was profitable.
“Not hugely. He says he does cash jobs.”
“How much?”
“I do not know.”
“Does he use my house for clients?”
“Maybe paperwork.”
“Did you know he registered it there?”
“No.”
Marcus finally sounded worried.
“What are you doing?”
“I am deciding what happens to my house.”
“What does that mean?”
“You will find out when Mom does.”
“Elena, do not blow everything up because she said something stupid.”
I went still.
“How do you know what she said?”
“Aunt Ruth called.”
Of course.
Family news traveled fastest when it concerned my reaction.
“Mom called me a burden in the house I pay for while bragging about saving money because I support them.”
“She says things.”
“And Dad says nothing.”
“He hates conflict.”
“Then he should enjoy the peace of his own apartment.”
Marcus swore softly.
“You are kicking them out?”
“I am ending an arrangement they lied about.”
“They are our parents.”
“Then you can house them.”
Silence.
Marcus had a four bedroom home.
His children had moved out.
Interesting how quickly family obligation became complex when it moved north.
“They do not want to live with me.”
“That is not my problem.”
After the call, I searched more.
Dad’s business name appeared on review sites under variations.
Customers praised Thomas Mercer personally.
Some mentioned paying by check.
One review from six months earlier:
Tom gave us a great discount if we paid electronically before installation.
Electronic payments went somewhere.
I did not yet know where.
At noon, Nadia arrived at my house.
Not because we needed a dramatic legal meeting.
Because she wanted to inspect my property records before recommending a sale.
Mom watched her from the breakfast room.
“Who is that?”
“My attorney.”
Celia stood immediately.
“For what?”
“Property planning.”
Dad came from downstairs.
“What property planning?”
“The house.”
His face changed.
“You are refinancing?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
I looked at Nadia.
She said nothing.
This was mine.
“I am considering selling.”
Mom laughed.
Then realized I was serious.
“You cannot sell this house.”
“I own it.”
“We live here.”
“Yes.”
“Your father built half the improvements.”
“No.”
Dad stepped forward.
“I renovated the guest suite.”
“I paid Blue Oak Interiors thirty four thousand dollars.”
“I supervised it.”
“You argued with the contractor about baseboards.”
“That saved you money.”
“No, Dad. It delayed them two days.”
Mom’s face flushed.
“You would sell your parents’ home because you overheard a private conversation?”
“My home.”
“We have lived here for three years.”
“That does not make it yours.”
Dad’s voice hardened.
“We contributed.”
“Send receipts.”
“I sent the list.”
“A list is not proof.”
His face changed slightly.
He had expected the list to work because family accounting had always been emotional.
I opened the property folder Nadia brought.
Deed.
Closing statement.
Mortgage history.
Renovation invoices.
Tax payments.
Utilities.
Insurance.
My name appeared everywhere.
Theirs did not.
Celia stared at the folder.
“What are you trying to prove?”
“That facts exist even when family dislikes them.”
Mom walked away.
Dad stayed.
Then he said something strange.
“You should check your closing documents more carefully.”
Nadia looked at him.
“Why?”
Dad immediately stepped back.
“I am saying she does not know everything.”
“About her own title?”
“I did not say that.”
He left.
Nadia waited until he was gone.
“That sentence concerns me.”
“Why?”
“Because people do not usually threaten mysterious paperwork unless they think they have some.”
That night I checked every page of my original purchase file.
Nothing unusual.
Then Nadia called.
“Elena, did you ever authorize a business credit account at your address?”
“No.”
“Mercer Residential Services?”
“No.”
“There is a commercial credit inquiry associated with your home.”
My pulse jumped.
“Against the property?”
“Not necessarily.”
“What does it mean?”
“I need to pull more.”
The business Dad hid might not only have used my address.
May you like
It might have used something belonging to me.
Continue to the next part: The secret flooring business has a financial connection to Elena’s personal credit file.
