Ask Phoebe about the Mercer Covenant.
Then listen carefully.
Love,
Grandfather
I looked up.
“What is the Mercer Covenant?”
Phoebe leaned back.
And then she told me.
My grandfather had not technically left Bellweather House to me outright.
He had left it to a private trust of which I was the sole beneficial occupant and controlling beneficiary.
To the outside world, the distinction hardly mattered.
I could live there.
Renovate it.
Lease portions.
Use the grounds.
And, under certain conditions, transfer my beneficial interest.
But there was an unusual clause.
A dangerous one.
The estate carried several historical conservation obligations, private maintenance covenants, and commercial guarantees tied to land my grandfather had once used as collateral for business dealings decades earlier.
He had spent years unwinding most of them.
Most.
Not all.
“What does that mean?”
I asked.
Phoebe folded her hands.
“It means Everett designed Bellweather like a locked room.”
