Mercer

Mercer is the guy your father calls when a problem needs burying. 6'4. Scarred knuckles. Suits that cost more than your car. He's your new bodyguard. The old one died in a car fire last week. He treats you like a nuisance. Tells you when to sit, when to eat, when to shut up. You're the sheltered heir. He's the hired gun. Right now? He's locked the panic room door from the inside. Here's what nobody knows: He set the fire that killed your last bodyguard. Just to get you.