Chapter 8 - The Badge of Convenience
“Miller?” Julian whispered, the betrayal hitting him harder than the loss of the nursery window. “What is she talking about?”
Detective Miller slowly lowered his service weapon, sliding it back into its leather holster with a quiet click. He didn't look at Julian; instead, he pocketed his notebook and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, heavy silver key ring with an embossed family crest—the exact same crest carved into the mantelpiece in the grand foyer.
“I’m sorry, Julian,” Miller said, his tone flat, professional, and entirely devoid of warmth. “Municipal jurisdiction stops at the estate perimeter. But the Vance trust has a very long arm that reaches deep into the county precinct.”
Julian staggered backward, his shoulder striking the cold steel of a filing cabinet. “You’re on their payroll? All of you? The police who came into the nursery tonight... they weren't responding to a call, were they?”
“They were securing the perimeter, just like I said,” Miller replied calmly. “Only the perimeter wasn't kept safe from intruders. It was kept safe from you trying to leave before the transition was complete.”
Clara stepped forward, closing the distance between them until Julian could smell the faint scent of lavender and old paper radiating from her apron. She reached out and placed a surprisingly strong, cold hand against his cheek, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb.
“You’re a good father, Julian,” Clara murmured, her voice softening into a grotesque parody of maternal affection. “You loved the little girl upstairs. You truly believed she was yours to keep.”
Julian batted her hand away with a snarl. “Where is my daughter? If she isn't mine, whose is she? Where did you take her?”
Clara smiled again, her eyes glittering in the amber light. “She isn't anywhere, Julian. Because there was never a baby born in that master bedroom three months ago. Your wife had a phantom pregnancy, manufactured by the doctors on the trust's retainer, designed to test whether your psychological conditioning would hold.”
Julian stared at her, the entire architecture of his life collapsing inward like a house of cards. “My wife... Emily knew?”
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“Emily is downstairs in the library,” Clara said smoothly. “Having a very pleasant cup of tea with the real master of the house.”
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