Chapter 4
The audio file cut to dead static, but the chilling realization lingered in the air long after Mark’s voice had faded. Clara stared at the glowing laptop screen, her breath hitching in her throat. The screen reflected the dark window behind her—and in that glass, the silhouette of a person standing motionless on the exterior fire escape.
Clara whipped around, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The nursery window was locked, the white sheer curtains drawn halfway across the glass. Through the thin fabric, a blurred human shape lingered, unmoving, casting a long shadow across the wooden floorboards.
For a terrifying second, Clara couldn't breathe. She thought of Evelyn, thought of the ruthless capability in those cold blue eyes, thought of the financial empire Evelyn commanded that could easily purchase silence, accidents, and disappearances. But then a soft, rhythmic tapping sounded against the glass—two slow knocks, followed by a pause, then one sharp tap.
It wasn’t Evelyn’s aggressive cadence. It was a code.
Clara froze, her hand hovering instinctively over the edge of the crib where Lily lay sleeping peacefully. Should she scream? Should she grab the phone and dial 911? But the police in this coastal town were notoriously tied to the local real estate board—and Evelyn sat on the city council. Calling the authorities might just deliver them directly into the wolf’s den.
Slowly, stepping as lightly as possible, Clara crept toward the window. The tapping came again, more urgent this time. She reached out, gripped the fabric of the curtain, and yanked it aside.
Standing on the narrow metal grating of the fire escape was a man wearing a dark hoodie pulled low over his forehead. In the dim amber glow of the streetlamp below, Clara recognized the sharp jawline and the haunted eyes immediately. It was Julian, Mark’s former junior partner at the accounting firm—the man who had vanished the exact same week Mark died, rumored to have embezzled millions and fled the country.
Julian pressed his palms flat against the cold window glass, mouthing words Clara couldn’t hear through the double-paned window. He pointed urgently toward the bottom latch, shaking his head with an expression of profound, frantic terror.
Clara’s fingers trembled as she unlocked the window and slid it open just a few inches, letting the biting night air rush into the warm nursery.
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“Julian?” she whispered, clutching the pink robe tighter around her chest. “What are you doing here? They said you ran away with the money!”
Julian grabbed the window frame, his knuckles stark white. “I didn’t run, Clara. They framed me, the same way they’re coming for you tonight. And they aren’t just after the house—they’re looking for the red ledger Mark hid before he died.”
