Chapter 3 - The Empty Nest
The heavy oak door of Marcus’s suburban home clicked shut, sealing out the cold night and the crushing weight of the ruined wedding. Clara carried a sleeping Lily upstairs to the guest bedroom, gently laying the toddler down beneath a heavy quilted blanket. The child’s breathing was soft and steady, a heartbreaking contrast to the internal tempest raging inside Clara’s mind. She walked back down the carpeted hallway, her heels clicking softly against the floorboards, only to find Marcus pacing the length of the hardwood-floored living room with a landline phone pressed tightly to his ear.
Marcus listened intently, muttered a brief farewell, and slammed the handset onto its cradle with a sharp clatter.
“That was Detective Vance. I asked him to run a rush background check on Julian using his social security number,” Marcus said, running a hand through his thinning hair in visible distress.
Clara wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering despite the indoor heat. Her off-the-shoulder wedding gown felt ridiculous now, a costume from a play where the protagonist had walked blindly into a slaughterhouse.
“What did Vance find? Is Julian’s background clean? Because right now, nothing surprises me,” Clara whispered, her voice dangerously thin.
Marcus stopped pacing and looked her square in the eyes, his expression grave.
“Clean? Clara, Julian Vance doesn’t exist. That’s an alias. His real name is Julian Montgomery. He’s a convicted felon who served three years in Oregon for grand larceny and child endangerment under suspicious circumstances involving a previous fiancée,” Marcus stated, the words dropping like lead weights into the quiet room.
Clara stumbled backward, her hip bumping against the edge of the mahogany coffee table. The room seemed to tilt on its axis. Julian had lied about his past, his family, his career—everything.
“If he’s a criminal, how did he pass the background check my real estate firm ran before we moved in together?” Clara asked, her voice rising in panic.
“He didn't pass it. He bought it,” a deep, unfamiliar voice echoed from the shadowed hallway near the kitchen.
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Both Clara and Marcus whipped their heads around as a tall man in a dark trench coat stepped into the light, holding a heavy envelope stamped with police evidence seals.
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