Chapter 7
Detective Marcus Vance walked slowly into the center of the parlor, his heavy boots making no sound on the thick oriental rug. His eyes locked onto the antique bassinet, resting for a long, calculating moment on the white-swaddled bundle inside. He didn't approach the baby; instead, he turned back to face Clara, who stood by the doorway with her arms folded neatly over her blue dress, her expression a masterclass in icy defiance.
“Nice place,” Marcus remarked, his voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged room. “Belongs to Jonathan Sterling, doesn’t it? Last I checked, he was sailing somewhere off the coast of Greece. Interesting that you have keys to a property registered to a federal prosecutor currently reviewing white-collar financial fraud cases.”
Clara tilt her head slightly, her blonde hair catching the amber light of the brass lamp. Her voice remained steady, dripping with aristocratic disdain. “Jonathan is an old and trusted family friend, Detective. He generously offered us the use of his home while our nursery undergoes repairs following the unfortunate incident earlier this evening. Surely you aren't suggesting that borrowing a friend’s home constitutes a criminal offense?”
Marcus let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head slowly. “Not a crime, Mrs. Vance. Just an interesting alignment of logistics. Especially considering that ten minutes ago, our traffic cameras picked up a gray sedan registered to Arthur entering the perimeter of your primary residence on Elm Street. The Elm Street house that is currently secured under a police tape perimeter pending a search warrant.”
For a fraction of a second, the skin around Clara’s eyes tightened—a microscopic reaction that didn't escape Marcus’s trained observation. But her recovery was instantaneous. She offered a thin, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. “My son is a distraught father, Detective. It is entirely natural that he would want to check on his personal belongings after such a traumatic event. If he violated a perimeter out of sheer panic, I am certain his lawyer can sort that out in the morning.”
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Officer Davies stepped into the room, holding a small tablet in her hand. She caught Marcus’s eye and gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. “Sir, forensics just updated the database match on the secondary fingerprint found on the back door of the Elm Street house. It doesn’t belong to an intruder. It belongs to Elena Vance.”
The silence that fell over the parlor was absolute. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked heavily, each second feeling like a slow-moving blade. Marcus turned his gaze back to Clara, the polite facade dropping away to reveal the relentless investigator underneath. “Elena broke her own back door from the inside, Mrs. Vance. She staged a break-in. And right now, your son is inside that house, scrubbing every piece of data he can get his hands on before my team arrives with the judge’s signature.” Marcus took a step closer to Clara, lowering his voice to a gravelly whisper. “Where are the original adoption papers, Clara? Because we both know this baby was never legally adopted through the state.”
