Chapter 7 - The Poison in the Nursery
The illusion was shattered. The mask was destroyed.
Clara looked at Julian, and the trembling in her limbs suddenly stopped. A horrifying, feral transformation occurred behind her eyes. When a cornered predator realizes there is no escape, it stops pretending to be harmless.
She let out a dry, manic chuckle that quickly spiraled into chilling laughter.
“You think you’re so brilliant, don't you, Julian?” Clara sneered, standing up and stepping over the broken glass, her silk robe trailing in the puddle of water. “The great Julian Vance. Master of the universe. You couldn't even see your own wife dying right in front of you. Sarah was weak! She was pathetic! She had all this wealth, all this power, and she spent her days donating to starving orphans while you ignored her in your boardrooms!”
Julian remained seated. His jaw was tight, but his eyes never wavered. “And so you killed her.”
“I took what should have been mine!” Clara spat, her eyes wild, her face contorted with years of festering jealousy. “We went to the same school. We ran in the same circles. But she got you. She got the billions. And what did I get? Leftovers! Debts! Christian and I… we gave her what she deserved. A quiet, miserable end.”
“And Lily?” Julian’s voice dropped into a terrifying register. “What did an innocent one-year-old child do to deserve your hatred?”
“She looks like her!” Clara screamed. “Every time that wretched creature looks at me with those big, pathetic blue eyes, I see Sarah! I wanted to burn that look right off her face!”
Julian slowly rose from the couch. The sheer, overwhelming aura of wrath radiating from him caused Clara to instinctively take a step back, her back hitting the floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooking Manhattan.
“Marcus!” Clara shrieked suddenly, turning toward the corridor. “Christian! Help!”
The elevator doors chimed.
Clara gasped, a fleeting wave of hope washing over her face. “Christian?”
The elevator doors slid open.
It was not Christian Cole.
Stepping out into the foyer was Detective Hayes of the NYPD Major Case Squad, flanked by four uniformed officers, two federal agents, and Elena Martinez. Behind them, being led in heavy steel handcuffs, was Christian Cole—his face bruised, his clothes torn, weeping like a broken child.
“Clara Vance,” Detective Hayes announced, unholstering a pair of handcuffs. “Step away from the window.”
Clara looked from the police to Christian, whose head hung in complete defeat. “Christian? What did you do? What did you tell them?!”
“He told them everything, Clara,” Elena said, stepping forward. Elena’s face was bruised and swollen, but her posture was taller, prouder, and stronger than it had ever been. “They picked him up at the Teterboro hangar twenty minutes ago. He traded your location and your phone records for a non-capital murder charge.”
“No… no!” Clara shook her head wildly, pressing herself flat against the glass window. “This is a setup! Julian framed me! He paid Elena to lie! Look at the surveillance, it’s doctored!”
“We have the original cloud server logs, Mrs. Vance,” the lead FBI agent said, stepping forward. “We also have the chemical procurement receipts from Christian Cole’s offshore shell company matching the thallium found in Sarah Vance’s body. You are under arrest for first-degree murder, attempted murder of a minor, and aggravated felony assault.”
“Get away from me!” Clara screamed, lunging suddenly toward the marble bar.
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She grabbed the heavy crystal scotch decanter, smashing it against the marble counter, brandishing the jagged, razor-sharp glass neck like a weapon. “Stay back! I’ll kill myself! I’ll take down the whole damn company with me! Julian, tell them to back off!”
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