PART 3 — The Shadow of the Lie
My fingers hovered millimeters above the keys of the alarm system. My mind screamed at me to call the police, not to let this man inside. But the fear of losing everything, of watching the last piece of my husband’s memory go up in flames, held me back.
With a trembling hand, I turned the lock. The door swung open slowly.
Julian stepped inside. He didn’t even bother to take off his wet coat. Rainwater dripped from his shoulders onto the parquet floor Daniel and I had chosen together thirty years ago. He looked around the hallway with an expression I had never seen on him before. No longer the friendly family friend, but a stranger with an icily calculating gaze.
"You look tired, Claire," he said softly.
"What do you want, Julian? Or should I call you Julian Vance?" My voice sounded sharper than I felt.
A small, bitter smile appeared on his lips. "Julian Miller is fine. That name protected me from your ignorance for thirty years."
"Ignorance?" I took a step forward, anger temporarily overcoming fear. "Daniel fooled me for thirty years! He brought you into my house, seated you at my dining table, while you were his son! And you acted like a regular guest!"
"Do you think I wanted that?" Julian’s voice suddenly turned. The calm tone vanished, replaced by cutting bitterness. "Do you think I enjoyed watching you and your children live in luxury while my mother and I were tucked away in a small apartment on the edge of town? Do you think it felt good to be called 'Uncle Julian' by my own half-brother and half-sisters?"
I stared at him. "If you hated him so much, why did you take his money?"
"Because it was my right!" he almost shouted. Then he collected himself, straightened his tie, and looked at me intently. "But that money doesn't interest me anymore. What interests me is what happened Tuesday night."
"You said his death wasn't an accident," I repeated, my heart pounding in my throat again. "The police said he lost control due to bad weather."
"The police know nothing," Julian said contemptuously. "Daniel called me at eleven o'clock that night. He was on his way to my house. He was frantic. He said M — my mother Monique — made a mistake. That she let you see the documents for the house in Portland."
I thought back to the message on the second phone: He knows now.
"Who is 'he'?" I asked directly. "In that text on the phone... who knows?"
Julian observed me closely. "So you really went through the entire phone." He took a step closer. "Daniel wasn't alone in that car, Claire. Someone was sitting in the passenger seat."
"The police didn't find anyone," I countered. "He was alone when the wreckage was found."
"Because that person got out and walked away before the car caught fire," Julian said icily. "And I know who it was."
I held my breath. "Who?"
Julian leaned slightly toward me. "It was someone from this house, Claire. Someone who found out that Daniel wanted to sell the family business to pay off his debt to my mother. Someone who had a lot to lose if he exposed everything."
The world seemed to stand still. Someone from this house? My thoughts instantly rushed to my own children. Emma, who had possessed the photo for months. Lucas, who managed the company's finances. Sophie, who had always been so close to her father.
"You're lying," I whispered.
"Ask your son," Julian said with a frozen smile. "Ask Lucas where he was Tuesday night between eleven and one. And ask him why tire tracks from his car were found three kilometers from where Daniel crashed."
Julian turned around and walked toward the door. He paused briefly with his hand on the handle.
"Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, I expect you to withdraw the claim on the house in Portland," he said without looking back. "If you don't, I will send the dashcam footage from the car trailing Daniel straight to the prosecutor's office. And then your beloved Lucas will go to prison for murder."
The door slammed shut. I was left alone in the quiet, dark hallway, while the terrible truth closed in around me like a poisonous fog.
