Chapter 7 - The Desperate Plea
On Wednesday evening, the heavy rain of a late New England spring beat against the tall glass windows of the townhouse.
The doorbell rang.
I walked to the foyer, checking the security monitor I had installed over the weekend. Standing on the porch, drenched in rain and shivering, was Julian. The charcoal suit was gone, replaced by a wet hoody and jeans. He looked desperate, his eyes bloodshot as he stared into the camera lens.
I pressed the intercom button. "You are violating the court order, Julian. The police have already been alerted to your GPS coordinates."
"Clara, please!" his voice came through the speaker, cracking with a raw, ugly panic. "They took everything. My accounts, the business, even my car. Vanessa left me—she took a deal with the prosecutors to testify against me in exchange for immunity. I have nothing, Clara. I’m staying in a shelter."
"You had a family, Julian," I said, my voice completely devoid of the pity he was begging for. "You had a wife who loved you, a daughter who adored you, and a baby on the way. You threw all of it away for a thief and a lie."
"I can make it up to you!" he sobbed, pressing his forehead against the cold wood of the door. "Just tell the prosecutors you won't press charges on the trust fund. Let me come home. We can raise the baby together. Please, Clara, don't do this to me."
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"I’m not doing anything to you, Julian," I said. "You wrote this ending yourself."
The blue and red lights of the state police cruisers began to reflect off the wet asphalt of the driveway, their sirens silent but their presence absolute. I turned off the intercom, walked back into the living room, and sat down beside Maya, pulling her close as we watched the rain wash the dirt from the windowpane.
