Chapter 5 - MY HUSBAND HAD BEEN WATCHING ME FOR SIX MONTHS
The photographs covered half a year.
Me at school pickup.
Me at Target.
Me having coffee with Mrs. Callahan.
Me entering my doctor's office.
Me hugging my sister outside a restaurant.
Me sitting alone in my car.
Hundreds.
Wade Mercer kept records.
Dates.
Times.
Locations.
Who I spoke with.
How long.
I felt violated in a way I couldn't explain.
My life had been reduced to surveillance notes.
Subject arrived 9:04.
Subject met female approximately 40.
Subject remained 63 minutes.
Subject.
I was his wife.
Why was Julian following me?
His attorney claimed he suspected infidelity.
There was no evidence because there had been no affair.
Rebecca had another theory.
“He was preparing for divorce.”
“Before the accident?”
“Possibly.”
“Then why not just divorce me?”
“Money.”
Of course.
If Julian had hidden assets and believed I might discover them, divorce would expose everything.
Unless he could build leverage first.
Evidence of an affair.
Neglect.
Anything.
But Mercer found nothing.
Then Julian changed instructions.
Three weeks before the accident:
Focus on who she meets regarding finances.
My skin crawled.
Julian wasn't worried about another man.
He was worried I might discover his money.
Then investigators recovered an audio file.
Mercer had recorded Julian during a meeting.
Maybe as insurance.
Julian said:
“If Audrey starts digging, I need to know before she finds anything.”
Mercer asked:
“What exactly are you hiding?”
Julian laughed.
“Nothing she needs to know.”
That recording ended the idea that I was imagining financial secrecy.
Then came the accident.
Derek eventually agreed to cooperate.
His story was complicated.
And horrifying.
Julian hadn't ordered him to kill me.
At least not directly.
Julian had paid Derek to retrieve my phone.
The plan was to create a minor traffic incident.
A bump.
Argument.
Distraction.
Something that would give Derek access to my vehicle long enough to take the phone.
Why?
Because Julian suspected I had photographed Meridian documents.
Derek panicked.
He followed too closely.
I stopped at a changing light.
He hit me at nearly fifty miles per hour.
Not a bump.
A catastrophic collision.
He then fled briefly before returning because witnesses had seen him.
My injuries weren't intended.
But they were the foreseeable result of a criminal plan.
Julian had paid for the plan.
My husband hadn't exactly hired someone to murder me.
He had simply valued his secret more than my safety.
Strangely, that distinction didn't comfort me.
Federal agents arrested Julian at his office.
Chloe was with my sister.
I watched the news clip from my hospital bed.
He wore the same navy suit he had worn to our anniversary dinner the year before.
Hands behind his back.
Head lowered.
For a moment, I felt grief.
Then relief.
Then guilt for feeling relief.
Then anger about the guilt.
Healing was apparently messy.
Charges accumulated.
Commercial bribery.
Fraud.
Conspiracy.
Obstruction.
Evidence tampering.
Financial crimes.
Charges related to the planned interception that resulted in my crash.
And the hospital assault remained separate.
Julian pleaded not guilty.
His attorney described him as a respected executive and devoted father.
Devoted father.
Chloe heard that phrase on television.
“Is Daddy going to jail?”
she asked.
“I don't know.”
“Did he make the car hit you?”
I froze.
“Who told you that?”
“Kids at school.”
My heart broke.
We transferred Chloe temporarily to remote learning.
Then found a child therapist.
Dr. Hannah Lee.
She helped me understand something important.
I couldn't protect Chloe by lying.
But I also couldn't make her carry adult details.
So we told her:
“Daddy made some dangerous choices involving another person, and those choices contributed to Mommy's accident. Police are deciding what laws were broken.”
Chloe cried.
Then asked:
“Does Daddy love me?”
“Yes.”
I believed that.
Love wasn't the problem.
People can love someone and still be unsafe.
That was one of the hardest truths.
My rehabilitation began.
Standing was impossible initially.
Parallel bars.
Therapists.
Pain.
Sweat.
Humiliation.
The first time they lifted me upright, I cried.
Not because it hurt.
Because Julian's voice returned.
Get up.
For one second, I froze.
My therapist, Jordan, noticed.
“You control this.”
he said.
“What?”
“We stop whenever you say.”
I looked at him.
“Stop.”
Immediately, they lowered me.
No argument.
No disappointment.
No punishment.
My body learned something my mind already knew.
No could be safe.
The next day, I tried again.
This time I stood for eleven seconds.
Everyone clapped.
I cried.
By week two, twenty-seven seconds.
By week four, I took one assisted step.
Chloe witnessed it.
She screamed like I'd won the Olympics.
“Mommy walked!”
One step.
It felt like a mile.
Meanwhile, Samuel traced the money.
The hidden assets grew.
$2.3 million.
Then $2.7 million.
Julian had been receiving illegal payments for years.
Some money had purchased property through JB Holdings.
One condo shocked me.
Boston.
Luxury building.
“Who lives there?”
I asked.
Samuel hesitated.
“A woman named Vanessa Cole.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who is she?”
“We're finding out.”
We didn't need long.
Vanessa Cole was thirty-six.
Pharmaceutical sales.
And according to building records, Julian had visited the condo regularly.
Security logs.
Parking.
Deliveries.
I knew before Rebecca said it.
Affair.
Four years.
Four.
While I packed lunches.
While I helped Chloe with homework.
While I scheduled his parents' doctors.
While I gave up my career because his had “more potential.”
Julian had been financing another woman's apartment with money he hid from me.
I thought I'd reached the bottom of betrayal.
Apparently betrayal had a basement.
Vanessa agreed to speak with investigators.
She claimed she didn't know about the bribery.
She knew about me.
Of course.
Julian told her we were effectively separated.
Of course.
He said I refused divorce because I depended financially on him.
That one made me laugh.
Then cry.
He had created my dependence.
Then used it as evidence that I was pathetic.
Vanessa gave investigators access to messages.
Most were personal.
Some weren't.
One message from two weeks before my accident:
A knows something.
Vanessa replied:
About us?
Julian:
Worse.
Then:
If this blows up, I lose everything.
Vanessa:
Then tell her the truth.
Julian:
You don't understand Audrey. She'll take Chloe and half of everything.
Half of everything.
My legal share of an eleven-year marriage had become theft in his mind.
Then Vanessa asked:
What are you going to do?
Julian answered:
Handle it.
I stared at those two words.
Handle it.
The crash.
The phone.
The hospital.
May you like
He had been handling me for years.
The difference was that now everyone could see it.
