Chapter 4 - JULIAN CROSSED THE ROAD AT TWO IN THE MORNING
Garrison was awake before the motion alarm sounded.
I learned that because when a soft chime came from the hallway, he was already standing.
His dog, Duke, raised his head.
Garrison looked at the security monitor.
Then at me.
“Stay here.”
I had fallen asleep on the couch because the guest room felt too unfamiliar.
“What is it?”
“Julian.”
My exhaustion vanished.
Garrison turned on the exterior lights.
Across three camera feeds, I watched my husband freeze beside the house.
He had crossed the road wearing dark jeans and a rain jacket.
Flashlight.
Gloves.
No weapon that I could see.
Garrison opened the front door but remained inside.
“Julian.”
Julian turned.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Garrison asked.
Julian lifted both hands.
“Looking for my wife.”
“At two thirteen in the morning?”
“She won't answer me.”
“That's usually information.”
Julian's face tightened.
“I need five minutes.”
“No.”
“Mara!”
I stayed out of sight.
He shouted again.
Garrison said:
“Leave.”
Julian stepped closer.
“This is between us.”
“You walked onto my property after midnight.”
“I wasn't breaking in.”
“You were behind my house.”
“I saw a light.”
“No, you didn't.”
Julian's confidence slipped.
Garrison continued:
“You were approaching the west window.”
“How would you know?”
Garrison looked toward the camera mounted above the porch.
Julian followed his gaze.
His face changed.
Former sheriff.
Old farmhouse.
Of course there were cameras.
“Leave.”
Julian stared at him.
Then shouted:
“Mara, those documents aren't what you think!”
I stepped into the hallway before Garrison could stop me.
I remained behind the locked storm door.
“What documents?”
Julian hesitated.
A mistake.
I smiled.
“I never told you I had documents.”
His face tightened.
“You've been talking to Chloe.”
“Good night.”
“Wait.”
He came closer.
Garrison moved between us.
Julian stopped.
“I can explain the fertility report.”
My stomach twisted.
“Go ahead.”
“Not here.”
“Here is perfect.”
His eyes moved toward the camera.
Exactly.
He didn't want a recording.
“Your results were complicated.”
“My results?”
“Yes.”
“You mean yours.”
Silence.
“Severe male-factor infertility.”
His face changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“You knew.”
“Mara—”
“How long?”
“It wasn't definitive.”
“How long?”
“I didn't want you to give up.”
The sentence was so obscene I almost laughed.
“Give up on what?”
“Us.”
“You let me believe I was infertile.”
“You had issues too.”
There it was.
Defense through partial truth.
Yes, I had hormonal irregularities.
Yes, doctors had found uterine scarring after one miscarriage.
None of that explained why Julian hid his own diagnosis.
“You let your mother blame me.”
“I told her to stop.”
“Quietly.”
“She doesn't listen.”
“Neither did you.”
His face hardened.
“You wanted a child as much as I did.”
“I wanted informed consent.”
He stared.
“What?”
“I wanted to know what was happening to my own body before doctors cut into it.”
“You're being dramatic.”
The phrase.
How many women had been buried under that phrase?
Garrison said:
“You should leave.”
Julian ignored him.
“Mara, if you turn medical records over to people you don't understand, you could create serious legal problems.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone.”
“Try again.”
He exhaled.
“Northstar is under scrutiny.”
I pretended surprise.
“Really?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You know.”
“I know you emailed Malcolm Price.”
Julian went pale.
I shouldn't have said it.
Naomi had told me not to reveal evidence.
Anger won.
I regretted it immediately.
Julian's expression changed from pleading to calculation.
“How much do you have?”
Garrison stepped forward.
“Conversation's over.”
Julian looked at me one last time.
“You think Blackwood is helping you because he's kind?”
My chest tightened.
Garrison didn't move.
“What does that mean?”
I asked.
Julian smiled.
“Ask him why he started investigating Northstar.”
Then he left.
I watched him cross the road.
Only after his door closed did I turn toward Garrison.
“What did he mean?”
“Exactly what he said.”
“Why did you start investigating Northstar?”
Garrison was silent.
“Please don't do this.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he walked toward the shelf with the facedown photographs.
He picked up one.
Turned it over.
A woman in her early thirties smiled beside Garrison.
Same gray-blue eyes.
Same stubborn chin.
“My daughter.”
I looked at him.
“Her name was Hannah.”
Was.
My anger disappeared.
“She died?”
“Three years ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded once.
“Hannah worked as a nurse at Northstar.”
I froze.
“She was the first person who told me records were being changed.”
The room went quiet.
“She noticed patients receiving procedures inconsistent with lab results. Men whose infertility diagnoses disappeared. Women being pushed toward expensive interventions.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Money in some cases.”
“And others?”
“Requests from spouses.”
I thought about the list.
SPOUSAL RESULTS MODIFIED / PARTNER REQUEST.
“Hannah reported it internally,” Garrison continued. “Price threatened her license.”
“What?”
“He claimed she accessed records without authorization.”
“Had she?”
“Some.”
Garrison didn't sanitize it.
“She was scared. She copied things she shouldn't have copied because she thought evidence would disappear.”
“What happened?”
“She resigned.”
“And then?”
“Depression.”
His voice changed.
“Her marriage was already bad. The investigation consumed her. She started drinking.”
I waited.
“She died in a single-car crash.”
My eyes filled.
“Was it—”
“Accident.”
He said it firmly.
“No conspiracy. No one ran her off the road. She had alcohol in her system.”
The honesty hurt.
“She left me enough information to start asking questions.”
“So you joined the task force.”
“I already consulted occasionally. After Hannah died, I pushed harder.”
“Is that allowed?”
“I disclosed the conflict. I don't make charging decisions.”
Of course he had boundaries.
“Why move across from us?”
“I didn't.”
I frowned.
“I owned this house before Julian bought yours.”
That startled me.
“Then you recognized him?”
“Not initially.”
“When?”
“Price visited.”
Garrison looked toward the window.
“Then I checked publicly available business records and saw Julian's consulting company had contracts with Northstar.”
“You investigated us.”
“Julian.”
“And me.”
“I saw your name in patient material obtained through lawful process.”
My anger returned slightly.
“You knew for how long?”
“That something was wrong? Months.”
“And you watched me live across the road?”
“I couldn't disclose an active investigation.”
“You could've told me my husband was lying.”
“Not until the report was cleared for victim disclosure.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
I stared.
“The day he threw me out?”
“Yes.”
Coincidence.
Horrible timing.
Or perhaps not.
“Why did Julian act yesterday?”
“We don't know.”
Then Garrison's phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I whispered.
He held up a hand.
Then:
“When?”
Pause.
“Understood.”
He ended the call.
“Price is missing.”
My skin went cold.
“Missing?”
“His wife reported him gone.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Julian had been with him.
“What time?”
“She last saw him yesterday morning.”
“But he was at our house last night.”
“Yes.”
“Does she know?”
“Apparently not.”
I thought about the document case Price carried.
“What was in that bag?”
“No idea.”
Garrison called the task-force contact.
I called Naomi.
By dawn, everyone knew Julian had been one of the last confirmed people seen with Malcolm Price.
Julian's attorney claimed Price left our house around midnight.
Security cameras?
Conveniently, Julian had disconnected the doorbell system after changing the locks.
But he forgot Garrison's cameras.
One angle captured Price leaving at 11:38 p.m.
Alone.
Car headed east.
Good.
Julian had not made someone disappear.
Not every frightening coincidence needed to become murder.
At seven, Price's car was found at a bus station.
At nine, federal agents located him at an airport three states away.
He was attempting to fly to Mexico.
With him:
Two encrypted drives.
Cash.
And internal Northstar records.
By noon, Malcolm Price had an attorney.
By evening, according to Garrison, he wanted to cooperate.
That terrified Julian.
I knew because at 6:12 p.m. he sent me seventeen messages.
We need to talk.
You don't understand what Price did.
I protected you.
You wanted those treatments.
Don't let Blackwood manipulate you.
Then:
I can put the money back.
That one made me laugh.
I forwarded everything to Naomi.
Her reply:
Do not answer. Also, congratulations. People rarely document panic this efficiently.
The emergency divorce hearing was scheduled for the following morning.
Julian arrived in a navy suit.
I had seen him wear it to funerals.
Appropriate.
He did not look at me until the judge asked why nearly $190,000 had been removed from a joint account hours before his wife was excluded from the marital residence.
Julian's attorney called it “temporary asset protection.”
Naomi stood.
“Protection from whom?”
The judge looked unimpressed.
Within forty minutes, Julian was ordered to restore the funds pending equitable distribution.
My health coverage had to be reinstated or equivalent coverage funded immediately.
Neither party could dispose of marital property.
Neither could destroy financial or medical records relevant to litigation.
And I received access to the house.
I did not move back.
After court, Julian followed me into the hallway.
Naomi stepped between us.
He looked over her shoulder.
“Mara.”
I stopped.
His face looked exhausted.
“Chloe's doing the paternity test tomorrow.”
I said nothing.
“You know, don't you?”
“Know what?”
“That it might not be mine.”
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
He had built his certainty around biology when biology had never promised certainty.
“You should've asked her before destroying our marriage.”
His face twisted.
“Our marriage was already broken.”
“Then you should've left honestly.”
He had no answer.
I walked away.
Behind me, he said:
“I loved you.”
I stopped.
Six years ago, those words could have changed my entire day.
Now I turned.
“Then you should have loved me with the truth.”
He looked down.
I left.
That afternoon, Malcolm Price began talking.
And according to Garrison, the first name he gave investigators was not Julian's.
It was Julian's mother.
Evelyn Mercer.
May you like
The woman who had spent six years telling me that a real wife gave her husband children.
She had known the truth before I did.
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