Chapter 3 - The Web of Deceit
The next morning, I did something Grant never anticipated. I called him and asked to meet alone at our real estate attorney’s downtown office.
When Grant walked into the conference room on the fourteenth floor, he looked slightly disheveled. The smooth, effortless charm he usually wore was fraying around the edges. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his hands twitched slightly as he adjusted his designer tie.
"Claire," he said, stepping toward me with a wide, performative smile. "Dana said you were feeling unwell last night. I came by the house late to drop off some emergency clothes and groceries, but the security gate was locked."
He was testing me. He wanted to see if Lily had told me about his face at the window.
"Oh, Dana’s security system is so overly sensitive," I said smoothly, offering him a sad, exhausted smile as I sat at the glass table. "The police were called by a false motion sensor trigger around midnight. It was just a stray dog in the yard. I’m sorry if you came all the way out there for nothing."
Grant visibly relaxed, taking a seat across from me. "Ah. That explains the police cruisers I saw nearby. Good to know her system works, at least."
"Grant," I continued, placing a manila envelope on the table between us. "I asked you here because I spoke with the insurance company this morning. They said that before they can disburse the four million dollar combined real estate and trust rider, we need to sign a joint affidavit declaring that we have no knowledge of any third-party foul play or criminal activity related to the property."
Grant’s eyes flickered with intense interest. "An affidavit? That’s standard procedure, Claire. Totally routine. They just want to protect themselves before cutting the check."
"I know," I said, leaning back. "But the fire marshal told me something disturbing today, Grant."
His hand froze on his coffee cup. "What did she say?"
"She said they found the remains of a remote control relay switch attached to the gas line," I said, keeping my eyes locked on his. "She said someone deliberately blew up our home."
The room went dead silent. The faint hum of the city traffic fourteen stories below filled the space between us.
Grant slowly lowered his coffee cup. His eyes lost every trace of warmth, turning as hard and cold as polished flint. The loving husband act vanished, replaced by the calculating, unfeeling expression of a predator assessing a threat.
"Why are you telling me this, Claire?" he asked softly.
"Because I'm terrified," I lied, letting my voice shake slightly. "Who would do something like that to us, Grant? Do you have enemies? Did someone from your investment firm do this to get back at you?"
Grant stared at me for five long seconds. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the distance between us until I could smell his breath.
"You shouldn't worry about corporate rivals, Claire," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "You should worry about taking care of our daughter and letting the professionals handle the investigation. If the fire marshal is floating crazy conspiracy theories about switches and relays, it’s probably just to cover up their own incompetence."
"So you think I should sign the affidavit?" I asked, tapping the folder.
"I know you should," Grant said, his tone no longer suggestive, but commanding. "If you don't sign it, the insurance company will freeze all our assets pending an open federal investigation. We will be broke. We won't be able to pay for Lily’s school, or Dana’s legal fees, or our temporary housing. You sign the document today, Claire. We take the payout, and we leave this city behind."
"And what about Victoria?" I asked quietly.
Grant’s body went completely rigid. The color drained from his face so fast it was as if he had been struck by lightning.
"What did you just say?" he breathed.
"Victoria Vance," I said, dropping all pretense of fragility. My voice was calm, icy, and sharp enough to draw blood. "The woman living at the Lake Norman cottage. The woman you called thirty seconds after stepping over the burnt remains of our living room. The woman whose voice my eight-year-old daughter heard over your earpiece while you were sabotaging the propane lines in our pantry."
Grant stood up so fast his leather chair crashed backward against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"You think you’re so smart, don't you?" Grant spat, his face twisting into an ugly, terrifying sneer. The mask was completely off now. "You think you can play detective with your trust fund friend and some small-town fire deputy?"
"I don't think, Grant. I know," I said, standing up to face him across the table. "You tried to burn me and Lily alive for insurance money to cover your illegal debts."
Grant took a step around the table, his eyes wild with desperate rage. "Listen to me very carefully, Claire. You have no proof. You have the ramblings of an eight-year-old kid who was confused by a traumatic accident. If you go to the police with this story, I will drag you through every family court in this state. I will have you declared mentally unfit due to post-traumatic hysteria. I will take full custody of Lily, and I will take every single dime of your mother’s trust before you can even hire a lawyer."
He stepped closer, leaning down until his mouth was inches from my ear.
"You sign that paper," he hissed, "or you will lose far more than just a house."
I didn't flinch. I didn't step back. I looked right into his eyes and smiled.
"Look at the ceiling, Grant."
He blinked, confused, and looked up.
May you like
In the corner of the room, high near the air duct, a tiny red light was flashing on a professional security camera.
"This room is equipped with dual high-definition audio and video recording for legal depositions," I whispered. "Deputy Marshal Fraser and two federal arson investigators are sitting in the observation room right down the hall. Thank you for the confession, Grant."
