Chapter 6 - The Dead Therapist
The letter was fake.
Not poorly fake.
Professionally fake.
Correct letterhead.
Correct license number.
Correct old office address.
Even the right signature style.
Naomi called the medical practice that took over Dr. Chase's files.
They had never issued the letter.
Someone had accessed my archived patient records three weeks earlier.
"Who requested them?" I asked.
"He had a signed authorization."
"From me?"
"Yes."
Another forged signature.
I finally cried.
After a minute, she pushed tissues toward me.
"I hate him," I whispered.
"No."
I looked at her.
"You hate what he did."
"What's the difference?"
"One leaves you room to stop caring someday."
We attacked the emergency petition.
Charles was furious.
Julian was desperate.
At 6:20 that evening, he came to my apartment.
Building security called first.
"Do you want us to send him away?"
I thought about it.
"No. Conference room downstairs. Cameras on."
Julian walked in wearing the same suit he'd worn leaving Maui.
He looked wrecked.
"Clara."
"Sit."
He did.
"Did you access my therapy records?"
His eyes closed.
"Yes."
"Did you forge my authorization?"
"Charles had someone prepare it."
"That's not what I asked."
"Yes."
"Did you forge the subordination consent?"
He looked at the table.
"Yes."
I felt strangely calm.
"Did you marry me because of the Hartwell note?"
"No."
"Did you know about it before you proposed?"
Silence.
That was answer enough.
I stood.
Julian grabbed my wrist.
Not hard.
Still wrong.
Security entered immediately.
He released me.
"Clara, wait."
I stepped back.
Then he said something that stopped me.
"Your father knew about us."
"What?"
"Before he died, Thomas met with my father."
I stared at him.
Julian whispered, "And he offered to sell the note back."
"Why didn't he?"
"Because he discovered what Charles had done to Alan Mercer."
Sienna's father.
Julian looked toward the camera.
"My father didn't just frame him."
May you like
He swallowed.
"He stole from him.
