Chapter 6 — The First Time Julian Chose His Mother
Chapter 6 — The First Time Julian Chose His Mother
The envelope was still in my hands when Julian said the words I never expected to hear.
"Don't open it."
I looked at him.
"What?"
His eyes were fixed on the words written across the front.
Your father is alive.
"Clara," he said quietly, "don't."
Rebecca stepped between us.
"Why?"
Julian didn't answer.
I stared at him.
"Why shouldn't I open an envelope addressed to me?"
"Because whoever sent it wants you to believe something."
"Something that might be true."
"Your father is dead."
"So you keep saying."
His expression changed.
"Because I was there."
The room went silent.
I had heard Julian say that before.
But never like this.
He wasn't merely remembering his father's death.
He was defending it.
Rebecca slowly folded her arms.
"What exactly did you see?"
Julian looked at her.
"My father was dead."
"That's not what I asked."
He said nothing.
I felt a cold sensation move through my chest.
"Julian."
He looked at me.
"I saw him after the accident."
"At the hospital?"
"Yes."
"Did you see his face?"
He hesitated.
"Yes."
"Did you identify him?"
"Yes."
"Then why are you afraid of this letter?"
He looked away.
"I don't know."
Rebecca reached for the envelope.
Julian stopped her.
"Don't."
She froze.
His hand was still extended.
Protective.
Almost desperate.
I looked at him.
Then at his hand.
And something inside me shifted.
Not because he was protecting me.
Because I suddenly wasn't sure who he was protecting me from.
That night, Julian told me about his childhood.
We were sitting in a private consultation room because I didn't want Eleanor anywhere near me.
The hospital lights were dim.
Our daughter was asleep in the nursery beside us.
Rebecca had gone to make several calls.
For the first time since the investigation began, Julian looked less like a wealthy businessman and more like a frightened little boy.
"My mother controlled everything."
I said nothing.
"Where I went."
"Who I saw."
"What I studied."
"What I wore."
"Who I dated."
He stared at the floor.
"My father rarely interfered."
"Why?"
"Because he was afraid of her."
I frowned.
"Your father was afraid of Eleanor?"
"Everyone was."
That surprised me.
Julian continued.
"When I was twelve, my father tried to leave."
"What happened?"
"He took me with him."
"And?"
"My mother found us."
"What did she do?"
"She called the police."
My stomach tightened.
"She accused him of kidnapping me."
"Was that true?"
"No."
"What happened?"
"He gave me back."
"Why?"
Julian looked at me.
"Because I begged him to."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
"Because my mother told me he would go to prison."
"And you believed her."
"I was twelve."
His voice cracked.
"I thought I'd never see him again."
I reached across the table.
Julian didn't take my hand.
He kept staring ahead.
"Three days later, he came to my bedroom."
"What did he say?"
"He told me he loved me."
I waited.
"And then?"
"He told me to trust my mother."
I frowned.
"Why would he say that?"
"Because he believed she would punish me if I didn't."
Silence.
I understood.
The first time Julian chose his mother wasn't when he became an adult.
It happened when he was a frightened child.
And that choice had become a habit.
"Years later," Julian continued, "I finally understood what had happened."
"What?"
"My father hadn't abandoned me."
"He was protecting you."
Julian nodded.
"He believed that if he fought my mother directly, she'd use me against him."
"So he stayed?"
"Yes."
"Until he died."
Julian closed his eyes.
"Until he disappeared."
I stared at him.
"Disappeared?"
He opened his eyes.
"That's what my mother called it."
"Called what?"
"My father's death."
The room seemed colder.
"She never said he died."
Julian shook his head.
"She said he was gone."
I remembered the envelope.
Your father is alive.
My heart began pounding.
"Why didn't you tell me this?"
"Because I thought it was grief."
"Julian."
"I was seventeen."
He swallowed.
"My father disappeared for three days before the accident."
"Accident?"
"That's what we were told."
"Who told you?"
"My mother."
"Did police investigate?"
"Yes."
"Did they find him?"
"Eventually."
"Where?"
"Near the family property."
"Dead?"
Julian nodded.
"Inside his car."
I stared at him.
"Was anyone else there?"
"No."
"Was the car damaged?"
"Yes."
"Was there an investigation?"
"Yes."
"What was the conclusion?"
"Mechanical failure."
Rebecca suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"That's not what the report says."
Julian looked up.
"What?"
She held several pages.
"The report says the vehicle's braking system had been tampered with."
The room went silent.
Julian stood.
"That's impossible."
Rebecca placed the papers on the table.
"Page twelve."
Julian read it.
His face went pale.
I watched him.
"Did you know?"
"No."
"Did your mother?"
"I don't know."
Rebecca pointed to another line.
"The report was amended six months later."
"Why?"
"Unknown."
"Who requested the amendment?"
She looked at Julian.
"Your mother."
He sat down.
Hard.
I felt something inside him collapse.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Julian whispered:
"My mother told me my father had killed himself."
I stared.
"What?"
"After the accident."
"She told you it was suicide?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"She said he couldn't handle losing the family."
Rebecca looked at the report.
"There is no mention of suicide."
Julian's eyes filled with disbelief.
"She lied."
"Yes."
He looked at me.
"All these years."
I reached for his hand.
This time, he took mine.
But his fingers were shaking.
"I defended her."
His voice broke.
"I defended her when my father disappeared."
He looked down.
"I defended her when she blamed him."
"I defended her when everyone whispered."
"I defended her when she told me Clara was unstable."
I said nothing.
"And now I understand."
He looked at the envelope.
"She taught me to choose her."
The next morning, Julian asked to see Eleanor.
She refused.
So he went to her house.
Rebecca and I followed.
Eleanor was waiting in the library.
She looked calm.
Too calm.
"You shouldn't be here."
Julian closed the door.
"Why did you lie about Dad?"
Eleanor's expression barely changed.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The accident."
Silence.
"The brakes were tampered with."
Eleanor looked at him.
"You're listening to Clara's lawyer now?"
"There's a police report."
"Old reports are often inaccurate."
"You requested the amendment."
She sighed.
"Your father was unstable."
Julian's face hardened.
"You told me he killed himself."
"He was suicidal."
"The report says otherwise."
"He was depressed."
"Stop."
Eleanor looked surprised.
Julian stepped closer.
"For once in your life, stop telling me what to believe."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You've changed."
"No."
He shook his head.
"I'm finally listening."
Eleanor looked at me.
"This woman has poisoned you against your own family."
I didn't respond.
Julian did.
"No."
His voice was steady.
"You did that."
Eleanor stared at him.
"You think Clara loves you more than I do?"
Julian's jaw tightened.
"This isn't about love."
"Then what is it about?"
"Truth."
Eleanor laughed bitterly.
"Truth?"
"Yes."
"You want truth?"
"Yes."
"Your father betrayed this family."
"How?"
"He stole from us."
"How much?"
"Millions."
"Where is the evidence?"
"I have it."
"Show me."
She stopped.
Julian stepped closer.
"Show me."
Eleanor's face hardened.
"I don't owe you an explanation."
"You owe me the truth."
"I'm your mother."
"And she's my wife."
He pointed toward me.
"And that's my daughter."
Eleanor stared at him.
Then she said something that changed everything.
"You'll choose her."
Julian frowned.
"What?"
"You always do."
"I should."
"No."
Eleanor's voice became cold.
"Because when you choose her, you lose everything."
Julian went still.
"What does that mean?"
Eleanor smiled.
"You'll find out."
That afternoon, Rebecca received an email.
It contained a scanned document.
A medical authorization.
My signature.
Again.
But this time, the signature was different.
It was my genuine signature.
Except the date was wrong.
I had signed it three years earlier.
For a completely unrelated medical procedure.
Someone had taken my old signature and attached it to a new document.
Rebecca stared at it.
"They've been collecting your signatures."
"How many?"
"At least twenty."
"Why?"
"Because they knew one day they'd need them."
Julian looked at the document.
"Mom."
I shook my head.
"No."
He looked at me.
"What?"
"Don't call her."
"Why?"
"Because she knows we're investigating."
"So?"
"So she'll destroy the evidence."
Rebecca nodded.
"She's right."
Julian stared at the screen.
Then his phone rang.
Eleanor.
He answered.
"Mom."
Her voice was quiet.
"I need you to come home."
"Why?"
"Because there's something you need to see."
"What?"
"Your father's final letter."
Julian froze.
"What?"
"I found it."
"Where?"
"Your father's old study."
"Why didn't you show me before?"
Silence.
Then:
"Because I wasn't ready."
Julian looked at me.
I knew immediately.
He was going.
And I knew why.
Because despite everything Eleanor had done, part of him was still the frightened twelve-year-old boy who wanted his mother to tell him the truth.
He left.
Three hours passed.
Then four.
No calls.
No messages.
I tried him once.
No answer.
Rebecca watched me.
"You don't trust him."
I looked at her.
"I trust him."
"But?"
"I don't trust what his mother does to him."
At 11:41 p.m., the hospital room door opened.
Julian walked in.
He looked devastated.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His face was pale.
And he was carrying an old envelope.
I stood.
"What happened?"
He looked at me.
"I chose her."
My heart sank.
"What?"
"I believed her."
He put the envelope on the table.
"I believed my mother."
Rebecca stood.
"Why?"
"Because she showed me a letter."
"From your father?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"She kept it."
"What's in it?"
Julian looked at me.
"He said he wanted to leave the family."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"He said he was afraid of what he had become."
"That doesn't prove anything."
"I know."
"But you believed it."
"For a moment."
I stared at him.
"What happened?"
He sat down.
"My mother told me my father had been stealing from the family trust."
"Did he?"
"I don't know."
"Did she show you evidence?"
"Bank statements."
Rebecca immediately asked:
"Originals?"
"No."
"Copies?"
"Yes."
"Then they're worthless."
Julian looked at her.
"I know that now."
I stared at him.
"You chose her."
He nodded.
"For the first time since we started this."
I felt tears in my eyes.
"Why?"
"Because she knew exactly what to say."
He looked broken.
"She reminded me of being twelve."
I understood.
She hadn't manipulated the businessman.
She had manipulated the child still living inside him.
Then Julian reached into his pocket.
He placed something on the table.
A small USB drive.
"I took this."
Rebecca looked at it.
"What's on it?"
"Everything my mother showed me."
"Why?"
"Because I realized something."
He looked at me.
"The documents were too perfect."
"What do you mean?"
"They were designed to make my father look guilty."
Rebecca nodded.
"Fabricated."
"Probably."
Julian stared at the USB.
"But there was one file she didn't know I copied."
"What file?"
He looked at me.
"An audio recording."
My heart stopped.
"Of what?"
"My mother."
"Talking to whom?"
Julian's voice dropped.
"Dominic."
Rebecca's expression sharpened.
"What did they say?"
Julian looked at me.
"They were discussing the hidden account."
I felt cold.
"What did you hear?"
He swallowed.
"Eleanor told Dominic that if the trust was transferred to her, the money would finally be safe."
"Safe from whom?"
Julian looked toward the bassinet.
"From my daughter."
I stared at him.
Then he said the words that changed everything.
"They never wanted to protect the trust."
"They wanted to empty it."
Rebecca stepped closer.
"How much?"
Julian looked at the USB.
"All of it."
My heart stopped.
Twenty-eight million dollars.
And suddenly the forged signature, the psychiatric reports, the guardianship plan, the hidden account, and the false welfare report all made sense.
They didn't need to steal my daughter.
They only needed legal control of her inheritance.
Then the money could disappear.
Forever.
Julian looked at me.
"I'm sorry."
I nodded.
"You chose your mother."
"Yes."
"Will you choose her again?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Why?"
He looked at our sleeping daughter.
"Because she isn't twelve anymore."
He took my hand.
"And neither am I."
Outside the room, footsteps approached.
Rebecca looked toward the door.
A shadow passed beneath it.
Then someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Julian stood.
"Who is it?"
No answer.
Rebecca moved toward the door.
Then a voice came from the hallway.
A voice none of us expected to hear.
Julian's face went completely white.
Because the voice belonged to the man everyone believed had died ten years earlier.
His father.
May you like
And the first words he spoke were:
"Julian, don't trust your mother."
