Chapter 6 - Shadows of the Past
With Daniel safely locked behind bars without bail, the legal battle shifted into a grinding war of attrition. But as the trial date approached, a new shadow began to emerge from the darkness of Daniel's past.
Detective Vance sat with me in the small kitchen of my safe house. Over the past three weeks, my physical wounds had begun to heal. The deep purple bruises on my face had faded to light yellow, my ribs were no longer screaming with every breath, and I had gained five pounds.
"Clara," Vance said, setting down two hot cups of tea. "While going through Daniel’s personal financial history from before he met you, we found something disturbing."
"What?"
"Eight years ago, when Daniel was living in Boston, he was engaged to a woman named Hannah Montgomery," Vance explained, pulling out an old photograph of a smiling, blonde woman.
I stared at the picture. Hannah had the exact same light eyes, the same soft facial features, and the same quiet demeanor that I possessed.
"What happened to her?" I asked, my chest tightening.
"She died," Vance said quietly. "Officially, it was ruled an accidental drowning in her apartment bathtub. She allegedly slipped after taking a heavy dose of sleeping pills. Daniel was the one who found her. He was the sole beneficiary of her two-million-dollar life insurance policy."
A cold, sickening horror flooded through my body. "He killed her."
"We can't prove it yet," Vance admitted. "The Boston PD closed the case six years ago because Daniel had an airtight alibi—his brother Julian swore under oath that Daniel was at his law office forty miles away at the estimated time of death. But the MO is identical. Hannah had a history of 'clumsiness' documented in her local clinic files right before she died."
"Julian lied for him," I said, the pieces connecting in my mind. "Julian has been covering up Daniel's crimes from the very beginning. He isn't just his lawyer, Vance—he's his accomplice!"
Vance’s phone rang, interrupting us. She picked it up, listened for a few seconds, her face turning stone-cold.
"I’m on my way," Vance said, hanging up. She looked at me, her expression grim. "That was Marcus. Dr. Robert Thorne—the psychiatrist Daniel paid off—was just found dead in his home office."
"Dead?"
"Apparent suicide," Vance said, putting on her coat. "An overdose of sedatives, accompanied by a typed suicide note claiming full responsibility for fabricating your medical records without Daniel’s knowledge."
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"Julian," I whispered, the name tasting like ash in my mouth. "Julian is cleaning house. He’s tying up every loose end so Daniel can walk away, and he’s killing anyone who can testify against them."
Vance pulled her service weapon from her holster, checked the magazine, and slapped it back into place with a sharp crack. "Not while I'm breathing. Clara, you stay inside this house. Do not open this door for anyone except me or Officer Miller. We are going after Julian."
