\u201cCheck the title, Evelyn,\u201d I said softly. \u201cCheck whose name is on the deed. And then check who funded the initial capital for Julian\u2019s firm.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before Julian could answer\u2014before the color could finish draining from his face as the reality of my words sank in\u2014I turned on my heel and walked toward the elevator.<\/p>\n
My hands didn\u2019t shake on the steering wheel as I drove.<\/p>\n
The heartbreak was there, burning deep beneath my ribs like a hot iron, but it was completely submerged beneath a tidal wave of ice. I didn\u2019t go home to weep. I didn\u2019t call a friend to vent. I drove straight to the financial district in downtown Chicago, taking the private elevator up to the twentieth floor of Sterling & Vance Legal.<\/p>\n
My father\u2019s old colleague, Arthur Vance, was waiting for me. He had retired from trial law two years ago, but he still kept an office at the firm that bore his name.<\/p>\n
\u201cClara,\u201d Arthur said, standing up from behind his massive mahogany desk. He looked at my pale face and the powdered sugar still lingering on the sleeve of my cardigan. \u201cYou look like you\u2019ve seen a ghost.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWorse, Arthur,\u201d I said, sitting down in the leather armchair across from him. \u201cI\u2019ve spent five years living with one.\u201d<\/p>\n
For two hours, I laid out everything.<\/p>\n
I gave him the dates. I gave him the addresses. I gave him the financial records I had quietly maintained as the primary administrator of our household and Julian\u2019s boutique consulting firm.<\/p>\n
Arthur listened in absolute silence, taking notes on a yellow legal pad. When I finished detailing the scene at Chloe\u2019s apartment, he capped his fountain pen with a heavy, metallic click.<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst, the property,\u201d Arthur said, leaning back. \u201cThe house in Lincoln Park was purchased using the inheritance from your grandmother\u2019s estate. It is classified as non-marital asset property. He has zero claim to it. I will file an emergency ex parte motion for exclusive occupancy within the hour.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd his business?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou owned forty-nine percent of Vance Consulting at its inception because your initial capital funded his operational license,\u201d Arthur explained, his eyes sharpening. \u201cIf he used corporate funds to pay for Chloe\u2019s rent, her medical expenses, or her living allowance\u2014which I guarantee he did\u2014it constitutes dissipation of marital assets and corporate embezzlement. We will audit every ledger.\u201d<\/p>\n
I reached into my handbag and pulled out a small, sealed manila envelope. I laid it gently on the center of his desk.<\/p>\n
Arthur looked at it. \u201cWhat\u2019s this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is the medical file from the Midwestern Fertility Institute,\u201d I said, my voice barely above a whisper. \u201cDated four years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur picked up the envelope, opening the clasp. He pulled out the lab results and read the physician\u2019s summary. His eyebrows raised slightly.<\/p>\n
\u201cAzoospermia,\u201d Arthur read aloud. \u201cZero sperm count. Non-reconstructive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJulian\u2019s test results,\u201d I said. \u201cWhen the clinic gave us the news four years ago, Julian broke down in the doctor\u2019s office. He cried on his knees. He begged me never to tell his mother. He said his family\u2019s legacy meant everything to Evelyn, and that being infertile would destroy his standing, his self-worth, his entire identity.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the weight of four years of secrecy evaporating from my lungs.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I took the blame,\u201d I continued. \u201cI let Evelyn call me broken. I let her force me to drink herbal concoctions that made me sick for days. I let his entire family look at me with pity and disdain at every Thanksgiving dinner, every birthday, every holiday. I protected his pride at the absolute expense of my own dignity.\u201d<\/p>\n
Arthur stared at the paper, then looked up at me. \u201cAnd Chloe is pregnant.\u201d<\/p>\n
I met his gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I said. \u201cChloe is pregnant. Which means one of two things: either a medical miracle occurred\u2026 or Julian isn\u2019t the father.\u201d<\/p>\n
By 4:00 PM, I arrived back at the Lincoln Park house.<\/p>\n
Julian\u2019s Mercedes was parked in the driveway.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t lose my temper. I walked up the front steps, unlocked the door, and stepped into the foyer. Two large suitcases were sitting near the stairs, and Julian was sitting at the kitchen island, clutching a glass of scotch with both hands.<\/p>\n
He looked up when I walked in. His eyes were red-rimmed, his tie undone.<\/p>\n
\u201cClara,\u201d he croaked, standing up. \u201cI packed some things, but\u2026 please. We have to talk about this. You can\u2019t just throw me out of our home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s my home, Julian,\u201d I said, standing near the entry table. \u201cAnd you were told to be gone by three. It is four.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI had nowhere to go!\u201d he yelled, his frustration finally breaking through his remorse. \u201cMy mother\u2019s place is too small, and Chloe is stressed! Do you know what this stress is doing to her? To my baby?!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour baby,\u201d I repeated quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes! My baby!\u201d Julian snapped, taking a step toward me, his face flushing dark red. \u201cThe heir my family has been waiting for! You couldn\u2019t give it to me, Clara! I had to find a way to preserve my legacy!\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t shrink back. I pulled a folded sheaf of paper from my coat pocket and laid it on the island counter between us.<\/p>\n
Julian frowned, looking down at the top page. \u201cWhat is this? Divorce papers?\u201d<\/p>\n