Chapter 4 - Julian Asked Me One Question
I woke Julian at 1:12 in the morning.
That alone told him something was wrong.
Julian could sleep through storms, fire alarms, neighborhood construction, and once an entire Fourth of July fireworks display Noah somehow slept through as well.
But the second I whispered his name, his eyes opened.
“What happened?”
I handed him my phone.
He sat up.
The screen lit his face.
He read Hannah Price’s messages twice.
“Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Recognize the name?”
“No.”
He handed the phone back.
“Don’t respond yet.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know who she is.”
“You think it’s fake?”
“I think anyone can send a message.”
He reached for his glasses from the nightstand.
“What did she mean by your mother using my name?”
“I don’t know.”
Julian stared toward the dark window.
Then he asked the question that changed how I saw the entire situation.
“Claire, how did your mother know where we live?”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Our address isn’t public.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
The house had been purchased through a trust.
Julian was recognizable now, but we took privacy seriously, especially because of Noah.
Delivery drivers reached us through the security gate.
Our home address did not appear in magazine profiles.
My parents had never been invited.
“How did they know?” I whispered.
Julian reached for his phone.
“I’ll have Marcus look into it.”
Marcus Hale was Julian’s head of security.
Former military intelligence.
Soft-spoken.
Impossible to surprise.
By breakfast, Marcus had an answer.
My mother had called Julian’s corporate office three weeks earlier.
She claimed she was Claire Bennett’s mother and needed to deliver urgent family documents.
Reception refused to provide an address.
She tried again the next day.
Then she contacted a charity on whose board I served.
No success.
Finally, she hired a private investigator.
The investigator had followed me home from a foundation lunch.
When Marcus told us, I felt violated in a way I hadn’t expected.
“She followed me?”
“Not personally,” Marcus said. “But yes, someone did.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
Noah sat twenty feet away eating cereal.
He could not hear us.
I was suddenly grateful for the size of the kitchen.
“Is that legal?” I asked.
“Depending on what the investigator did, possibly. Following someone on public roads usually isn’t illegal by itself.”
Julian looked at Marcus.
“Find out exactly what happened.”
Marcus nodded.
“And the woman who messaged Claire?”
“Working on it.”
By noon, we knew Hannah Price existed.
She had worked as an accountant at the regional investment firm where my mother had served as a consultant for years.
She was now retired.
Her number matched public records.
That did not mean her story was true.
But it meant she was real.
I called.
She answered on the second ring.
“Claire?”
Her voice sounded older.
Nervous.
“Yes.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
“Ms. Price, why did you contact me?”
Silence.
Then:
“Because I saw your husband on television.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“No.”
She took a breath.
“I worked with your mother for thirteen years.”
“I know.”
“I handled expense records for some of the partnerships she consulted on.”
I waited.
“A few months ago, Margaret began telling people that her son-in-law was Julian Bennett.”
I looked across the room at Julian.
His eyebrows lifted.
“She used his last name?”
“Yes.”
Julian’s legal surname was Grant.
I was Claire Bennett before we married and professionally remained Claire Bennett.
My mother knew that.
“Julian Grant,” I corrected.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“What did she say?”
“That your family was involved in his company.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“Involved how?”
“That your father was advising Julian informally.”
Julian almost laughed.
I put the call on speaker.
Hannah continued.
“She told several people that family money had helped Julian early on.”
“That’s false,” I said.
“I suspected.”
Julian asked, “Who did she tell?”
Hannah startled.
“Oh. Mr. Grant.”
“Julian is fine.”
She named three people.
One owned a local development company.
Another managed private investment funds.
The third was a banker.
Julian wrote down each name.
“Did she ask them for money?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Hannah hesitated.
“But I know Margaret and Richard have financial problems.”
My father’s expensive watch flashed through my mind.
Their house.
The country club.
My mother’s designer clothes.
“What kind?”
“Bad investments.”
“How bad?”
“I can’t responsibly give you numbers because I don’t have access to current accounts.”
That answer made me trust her more.
People lying for drama usually love exact numbers.
“But,” Hannah said, “the last time I had direct knowledge, they were highly leveraged.”
My stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
Julian leaned forward.
“Why contact Claire now?”
Another pause.
“Because last week Margaret called someone I still know at the firm and said the family had reconciled with Julian.”
My skin went cold.
“She said what?”
“She said discussions were underway for Richard to join the company in an executive capacity.”
The yellow legal pad.
Vice president position.
My mother hadn’t been making requests.
She had already begun treating them as promises.
Julian rubbed his jaw.
“Did she mention money?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She told them the family would soon have access to liquidity.”
I closed my eyes.
Liquidity.
My mother had turned our reconciliation into a financial projection.
“Thank you,” Julian said.
Hannah sighed.
“I’m sorry.”
After we hung up, I sat in silence.
Julian watched me.
I knew that look.
He was waiting for me to reach my own conclusion.
“She’s in trouble,” I said.
“Probably.”
“And she thinks we can fix it.”
“Probably.”
“The allowance. The job.”
“Probably.”
I hated his calm answers.
“They didn’t come back for me.”
Julian’s expression softened.
“Claire.”
“They came back because they need something.”
“We don’t know that’s the only reason.”
I looked at him.
“You’re defending them?”
“No.”
He sat beside me.
“I’m defending you from conclusions we can’t prove yet.”
I leaned back.
“Why?”
“Because if you decide later to forgive any of them, I don’t want you feeling stupid because anger made everything simple.”
That was Julian.
Always refusing the easy version.
Even when the easy version would benefit him.
I looked toward the ceiling.
“What would you do?”
“With your parents?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“I’m not answering that.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re your parents.”
“And you’re my husband.”
“Exactly. Which means my job is to protect our home, not choose your feelings.”
I stared at him.
“You’re annoyingly emotionally healthy.”
“I’ve been told.”
I laughed despite myself.
Then my phone rang.
Elise.
I answered.
She was crying.
“Claire?”
“What happened?”
“Mom is losing it.”
I stood.
“What do you mean?”
“She knows Dad apologized to you.”
“How?”
“He told her.”
Of course.
“And now?”
“She threw him out.”
I looked at Julian.
“She what?”
“She told him if he thinks you’re so innocent, he can go stay with you.”
The exact threat my father said she had made nine years earlier.
Except this time, apparently, he had called her bluff.
Elise kept talking.
“He packed a bag.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone beeped.
Another incoming call.
Dad.
I stared at the screen.
“Elise, I’ll call you back.”
I switched lines.
“Dad?”
For a second all I heard was traffic.
May you like
Then he said:
“I’m outside your gate.”
