Chapter 3 - The Price of TruthThe apartment complex in West Ashley was modern, soulless, and perfectly quiet. Claire pulled her car into a spot three rows over, watching the entrance. She didn't have to wait long.
A silver sedan pulled up, and out stepped Natalie Vance. She looked younger than Claire, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, her face devoid of makeup. She was carrying a car seat.
Claire waited until Natalie entered the lobby, then she followed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She caught the elevator just as the doors were closing.
Natalie jumped, startled. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see you."
"It's fine," Claire said, her voice steady. She watched the woman move, the way she cradled the baby—a small, helpless bundle of life.
The silence in the elevator was deafening.
"Cute baby," Claire said.
Natalie blushed, a genuine, shy smile appearing. "Thank you. He’s... he’s the world to me."
"I bet," Claire said, studying her. There was no malice in Natalie’s eyes. There was only exhaustion and a profound, terrifying devotion. "Is he a good sleeper?"
"Not lately," Natalie laughed softly. "His father is helping as much as he can, but Ethan is so busy with work. It’s hard, but it’s worth it."
His father.
Claire felt the room spin. "Ethan?" she asked, keeping her tone light. "Do you mean Ethan Cole?"
Natalie stiffened. She pulled the blanket tighter around the baby. "Do you know him?"
"He’s a colleague," Claire lied, her hands hidden in the pockets of her coat. "I’m in the medical supply business too. We’ve crossed paths."
Natalie seemed to relax. "Oh. I see. Well, he’s a wonderful man. Very dedicated."
"Dedicated," Claire repeated, the word tasting like ash. "Yes, he certainly is."
She watched Natalie step out of the elevator on the fourth floor. She could have told her everything. She could have shattered this woman’s world right then and there. But what would that accomplish? It would only make Ethan more dangerous.
She let the elevator doors close and rode them back down to the lobby.
Back in her car, she sat in the dark, the reality settling into her bones. Natalie wasn't a criminal mastermind. She was a woman in love with a ghost, a woman raising a child with a man who didn't exist. Ethan had successfully curated two realities, and in both of them, he was the hero.
She pulled out her phone and checked the bank account once more. A new transaction had just posted.
Payment to Title Services: $15,000.
He was accelerating the process. He wasn't just planning to steal the house; he was planning to sell it, use the money to pay off his mounting debts, and vanish.
He was going to leave both of them.
Claire started the car and drove back into the city, but she didn't head home. She headed to the police station. She knew she couldn't take the house back by force, but she could use the law to lock the doors.
The detective she spoke to was sympathetic but cautious. "Domestic property disputes are tricky, ma’am. If you have proof of the forgery, we can open a fraud investigation. But you need to be prepared for the fallout."
"The fallout started the moment he walked into that hospital," Claire said, sliding the file across the desk. "I want him gone."
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As she walked out into the humid Charleston night, she felt a strange, chilling calm. The trap was set. She would give him the documents he wanted. She would give him the power of attorney.
And then, she would watch as the law closed the cage around him.
