David's Suspicion

David’s phone call came at 2:00 AM, a jagged ring slicing through the silence of the cheap motel room. Claire snatched it from the nightstand, her heart pounding.

"David?"

"You're not at a conference."

His voice was cold. Not angry, just... done. The voice of a man who had checked the receipts and found them wanting.

"David, listen to me—"

"I checked the schedule, Claire. The CPA regional conference isn't until next month. And it's in Chicago, not Columbus."

"I had to leave," Claire said, gripping the phone. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, the file from the safe deposit box spread out on the duvet like a map of a war zone. "I found something. Something about your mother."

"My mother is dead," David said. "And you're having an affair."

Claire stopped breathing. "What?"

"Dad told me," David said. "He didn't want to. He tried to protect you. But when I told him you were in Ohio... he showed me the report."

"There is no report, David! There is no affair!"

"He has photos, Claire. Of you. With a younger man. Aris Thorne."

Aris.

Of course. Arthur hadn't just been tracking her. He had been building a narrative. The secret meetings. The hushed conversations. The late-night escapes. It all looked like infidelity if you stripped away the context of murder.

"Aris is helping me," Claire said, her voice rising. "He's helping me find the truth about your family. About who you really are."

"I know who I am!" David shouted. The sound cracked through the phone, raw and painful. "I'm the man whose wife is lying to him. I'm the man whose father is trying to hold this family together while you tear it apart."

"Your father is a criminal, David! He bought a child! He bought *you*!"

Silence. Heavy and suffocating.

"Don't come back," David whispered.

"David, please. Just look at the file. Look at the missing person report. Michael Kovac. That's you."

"I'm blocking this number," David said. "If you come to the house, security will call the police. Dad says... Dad says it's for the best."

"David—"

The line went dead.

Claire stared at the phone. She felt a phantom pain in her chest, a severing of a tie she hadn't realized was the only thing holding her upright.

He believed Arthur. He believed the lie because it was safer than the truth.

But she couldn't stop. Not now. Not when she knew about the *other* boy.

Mrs. Gable’s words echoed in her mind. *The one in the basement. The one who screamed.*

If Arthur had stolen Michael Kovac... and if Lena had given birth to a baby who died... then who was the boy in the basement?

Claire looked at the file on the bed. The adoption papers. The medical records.

And a receipt she had missed earlier. Tucked into the back of the ledger.

*November 16, 1992.*
*Payment: $50,000.*
*Recipient: S. V.*

S. V.

Not a vendor. Not a doctor.

A relative.

Arthur had a brother. Simon Vance. The black sheep. The one who had been disowned in the 80s for "unnatural behavior."

If Arthur needed a child... a child with Vance blood... a child who could pass a DNA test...

He wouldn't just buy a stranger. He would source from the family stock.

Claire grabbed her keys.

She wasn't going back to the house. She was going to find Simon Vance.

But as she opened the motel door, she stopped.

A car was idling in the parking lot. A black sedan.

The window rolled down.

It wasn't Arthur. It wasn't Marcus.

It was Aris.

He looked pale. He looked sick.

"Get in," he said. "David didn't just block your number. He filed for emergency custody of the girls."

"He can't," Claire said, running to the car. "They're in Connecticut."

"Not anymore," Aris said. "Dad just picked them up. They're at the estate."

"Why?"

"Because Arthur told David you were planning to kidnap them," Aris said. "And run away with your lover."

He looked at her.

"We're not just fighting a murder charge anymore, Claire. We're fighting a divorce."