Chapter 18 - A Desperate Pawn
I froze, my hand wrapping tightly around the pepper spray canister inside my coat pocket.
Julian stood ten feet away.
He didn't look like the manicured, arrogant corporate consultant who used to complain about the thread count of his Egyptian cotton sheets. He was emaciated, his skin sallow and sunken, wearing an oversized thrift-store jacket and soiled work boots. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and wild with a manic, unhinged energy.
"How are you here, Julian?" I asked, my voice chillingly calm, though every nerve ending in my body screamed in alert. "You were in federal custody in Hartford."
"The prisoner transport van was rear-ended on Interstate 84," Julian whispered, a twitch working across his left eyelid. "The guard stepped out to check the bumper. He left the side door unlocked. You think that was an accident, Clara? You think Vance’s people didn't arrange that?"
He took a step toward me, his hands shaking violently.
"Don't take another step, Julian," I commanded, pulling the canister from my pocket and leveling it at his eyes.
Julian stopped, letting out a dry, broken laugh that echoed horribly through the empty garage. "Pepper spray? You think I care about pepper spray? Clara, they aren't going to let me live to testify! Vance was just the front! You don't understand what you uncovered!"
"I uncovered your greed," I said coldly. "I uncovered your lies, your mistress, your forged signatures, and your offshore accounts. You did this to yourself."
"No!" Julian screamed, the sound tearing from his throat. "You think I wanted to steal from Vance? You think I wanted to hide that money? I was forced to, Clara! Five years ago, I made a mistake in London. I lost six million dollars on an unauthorized currency trade. A group called *The Meridian Syndicate* covered my debt. But they owned me after that!"
He gripped his hair with both hands, shaking with panic. "Vance worked for them! The pharmaceutical shipments weren't just unlicensed drugs—they were laundering cartel revenue through European clinical trials! I was their courier! When I tried to back out, they threatened to slaughter you! Why do you think I stayed in that house? Why do you think I faked being sick that week?"
I stared at him, my mind analyzing his words with brutal forensic detachment. Julian was a compulsive liar, a man who could look you in the eye and swear the sky was green if it saved him from consequences.
"You're lying, Julian," I said, refusing to give him an inch. "You faked being sick because your mistress was waiting for you in the guest bedroom, and you were transferring eight hundred thousand dollars to your private account in the Bahamas."
Julian looked at me, and for the first time in ten years, I saw genuine, unadulterated terror in his eyes.
"Yes, I was a coward!" he wept, falling to his knees on the cold concrete floor. "I wanted to run away with Chloe because I knew if I stayed, they were going to kill us both! But you destroyed the escape route, Clara! You locked the gate! And now Vance is arrested, which means Meridian is cleaning the board!"
A distant squeal of tires echoed down the spiral ramp of the parking garage.
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Julian’s head snapped toward the sound, his face draining of whatever color remained. "They’re here," he whispered, his teeth chattering in mortal dread. "Clara, run."
***
