Chapter 3 - The Deception of Innocence
As the sirens wailed faintly in the distant night, Jack kept his body positioned firmly between Clara and Evelyn. His mother hadn't tried to stand; she sat against the mahogany wardrobe, smoothing her disheveled robe, her composure returning like a mask snapping back into place. That sudden, chilling calm terrified Jack more than her screaming rage.
"You think she’s an angel, don't you, Jackie?" Evelyn whispered, her voice smooth and theatrical. "You think she’s that sweet, poor orphan girl who saved you from your cold, mean mother."
"Shut your mouth," Jack warned, his knuckles white as he dialed 911 on his mobile with trembling thumbs. "Don't you dare speak to her. Don't look at my son."
"Your son?" Evelyn let out a high, melodic laugh that curled Jack’s stomach. "Tell him, Clara. Tell him about Dr. Julian Ross."
Clara’s body stiffened against Jack’s leg. Jack felt the sudden, involuntary spasm of terror ripple through his wife's frame. His thumb froze over the call button on his screen.
"Who?" Jack asked, his voice low, a hairline fracture appearing in his wall of absolute certainty.
"Julian Ross," Evelyn purred, tilting her head back, her eyes shining with venomous delight. "The chief conservator at the metropolitan gallery. Clara's former mentor. The man who signed her glowing recommendation letter. The man she visited three times a week during the fourth month of your courtship, while you were away inspecting the suspension bridges in Seattle."
Jack felt the air leave his lungs. He remembered that business trip. It was three months before Clara got pregnant. He remembered Clara working long hours at the gallery, restoring a massive 18th-century landscape painting under the supervision of a visiting expert from New York. Clara had spoken of him with immense artistic reverence.
"Stop it, Evelyn..." Clara wept, her face buried in her bloody hands. "Jack, don't listen to her... she twisted everything... she’s trying to poison your mind!"
"Did I twist the hotel receipts, Clara?" Evelyn shot back, her tone sharp as a scalpel. "Did I twist the surveillance photos my investigator took of you entering his suite at the St. Regis? You let him touch you. You let him give you what my son’s busy schedule couldn't! And then, when you realized you were pregnant, you pinned the bastard on my boy!"
Jack turned slightly, his heart hammering in his throat. He looked down at Clara. Clara was shivering violently, her skin gray, blood crusting over her right eyebrow, her lips quivering.
"Clara..." Jack's voice cracked. The foundations of his world, built on structural calculations and absolute integrity, felt as though they were sinking into quicksand. "Is that... what is she talking about?"
"Jack, look at me!" Clara pleaded, lifting her head. Blood trailed down her delicate cheek, mixing with hot, desperate tears. "I went to that hotel suite because Dr. Ross was threatening to destroy my career! He had forged provenance papers on a million-dollar acquisition, and he tried to frame me! I went there to get my files back! Nothing happened! I swear on our baby's life, nothing happened!"
"A convenient little fairy tale," Evelyn sneered, pushing herself to her feet with aristocratic poise, dusting off her silk sleeves as if she had just brushed away lint. "A thief and a whore. And she brought a cuckoo into the Vance nest."
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Jack stood paralyzed, caught in the devastating crossfire of their voices, his newborn son’s cries growing hoarse in the crib. The seeds of poison had been cast, and despite his love for his wife, the vile doubt took root in the darkest crevice of his exhausted mind.
***
