My father stepped through the ruined doorway. He didn't look like a man who had spent the last six months battling heart failure. He stood perfectly straight, his tailored charcoal suit immaculate, his gaze fixed on the man shrinking across the table.
"Step away from the evidence, David," Arthur commanded.
David froze, his fingers hovering inches from the silver flash drive still plugged into the inspector's laptop.
Arthur marched to the metal table and dropped his leather briefcase with a heavy thud.
"Arthur," David swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "What are you doing here?"
"Protecting my daughter."
Arthur snapped the brass latches open. He pulled out a thick stack of legal documents and slapped them flat against the scratched iron surface.
"Inspector Miller," Arthur began, ignoring my husband entirely. "I am Arthur Penhaligon. I am acting as Clara's legal counsel."
"He is your father!" David protested, his voice pitching high.
"He is a senior partner at the largest firm in the state," I corrected him. "And right now, he is my lawyer."
Arthur slid a notarized document toward the inspector. "Property deed for the residence in question. Fully in Clara's name."
Miller picked up the paper and scanned the top page.
"And this," Arthur added, placing another sheet directly over the first, "is the registration for the home security system and the private cloud server. Both registered exclusively to Clara."
"Meaning?" Miller asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Meaning she recorded her own bedroom, in her own house, on her own server," Arthur stated. "No hacking. No wiretapping. No felony. Just a wife catching a parasite in her bed."
David's face turned the color of wet ash. "Arthur, please. This is a massive misunderstanding."
A loud, sharp laugh escaped my lips. I couldn't stop it. It echoed off the concrete walls, sounding entirely unhinged.
"A misunderstanding?" I smiled at him, a cold, empty stretching of my mouth. "Did you slip and fall into Chloe by accident?"
"You do not understand the pressure I have been under," David pleaded, turning his palms up. "You were gone for months."
"I was at his bedside." I pointed at my father. "Watching him code in the ICU."
"I needed comfort!" David's voice cracked. "It meant nothing, Clara. It was just a physical release."
"She asked when you were going to kick me out," I countered, my tone dropping to a whisper. "You told her you were securing the assets."
Arthur adjusted his glasses. He picked up a blue-backed folder from his briefcase.
"Let's talk about those assets," my father offered.
David shrank back, his shoulders curving inward.
"Section four, paragraph two of your prenuptial agreement," Arthur read aloud, his voice echoing in the small room. "In the event of documented marital fault, specifically infidelity, the offending party forfeits all claims to joint marital accounts, the primary residence, and business holdings seeded by the Penhaligon estate."
"You cannot do that," David whispered.
"I drafted it," Arthur replied. "You signed it."
"I built that company!" David slammed his fist against his thigh.
"With my seed money," I reminded him. "Every single dime."
"I will fight this in court." David's jaw tightened. "I will drag your name through the mud."
"With what funds?" Arthur asked. "Your personal accounts were frozen ten minutes ago."
David stared at the documents, his chest heaving. Panic replaced the anger in his eyes.
He lunged across the table toward me. His fingers clamped around my wrist like a vice. His palm felt clammy. Cold sweat smeared against my bare skin, sending a wave of absolute revulsion through my nervous system.
"Clara, stop this." His tone shifted to a desperate, pathetic whine. "We can fix this. We love each other."
I ripped my arm out of his grasp with violent force. The friction burned. I grabbed a tissue from my pocket and scrubbed my wrist raw, trying to erase the sensation of his touch. A sharp, metallic taste coated the back of my throat. I swallowed hard to keep the bile down.
"Do not ever touch me again," I told him.
Miller pushed his chair back, standing up to his full height. "Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Monroe, or I will arrest you right now for assault."
David backed away, his hands raised in surrender. "I just wanted to talk to my wife."
"You do not have a wife anymore," Arthur corrected him.
My father pulled one last form from his briefcase. He slid it across the scratched table until it stopped inches from David's hands.
"What is this?" David asked, eyeing the paper like it was venomous.
"A temporary restraining order," Arthur answered. "Effective immediately. You will vacate the premises by noon tomorrow. You will not contact Clara. You will not approach her."
"You are throwing me on the street?" David stared at me, his eyes wide.
"I am throwing out the trash," I said.
David opened his mouth, his face turning an ugly, mottled red. Before he could scream, a bright light flashed between us. David's phone buzzed aggressively against the metal table, illuminating the dark room.
A message notification popped up on the lock screen. Sender: Chloe.
I glanced down. My eyes locked on the image attached to the text. It was a black-and-white ultrasound scan. Underneath the grainy image, a single line of text glowed in the dim light.
It's a boy.
