PART 2
“Because last night, Julian told me what was supposed to happen after the baby arrived.”
“What?”
“He said you would become the legal mother figure.”
I stared at her.
“And me?” Sophie continued. “I would be ‘Aunt Sophie’ for a while.”
My mouth fell open.
She gave a humorless laugh.
“He said eventually you would become jealous and emotional. Then he could divorce you and try to get the house.”
For the first time, Sophie and I understood the same thing.
Neither of us was truly part of Julian’s future.
We were assets.
I left with copies of every screenshot.
I didn’t forgive Sophie.
But I believed she was telling the truth.
By two that afternoon, I was sitting across from a divorce attorney named Rachel Kim.
I told her everything.
The affair.
The pregnancy.
The German conversations.
The suspicious account.
The messages.
Rachel listened without reacting.
Then she asked:
“Do you have joint finances?”
“Some.”
“Separate accounts?”
“Yes.”
“Does Julian officially have access to yours?”
“No.”
Her instructions were immediate.
Change every password.
Download every statement connected to my name.
Preserve every document.
And most importantly:
“Do not confront him.”
That evening, I went home.
Julian was cooking pasta.
Actually cooking.
He smiled warmly when I came through the door.
“Feeling better?”
I nearly flinched.
Then I remembered I had told him I was sick.
“Much better.”
He kissed my forehead.
His phone was sitting beside the stove.
I looked at it.
Then casually said:
“Sophie called me today.”
The spoon in his hand stopped.
Only for a second.
“Sophie?”
“From my office.”
His body relaxed.
“Oh.”
Then he smiled.
“My Sophie is in Chicago.”
My Sophie.
I smiled back.
“Of course.”
That night, I waited until he fell asleep.
I didn’t break into anything that wasn’t mine.
Rachel had made that boundary clear.
But I had every right to view accounts carrying my own name.
I opened our joint savings.
There had once been $118,000.
Ten years of accumulated savings.
My bonuses.
Part of my inheritance.
Money we had supposedly saved for our future child.
The balance was now $41,306.
I stared at the number.
Then checked the transaction history.
$5,000.
$8,500.
$12,000.
$4,000.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Seventy-six thousand dollars transferred over eighteen months.
All into an account I didn’t recognize.
I downloaded everything.
Then I opened documents connected to the house.
That was when I stopped breathing.
Julian had begun applying for a $150,000 home-equity line of credit.
On my house.
The application said the money was intended for renovations.
We had never discussed any renovation.
Then I noticed a strange email address attached to the paperwork.
The family laptop still had the account saved in autofill.
Julian had forgotten to log out.
I saw Helga’s name in an email preview.
The subject included my name.
“Claire signature.”
I opened it.
Attached were copies of my driver’s license.
Tax returns.
Pay stubs.
And pages covered with attempts at reproducing my signature.
Claire Bennett.
Again.
Again.
Again.
In Julian’s handwriting.
I photographed everything and called Rachel at 1:13 in the morning.
“Tell me you haven’t confronted him,” she said.
“I haven’t.”
“Good.”
“I found what looks like an attempt to forge my signature.”
She went silent.
“Send me everything.”
The next morning, Rachel brought in a forensic accountant.
By Thursday, we understood the shape of Julian’s plan.
The account receiving our missing savings wasn’t a normal investment account.
It belonged to an LLC.
JHB Property Holdings.
Julian Heinrich Bennett.
Created six months earlier.
Registered at his parents’ address.
Money from that company had been used as deposits on two condominiums.
One had already been rented.
The other was still being built.
Its expected occupancy date was three weeks before Sophie’s due date.
“That’s where he planned to live with her,” I said.
Rachel shook her head.
“Not exactly.”
She placed a document in front of me.
The future occupant was listed as Julian.
Sophie’s name appeared nowhere.
Instead, another document showed a separate rental arrangement.
Tenant:
Sophie Weber.
“He planned to house her separately,” Rachel said.
“And continue living with me?”
“That appears to have been the short-term plan.”
I stared at his signature.
That was when the true cruelty became clear.
This wasn’t an affair that had gotten out of control.
It was organized.
Sophie was supposed to provide the baby.
I was supposed to provide the money, house, insurance, and stability.
Helga provided the strategy.
Julian would receive everything.
Then Helga called.
“Dinner Sunday?”
Her voice sounded almost affectionate.
“We’re celebrating some family news.”
I almost laughed.
“I’d love to.”
Sunday evening, I dressed carefully.
A navy dress.
Pearl earrings.
