Chapter 3 - The Mask Shatters
The sharp click of the pantry door locking behind me echoed through the kitchen like a gunshot.
Clara spun around, her champagne flute slipping from her fingers and shattering across the marble floor. Julian froze, his glass hovering inches from his mouth, his jaw dropping in absolute horror.
"Daniel?" Clara gasped, her face draining of all color until she looked like a ghost draped in stolen diamonds. "You... you're in San Francisco..."
I didn't look at her. I didn't look at Julian.
I dropped my briefcase, walked straight past them, and knelt beside my daughter on the cold floor.
"Daddy?" Maya whispered, her eyes widening in disbelief. She dropped the piece of kibble, her small body shaking violently as she threw her arms around my neck. "Daddy, you came back! You came back!"
I pulled her tightly against my chest, burying my face in her soft hair, feeling her tiny ribs against my hands. She was far too light. She had lost weight in the three weeks I was gone.
"I'm here, baby," I whispered, my voice thick with suppressed emotion. "Daddy’s here. You're safe."
"Daniel, wait!" Clara stammered, taking a quick, panicked step toward us, her hand fluttering to her diamond-encrusted necklace. "It’s not what it looks like! Maya was having a behavioral episode! She threw her dinner across the room and insisted—she insisted—on eating from the dog's bowl! I was trying to teach her a lesson!"
"Shut up, Clara," I said.
My voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried a lethal edge that stopped her dead in her tracks.
I stood up slowly, lifting Maya into my arms. Her small head rested heavily against my shoulder, her fingers clutching my suit jacket as if afraid I would vanish if she let go.
I turned my eyes to Julian Vance.
"You have five seconds to step out of my house before I put a bullet through your knee," I told him calmly.
Julian swallowed hard, looking wildly at Clara, then at the sheer rage in my eyes. He didn't say a word. He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the side terrace doors, abandoning Clara without a second thought.
"Daniel, please listen to me!" Clara cried out, her sweet, gentle charity-wife persona dissolving into desperate hysteria. "Julian was just here delivering legal papers for the estate! The diamonds—they're costume jewelry! I bought them for a theme party!"
"Where is Leo?" I asked softly.
Clara’s lips trembled. "He... he’s upstairs sleeping..."
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"Where is my son, Clara?"
Without waiting for her answer, I carried Maya up the grand winding staircase toward the nursery. The heavy oak door to four-year-old Leo's room was locked from the outside with a brass padlock—an addition I had never authorized.
