Chapter 2 - THE FIRST LIE

“Get out of my way.”

Daniel moved in front of the bedroom door.

“Claire, listen to me.”

“No.”

“You don’t understand what you’re looking at.”

I held up the marriage certificate.

“Then explain it.”

Margaret stood behind him.

“It’s an old document.”

“Marriage certificates usually are.”

“Rebecca left years ago,” Daniel said.

“Did you divorce her?”

Silence.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Daniel.”

“It’s complicated.”

I laughed once.

It sounded ugly.

“Apparently everything with you is complicated except throwing your wife onto a couch.”

Margaret stepped forward.

“Watch your tone.”

I turned toward her.

“You broke into my suitcase.”

“No one broke into anything.”

I pointed at the smashed lock.

She didn’t even look at it.

Daniel reached for the papers.

I pulled them against my chest.

“Don’t touch me.”

His face changed.

Only slightly.

But I saw it.

The charming man from our wedding photos disappeared.

“Give me the folder.”

“No.”

“Claire.”

“I said no.”

He grabbed my wrist.

Not hard enough to bruise.

Hard enough to warn me.

I stared down at his fingers.

Then at him.

“Let go.”

Margaret spoke quietly.

“You’re making a terrible mistake.”

Daniel released me.

I backed toward the bathroom.

“What exactly did Harold notarize last night?”

“No one was here last night.”

“I heard a man.”

“You were tired.”

“I heard the front door.”

“The house settles.”

“And the security cameras?”

Daniel’s eyes flicked toward Margaret.

That tiny glance told me more than any confession.

I walked into the bathroom and locked the door.

Then I photographed every page.

Prenup.

Marriage certificate.

Notary markings.

Every clause.

Every signature.

Daniel pounded once.

“Claire, open the door.”

I emailed the photos to myself.

Then to my business attorney, Naomi Brooks.

Subject line:

URGENT — POSSIBLE FORGERY

Daniel pounded again.

“Open the damn door.”

I heard Margaret.

“Take her phone.”

My blood went cold.

I opened the bathroom window.

Second floor.

Too high to jump.

But the roof over the kitchen sloped beneath it.

I slipped off my heels.

Daniel hit the door harder.

“Claire!”

I climbed through the window.

My silk robe caught on the latch and tore.

I crawled onto the wet roof.

Behind me, the bathroom door cracked.

Daniel’s voice changed from angry to panicked.

“Claire, stop!”

I slid toward the gutter.

My bare feet lost traction.

For one terrifying second, there was nothing beneath me.

Then I caught the edge.

A car pulled into the driveway.

Black sedan.

Harold Finch stepped out.

He looked up.

Saw me hanging from the roof.

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