Clara shoved the thick envelope back into the safe and pushed the heavy iron door shut just as Arthur turned the corner into the doorway.
Arthur: What are you doing in the dark, Clara?
He stood under the doorway frame, his designer charcoal tie loosened at his collar and his leather briefcase dangling from his left hand.
Clara: I was looking for the spare house key you said was on your desk.
Arthur stepped into the study, his eyes scanning the carpet near the shifted mahogany bookshelf.
Arthur: You know I don’t like people rummaging around in here. This is where I handle firm business.
Clara: I’m your wife, Arthur. Not a stranger off the street.
Arthur: That doesn’t mean my client files are an open library.
He set his briefcase on the leather chair with a heavy thud, staring at her with cold, guarded eyes.
Arthur: Did you touch anything?
Clara: Just the drawers on top of the desk. Nothing else.
Arthur walked toward the bookshelf, his hand brushing along the wooden trim to ensure the floor safe was covered.
Arthur: Good. Go to bed. I have phone calls to make with the estate planners tonight.
Clara: At eleven o'clock on a Tuesday?
Arthur: Wealth management doesn't keep banker's hours. You wouldn't understand the pressures of this firm.
Clara stepped backward toward the open hallway, her heart pounding violently against her ribs.
Clara: Right. Of course I wouldn't. I'm just the mother of your daughter.
Arthur: Don't start getting dramatic. Lily is fast asleep, and I expect peace and quiet in this house tonight.
Clara nodded silently, backing into the dimly lit hallway while Arthur shut the heavy study door firmly in her face.
She walked down the long carpeted corridor toward the nursery, her knuckles white with tension.
She opened the nursery door gently and slipped inside, sitting on the edge of Lily’s small wooden rocking chair.
Her five-year-old daughter was sound asleep under a pink fleece blanket, clutching a worn stuffed rabbit.
Clara pulled her phone from her pocket with trembling fingers and dialed a private number she had kept saved for five years.
The call rang four times before an alert, raspy voice picked up on the other end.
Marcus: Clara? It’s past eleven. Is everything alright?
Clara: Marcus, I need your help. I found something in Arthur’s safe.
Marcus: What did you find?
Clara: A prenup dated before our wedding. My name is signed on it, Marcus. But I never signed anything.
There was a long, suffocating pause on the line before Marcus exhaled sharply through his teeth.
Marcus: Did it mention the offshore trust fund or the family estate?
Clara: Both. How did you know that?
Marcus: Because Arthur hired the most ruthless corporate divorce lawyer in the city three months ago. He’s preparing to wipe you out completely, Clara.
Clara covered her mouth to stifle a sob as she watched her daughter breathe softly in the crib.
Clara: What about Lily? What does it say about her?
Marcus: Meet me at my downtown office at eight tomorrow morning. Bring whatever proof you can safely copy. We need to file an emergency injunction before he serves you.
Clara wiped a tear from her cheek, staring toward the dark hallway outside.
Clara: I'll be there, Marcus. He won't take my daughter.