Chapter 13 - The Other Claire
The woman in the bank photograph looked enough like me to fool a distracted stranger.
Not enough to fool me.
Her chin was narrower. Her nose had been altered. Her hair was dyed my exact shade of brown.
But she had my coat.
Not similar.
Mine.
A gray cashmere coat that had disappeared from my closet six months earlier.
Maya zoomed in.
“Professional impersonation.”
Ethan stared.
“Who is she?”
I looked at him.
“Apparently the woman your mother planned twenty-eight years to invent.”
The message came from our trust bank’s fraud department.
A branch manager had flagged a withdrawal because the woman’s behavior seemed unusual.
The account had not actually been emptied.
The text was a deliberately alarming shorthand from a fraud officer Maya knew.
“She attempted to move twelve million,” Maya clarified after calling. “The transfer was stopped.”
“Twelve million?”
“From a restricted trust subaccount.”
“I didn’t know I had a twelve-million-dollar subaccount.”
Maya gave me a look.
“Your mother was not great at transparency.”
That was becoming the understatement of the century.
We requested security video.
The impersonator had presented a driver’s license in my name, a passport in my name, and a notarized trust authorization in my name.
All excellent.
She also knew answers to private verification questions.
My first pet.
My childhood street.
My mother’s favorite restaurant.
Someone had built a version of me out of stolen details.
“What did she want the money for?” Ethan asked.
“Transfer destination was Wrenfall Consulting.”
The fake company.
Of course.
Maya called Detective Ruiz.
The woman left the bank fifteen minutes before security flagged the documents.
Police were searching.
I paced the library.
“How long has this been planned?”
Ethan said, “Maybe since you turned thirty-five.”
“No. Patricia talked about ‘another Claire’ before Mom died.”
He went pale.
“So years.”
“Years.”
A thought struck me.
“The divorce.”
“What?”
“The papers you gave me.”
Ethan frowned.
“What about them?”
“Who prepared them?”
“My mother’s lawyer.”
“Cross?”
“No. Someone in his office.”
Maya snapped her fingers.
“If fake Claire signed property documents after a divorce filing, Patricia could argue she had authority through settlement transfers.”
I looked at Ethan.
“You weren’t divorcing me because of dinner.”
His face changed.
“I was angry.”
“You were instructed.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
He looked away.
“Mom said it was time.”
I laughed softly.
“Time for what?”
“She said you had been hiding assets.”
“That’s rich.”
“She showed me account statements.”
“Forged?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked.”
“No.”
I walked toward him.
“You slapped me because your mother showed you paperwork.”
His face tightened with shame.
“I slapped you because I chose to.”
That stopped me.
It was the first time he refused to hand his guilt to Patricia.
I nodded once.
“Correct.”
Maya’s phone rang.
She answered, listened, then looked at me.
“They found the impersonator.”
“Where?”
“Airport hotel.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
Maya paused.
“Claire Wren.”
I almost laughed.
“Real name.”
“They don’t know yet.”
We went to the station.
The woman sat behind one-way glass wearing my coat.
Detective Ruiz stood beside us with her injured shoulder in a sling.
“She refuses to speak except to you.”
“Why?”
“She says she is you.”
I stared.
“Psychiatric issue?”
Ruiz shook her head.
“She’s too organized.”
I entered the interview room with Maya and Ruiz.
The woman smiled.
Seeing my own expressions on someone else’s face was deeply unsettling.
“Hello, Claire,” she said.
“Who are you?”
“You know.”
“No.”
She leaned back.
“My name is Caroline Wren.”
I had never heard it.
“Relationship?”
“Your sister.”
I laughed.
“I don’t have a sister.”
“That’s what Evelyn wanted you to believe.”
Of course.
There was always another hidden relative.
I sat.
“Prove it.”
Caroline smiled.
“Ask Rose about the baby she had before Lily.”
My stomach tightened.
Behind the glass, I knew Rose was watching.
I turned toward the mirror.
Five minutes later, Rose entered.
The color left her face.
“Carrie?”
Caroline’s expression shattered.
For the first time she looked like a real person instead of an impersonation.
“Hi, Mom.”
Rose staggered.
Lily, watching through the glass, opened the door without permission.
“Mom?”
Rose turned.
Lily saw Caroline.
“What is this?”
Rose sat down.
“I was seventeen.”
Caroline watched her.
“You were seventeen when what?”
“When I had you.”
Lily stared.
“So she is my sister?”
“Yes.”
“Who is her father?”
Rose looked at the table.
“Malcolm Cross.”
No one spoke.
Julian’s grandfather.
My mother’s stepfather.
The family tree had become a crime scene.
Caroline laughed bitterly.
“Tell them the rest.”
Rose whispered, “I gave her up.”
“No.”
Caroline leaned forward.
“You sold me.”
Rose stood.
“I did not!”
“Malcolm paid you.”
“He paid the adoption agency.”
“He owned the adoption agency.”
Rose froze.
Caroline’s smile vanished.
“I grew up in one of his houses. With people who trained me to remember signatures, voices, habits.”
I felt sick.
“You were groomed to impersonate people.”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
“Eventually.”
“By Patricia?”
Caroline shook her head.
“By Julian.”
“Why?”
“Because after Malcolm died, Julian inherited his archive. He knew Evelyn’s trust would transfer control to you at thirty-five.”
“So he needed me.”
“He needed your face.”
“Why try the bank today?”
“Because Patricia called from jail.”
Ruiz stepped forward.
“That’s impossible. Her calls are monitored.”
Caroline smiled.
“Not all of them.”
“Who helped her?”
Caroline looked toward the mirror.
“Someone in this building.”
Detective Ruiz’s expression went hard.
“Name.”
“No.”
“Then you’re not helping yourself.”
“I’m not trying to.”
“Why ask for Claire?”
Caroline looked at me.
“Because Patricia told me something last night.”
“What?”
“She said Rose had finally come back.”
Caroline’s eyes filled.
“I wanted to know if it was true.”
Lily whispered, “You could have just found us.”
Caroline laughed bitterly.
“You got scholarships and secret protection. I got lessons in forgery.”
Rose moved toward her.
Caroline recoiled.
“Don’t.”
Rose stopped.
I watched them.
Two daughters.
One abandoned deliberately.
One abandoned in fear.
Both weaponized by people older than them.
“Where is Julian’s real archive?” I asked.
Caroline looked at me.
“Why?”
“Because that’s what this is about.”
She smiled faintly.
“You are like Evelyn.”
“So everyone keeps saying.”
“The archive isn’t at Cedar Point.”
“Where?”
She looked toward the ceiling.
“Under your house.”
“We searched.”
“You searched Evelyn’s rooms.”
“What does that mean?”
“Malcolm had one too.”
My pulse jumped.
“Another hidden room?”
Caroline nodded.
“How do we get in?”
She looked at Ethan through the one-way mirror, though she could not actually see him.
“Ask your husband.”
“Why would he know?”
Caroline’s smile turned sad.
“Because he has the key around his neck.”
I turned toward the mirror.
May you like
Outside, Ethan reached instinctively beneath his shirt.
And froze.
