Chapter 8: What Julian Used
He used Chloe.
I should have seen it coming.
Grace had warned me.
My father had warned me.
I had told myself I was prepared.
I was not prepared.
Julian's attorney filed an emergency motion for temporary sole custody, citing a psychological evaluation — one Julian had apparently commissioned privately, using the therapist billing records he had obtained somehow, and a declaration from a doctor I had never met, stating that I was mentally unfit to parent due to an ongoing psychiatric condition.
Grace called me at seven in the morning.
I could hear it in her voice before she said a word.
"He filed this morning," she said.
"Emergency custody motion.
The hearing is in four days."
I sat with that for a moment.
My legs in their casts.
The monitor.
Chloe's drawing on the wall.
"He found a doctor to lie," I said.
"The declaration is signed by a Dr.
Phillip Marsh.
He has a practice in the city.
We're looking at him now."
"Julian paid him."
"That's what we believe.
Proving it quickly is the challenge."
"Four days," I said.
"Yes."
"Grace.
If he gets temporary custody—"
"He won't have unsupervised access while the criminal investigation is active.
The family court judge will be made aware of the investigation.
That's our strongest card."
"But Chloe—"
"Chloe is currently with your father's sister, which is a stable placement.
The judge will see that.
We are going to argue that the current arrangement should continue pending the outcome of both proceedings." She paused.
"Audrey, I need you to be very clear with me.
Is there anything in those therapy sessions — anything at all — that Julian could use to make the declaration look credible?"
I thought about the sessions.
The things I had said.
The way I had described feeling invisible, feeling afraid, feeling like I was disappearing inside my own house.
"I talked about being unhappy," I said.
"I talked about feeling controlled.
I talked about being afraid of him sometimes, though I didn't use that word.
I called it tension."
"That's not a psychiatric condition," Grace said.
"That's a woman describing an @busive marriage to a therapist.
In context, those records help you, not him."
"Can we get the therapist to testify?"
"I'm calling her this morning."
I hung up and looked at my father.
He had been in the chair since before Grace called.
He had heard everything.
"He's going after Chloe," I said.
"Yes."
"Because he knows that's the one thing that will make me stop."
"Yes."
I looked at him.
"It won't work."
He nodded slowly.
"I know."
"But I need you to do something for me."
"Name it."
"Go to Margaret's.
Be with Chloe today.
I don't want her to be alone when she finds out there's a court hearing about her."
He stood immediately.
"I'll go now."
"Tell her I love her.
Tell her nothing is going to change.
Tell her—" My voice broke, just once, just for a second.
"Tell her Mommy is fighting."
He put his hand on my shoulder for a moment.
Then he walked out.
I called Grace back.
"The doctor," I said.
"Phillip Marsh.
I want to know everything about him.
His license history.
His relationship with Julian.
Every patient complaint ever filed.
Everything."
"We're already pulling it."
"And Julian's attorney.
Who is he?"
"His name is Carter Blaine.
He's done family law for twenty years.
He's good."
"Is he honest?"
A pause.
"He's effective."
"That's not what I asked."
Another pause.
"There are rumors.
Nothing proven."
"Find out," I said.
"If Julian is paying a doctor to lie, he may be paying other people too.
And if Carter Blaine knows his client arranged an accident and is still filing motions to take a child from her mother—" I stopped.
"Find out."
Grace was quiet for a moment.
"You've changed in the last week," she said.
"I've been in a hospital bed for three weeks," I said.
"I've had time to think."
Rourke came by that afternoon.
He sat across from me and opened his laptop without preamble.
"Phillip Marsh," he said.
"Licensed twelve years.
Two complaints filed with the medical board — both dismissed, both involving documentation irregularities.
He's testified as an expert witness in four custody cases in the past three years.
Julian's attorney referred him in two of those cases."
"He's a professional liar," I said.
"He's a professional witness," Rourke said.
"There's a difference.
He knows how to stay just inside the line." He looked at me.
"But we found something this morning that may change his calculation."
"What?"
"The burner phone from the storage unit.
The tech team cracked it." He turned the laptop toward me.
"There are text messages between Julian and a number registered to a company called Marsh Consulting LLC."
I looked at the screen.
The messages were short.
Clinical.
A series of exchanges over six weeks, discussing a "subject assessment" and a "supporting declaration." The final message, sent four days ago, read: *Declaration ready.
File when needed.*
"He commissioned the fake evaluation six weeks ago," I said.
"Before the accident."
"Before the accident," Rourke confirmed.
I looked at him.
"He was planning all of it.
The accident.
The evaluation.
The custody motion.
He had it all ready."
"It looks that way."
"He was going to use the accident to put me in a position where I couldn't fight back.
Injured, isolated, declared unfit." I heard my own voice as if from a distance.
"And then he was going to take Chloe."
Rourke didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
"Send everything to Grace," I said.
May you like
"Tonight."
"Already done," he said.
