“I would never,” Harrison said.
“I know that now.”
“But then?”
Julian looked down. “Then I was hurt, drugged, and ashamed. Our last conversation made her lies believable.”
The truth of that landed harder than accusation. Harrison had not caused Deborah’s crime, but he had left a crack wide enough for her to pour poison into his son’s mind.
“How did you find out?” he asked.
“A nurse named Martha Cole. She worked nights. She noticed I didn’t act like the addict Deborah described. She heard me call your name during fevers. One night, she looked you up online and found articles about Harrison Sterling mourning his son, Julian, after a fatal accident in New York.”
Harrison swallowed. “She knew.”
“She suspected. But Deborah had threatened the staff. Martha tried calling your office three times. Deborah blocked her. She mailed a letter. It came back. She went to Sterling headquarters once, but security wouldn’t let her upstairs.”
Harrison remembered Deborah tightening security after the funeral. She had said, “Grief attracts vultures, Harrison. Let me keep the world away.”
He had thanked her.
Julian shifted painfully. “After sixteen months, I could walk with crutches. Deborah moved me to a cheap apartment outside Asheville under the name Jude Miller. She gave me cash and said if I contacted you, she would have me committed as unstable. She had medical records ready, Dad. Fake addiction notes. Fake psychiatric evaluations.”
