Chapter 13 - The Audition That Brought Me Back to LifeI stood outside the audition room for eleven minutes before I found the courage to enter.
My hands were cold.
The script was damp from how tightly I'd held it.
And despite being thirty-two years old, raising a child, surviving public humiliation, and facing some of the most powerful people in the entertainment industry, I suddenly felt eighteen again.
A frightened young actress waiting for someone to tell her she wasn't good enough.
Ruth Alvarez opened the door.
"Claire?"
I looked up.
She was wearing jeans, a gray sweatshirt, and the same enormous glasses she'd worn on our first production together.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she stepped forward and hugged me.
Not a polite entertainment-industry embrace.
A real hug.
"I'm so glad you came," she whispered.
My eyes filled.
"Me too."
She led me inside.
The audition room was small.
A folding table.
Two cameras.
A few chairs.
No executives in expensive suits.
No publicity department.
No one carrying Adrian Blackwood's name like a weapon.
Ruth introduced me to her casting director, Benjamin Ross.
He shook my hand warmly.
"We're looking forward to seeing your interpretation."
I nearly cried at the simplicity of it.
He wasn't apologizing.
He wasn't pretending to rescue me.
He was treating me like an actress.
Which was all I'd ever wanted.
The project was called The Last Window.
It told the story of a woman who returned to her hometown after twenty years and discovered that the mystery surrounding her mother's disappearance had been deliberately buried.
The role was complex.
Quiet.
Emotionally demanding.
The character didn't have glamorous speeches or dramatic breakdowns every five minutes.
She carried her pain in what she refused to say.
I understood her immediately.
When Ruth handed me the scene, she asked:
"Would you like a few minutes?"
I shook my head.
"No. I'm ready."
At first, my voice trembled.
Then I heard the other actor speak his line.
And something inside me awakened.
The room disappeared.
I forgot the cameras.
Forgot Adrian.
Forgot Vanessa.
I became the woman in the script.
A woman standing in her childhood kitchen, holding a letter that proved everything she'd believed about her family was wrong.
When I reached the final line, I stopped.
Silence filled the room.
Then Ruth whispered:
"Thank you, Claire."
I looked up.
There were tears in her eyes.
Benjamin leaned back in his chair.
"Would you mind reading it once more?"
My heart sank.
Had I done something wrong?
Then he smiled.
"I'd like to see what happens if you let her be angry."
Something fierce and wonderful rushed through me.
"Of course."
The second take was better.
Stronger.
More dangerous.
When I finished, I knew I'd done something meaningful.
Whether I got the role or not, I'd returned to a part of myself that I thought had died.
Outside, I sat in my car and cried.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I wasn't anymore.
My phone rang.
Tessa.
"How did it go?"
I wiped my face.
"I remembered how to do it."
She laughed.
"Claire, you never forgot."
That evening, Noah insisted on performing his own audition.
He stood in the living room wearing a cardboard crown.
"I am the king of all dinosaurs!"
Tessa applauded.
I bowed dramatically.
"Your Majesty."
Noah pointed toward the kitchen.
"Bring me macaroni!"
For the first time in weeks, laughter filled our temporary home without fear lurking behind it.
Then the phone rang.
Mara.
I stepped onto the porch.
"Hello?"
"Claire, the court has issued interim preservation directions covering specified electronic records relevant to our claims."
I leaned against the railing.
"Does that mean they can't delete the files?"
"It means the parties subject to the order must preserve the identified material while the litigation proceeds. We'll still need to monitor compliance and pursue disclosure."
I closed my eyes.
"Thank God."
"There's more."
"What?"
"An outside forensic team working with the company's independent audit recovered part of Victor's deleted correspondence from a server backup."
My pulse quickened.
"What did they find?"
"A series of messages exchanged with Vanessa's management company."
"About me?"
"About the incident and its publicity response."
I gripped the railing.
Mara continued.
"One message discusses separating the footage of the physical confrontation from the equipment failure."
My heart raced.
"Who sent it?"
"An account associated with Vanessa's management team."
"And who received it?"
"Victor's office."
I stared out into the darkness.
For six years, Vanessa had claimed I attacked her.
Now there was evidence that her representatives participated in discussions about presenting the incident without the footage that explained it.
"Mara, can we release it?"
"Not yet. The context and authenticity still need to be established. And some material may be protected by court procedures."
I exhaled shakily.
"All right."
"Claire, listen. We're closer than we've ever been."
I turned toward the house.
Through the window, Noah was showing Tessa how to make a paper airplane fly farther by adjusting its wings.
He was laughing.
Happy.
Safe.
For the first time, I allowed myself to imagine a future where his mother's name wasn't associated with scandal.
Where I could attend his school events without strangers whispering.
Where he could love his father without being forced to defend his mother.
Then Mara's tone changed.
"There's one other development."
I stiffened.
"What?"
"Victor's attorney contacted Naomi today."
"Why?"
"He claims he possesses evidence that Adrian directed the entire operation."
My stomach sank.
"Does he?"
"We don't know."
"What does he want?"
Mara paused.
"He wants to negotiate."
I stared at the phone.
"Negotiate what?"
"His cooperation, in exchange for terms that limit his exposure."
I closed my eyes.
May you like
Victor Sloane was finally cornered.
And a cornered man with millions of dollars and six years of secrets could be very dangerous.
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