I dug my nails deeper into my palms. This calculated revision of our beginning—casting himself as the benevolent mentor rather than the predator who’d isolated and groomed me—made bile rise in my throat.
“When did your relationship become romantic?”
“About three months after we met. It wasn’t something I anticipated. The age difference concerned me, but Alex was persistent. He said he’d never felt so understood, so supported.”
The inversion of truth was breathtaking. I had been the hesitant one, overwhelmed by his intensity, unsure about the age gap. He had been relentless in his pursuit.
“You eventually invited him to live with you?”
“Yes, after about six months. His living situation was precarious—he was behind on rent, sharing a cramped apartment with several roommates. It was affecting his ability to create. I offered him my guest room initially, but our relationship had deepened by then.”
“During your relationship, did you support Alex financially?”
“Completely. I covered all our living expenses, provided him with a monthly allowance, funded his art supplies, arranged exhibitions. I wanted him to have the freedom to develop his talent without financial stress.”
“The plaintiff has characterized your financial support as controlling. How do you respond?”
Marcus’s expression turned pained. “I never attached conditions to my support. Alex was free to pursue whatever opportunities interested him. I encouraged him to maintain his position at the gallery, but he preferred to focus on his art full-time. I respected that choice.”
Each lie built upon the previous one, constructing an alternate reality where he was the generous benefactor and I the ungrateful recipient. I felt lightheaded with fury and despair.
“Mr. Delaney, Alex has accused you of isolating him from friends and colleagues. Is this accurate?”
“Not at all.” Marcus shook his head sadly. “The truth is, Alex struggled with social relationships. He was suspicious of people’s motives, quick to perceive slights. I tried to include him in my social circle, to introduce him to people who could advance his career, but he often refused to attend events or would leave abruptly if he did come.”
“What about his former professor and colleagues who testified yesterday?”
“I encouraged those relationships initially. But Professor Mercier became… inappropriately involved in Alex’s personal life, calling constantly, even showing up uninvited at our home. Alex was uncomfortable but didn’t know how to set boundaries, so I helped him draft a letter requesting space and had my solicitor deliver it to Professor Mercier.”
I nearly gasped aloud. The audacity of this lie—Claude had called exactly twice and visited once out of genuine concern. Marcus had intercepted every communication, drafted the cease-and-desist letter without my knowledge.
“Let’s address the events of September 17th directly. Where were you that evening?”
Marcus’s expression grew solemn. “I wasn’t at home. I was attending a fundraising dinner for the children’s hospital, then met friends for drinks at their home afterwards. I have affidavits from these friends confirming my presence until approximately 11 PM.”
Blackwood produced a document. “Your Honour, I’d like to enter these sworn statements confirming Mr. Delaney’s whereabouts on the evening in question.”
Judge Patterson nodded. “Proceed.”
“When did you learn Alex had been injured?”
“Around midnight. I returned home to find the apartment empty, which was unusual. Then I received a call from a neighbour who said an ambulance had been at our building earlier. I was frantic—called hospitals until I located him at Toronto General.”
“What happened when you arrived at the hospital?”
Marcus’s voice thickened with emotion. “They wouldn’t let me see him. I was desperate to know if he was alright, what had happened. I called Dr. Harrington, hoping he could help me get information.”
“When did you discover Alex had left the hospital?”
“The next morning. I’d gone home briefly to shower and change. When I returned, the nurse told me he’d disappeared during the night. I was terrified—he was seriously injured, had nowhere to go. I searched everywhere, called everyone we knew.”
“Mr. Delaney, Alex has accused you of continuing to harass him after he left, specifically by leaving his cat’s collar on his car with a threatening note. How do you respond?”
Marcus’s expression hardened with genuine indignation. “That’s absolutely false. I’ve been desperate to find Buster and return him to Alex. The cat disappeared the same night Alex left—I assumed Alex had taken him. I’ve been searching shelters, posting flyers. The suggestion that I would use an innocent animal to threaten someone I care about is… abominable.”
I trembled with rage. Buster hadn’t “disappeared”—he’d been locked in the bedroom during the assault. Marcus was keeping him hostage, using my love for my cat to try to lure me back.
“How would you characterize your relationship with Alex overall?”
