“Claire?”
My breath caught.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
And immediately, the recognition disappeared from her expression.
Fear replaced it.
That told me more than any medical record could have.
At 11:40 that night, I made three phone calls.
The first was to Elena Ruiz, the attorney who managed my family trust.
The second was to Dr. Marcus Bell, a geriatric neurologist and an old college friend.
The third was to a private elder-abuse investigator I had previously hired during a corporate fraud case.
By morning, I knew enough to stop guessing.
The nurse I had been paying for had been fired eighteen months earlier.
Not by me.
By a forged email sent from an address designed to look like mine.
But my monthly care payments had continued.
The money had been deposited into the household account.
And Darren had diverted most of it.
Luxury car payments.
Gambling apps.
Brooke’s boutique.
