Then came something worse.
Mom had never been diagnosed with dementia.
Her pharmacy records showed heavy prescriptions for sedatives from a walk-in doctor located two counties away.
And Darren had not inherited my house.
He had forged a property transfer using Mom’s signature.
There was only one problem.
Mom had never owned the property.
I almost laughed.
Instead, I printed everything.
At breakfast, Darren slid a folder across the table toward me.
“Since you’re here, sign this.”
I looked down.
“What is it?”
“A family agreement. You waive any claim to the property and stop interfering with Mom’s care.”
Brooke lifted her coffee.
“You’re barely family at this point anyway.”
I opened the folder.
Pretended to read it carefully.
Then slowly nodded.
Darren smiled.
He thought he had cornered me.
Then the doorbell rang.
He glanced toward the foyer.
“Expecting someone?”
I folded the agreement neatly.
