“He hasn’t been getting the care he was supposed to receive.”
Her expression went blank.
That was enough for me.
I backed out.
At the end of the street, my phone suddenly regained service.
I called emergency services and explained that Victor was recovering from surgery, had been left without proper support, and needed medical attention.
An ambulance met us within minutes.
At MetroHealth, doctors determined that Victor was dehydrated, extremely cold, and in need of immediate postoperative care.
A hospital social worker named Elise Warren asked me to explain everything.
The note.
The disconnected phones.
The missing SIM card.
The walker.
The unusual tablets.
And Grant.
When I handed her Mom’s note in a plastic bag, her expression became serious.
“Don’t confront either of them again,” she said. “Let the appropriate authorities handle this.”
Victor slept for six hours.
When he finally woke, the first person he asked for was his attorney.
Her name was Natalie Pierce.
She arrived carrying a laptop and two folders.
After closing the hospital-room door, she looked at me.
“Victor has given me permission to explain what you need to know.”
Victor held out his hand.
I returned the ring.
Natalie turned it until the engraved number caught the light.
“Three-point-two million isn’t an account number,” she said. “It was the original estimated value of Victor’s ownership interest.”
The company was called Halberd Freight Systems.
Victor and his late brother had helped build it years earlier.
His shares were held in a separate trust established before his marriage to my mother.
Then Natalie told me the part I never expected.
