Chương 4
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“I designed the system.”
She tilted her head.
“People keep saying things like that right before something goes wrong.”
Despite myself, I almost smiled.
“You may be the first employee I’ve had who insults me while waiting to be paid.”
“I’m not your employee anymore.”
“That’s true.”
Her mouth twitched.
Then the humor vanished.
A hospital social worker named Denise Walker joined us ten minutes later.
She was in her fifties, wearing gray sneakers and a cardigan with one button missing.
She listened without reacting much while I explained what I had seen.
She did not immediately call Chloe a criminal.
She did not praise Maya as a hero.
She asked dates.
She asked who had legal authority over Mom’s medical decisions.
She asked whether Mom had ever been formally diagnosed with dementia.
She asked if I had seen the original financial documents.
“No.”
“Then don’t assume copies tell you the whole story.”
The warning irritated me.
“I watched my wife shove her.”
“I’m not disputing that.”
Denise folded her hands over her legal pad.
“I’m telling you there may be several different problems here, and they won’t all move at the same speed.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the injury gets treated tonight.”
She glanced toward Mom’s room.
“Possible abuse gets reported.”
Then she looked at the sewing box.
“Financial exploitation may take longer to untangle.”
I hated how reasonable she sounded.
I wanted one door to open and reveal a room labeled Truth.
Instead, there were apparently hallways.
Forms.
Interviews.
Statements.
Bank records.
Arguments over capacity.
People deciding what counted as proof.
Denise stood.
“I need to speak with your mother alone.”
I nodded.
As she entered the room, my phone buzzed with an alert from my bank.
A transfer request had been initiated from our joint savings account.
Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
Destination account unknown.
I stared at the number.
Maya saw it over my shoulder.
“Is that Chloe?”
“I don’t know.”
But my hand was already moving.
I called the bank’s fraud line.
While the automated voice asked me to verify my identity, another notification appeared.
The transfer had been canceled.
Then a message from Chloe arrived.
You want war?
Fine.
But before you decide I’m the monster, ask your mother why she gave Julian power of attorney six months before your stroke excuse ever existed.
For several seconds, the message made no sense.
Then Denise opened Mom’s door and stepped into the hallway.
“Carter?”
I looked up too quickly.
She studied my face.
“What happened?”
I handed her the phone.
She read Chloe’s message once, then again.
“Do you know what she means?”
“No.”
“Did your mother ever give Julian legal authority?”
“Not that I know of.”
Denise gave the phone back.
“Then don’t confront her with it until you’ve asked.”
I almost laughed.
“I’m not exactly in the mood for restraint.”
“That’s usually when restraint is most useful.”
She turned toward the room.
“Your mother is alert, but she’s exhausted.”
“Can I see her?”
“Yes.”
Maya stood when I did.
Denise stopped her gently.
“Give them a minute.”
Mom looked smaller under the hospital blanket than she had that morning.
Her right wrist was immobilized in a temporary splint.
She was staring at the television with the sound turned off.
A game show contestant was clapping beside a refrigerator.
I sat beside the bed.
Mom looked at my face.
“What?”
I unlocked my phone.
“I need to ask you about Julian.”
Her eyes changed.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Then dread.
“Why?”
“Did you ever give him power of attorney?”
She looked toward the door.
I waited.
Finally she said, “Once.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“Last winter.”
“Why?”
She rubbed her thumb against the edge of the blanket.
“Before the stroke.”
Chloe’s message repeated itself in my head.
Six months before your stroke excuse ever existed.
“What did you authorize?”
Mom closed her eyes.
“I don’t know anymore.”
“Mom.”
“I said I don’t know.”
Her voice sharpened.
Then she flinched as though she had surprised herself.
I lowered mine.
“Okay.”
She opened her eyes again.
“I was embarrassed.”
“About what?”
“The taxes.”
I waited.
She sighed.
“Your father used to handle everything.”
Dad had been dead seven years.
Even now, Mom sometimes referred to financial chores as though he were merely away and had neglected to return.
“The rental house had problems,” she continued.
“Back taxes?”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Paperwork.”
“What kind?”
“The tenant left.”
“That was last year.”
“I know.”
She sounded irritated now, which was reassuring.
“I’m old, Carter, not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You make that face.”
“What face?”
“The same one you made when you were twelve and thought I couldn’t use the VCR.”
I almost smiled.
“You couldn’t use the VCR.”
“Nobody could use that thing.”
For a few seconds, the room belonged to us again.
Then her fingers stopped worrying the blanket.
“Julian said he could help me organize the lease, insurance, taxes, all of it.”
“Why Julian?”
“He offered.”
“Through Chloe?”
Mom nodded.
“He said it would save me attorney fees.”
A pressure started behind my eyes.
“Did you sign a power of attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Limited?”
“I thought so.”
“You thought so?”
She looked ashamed.
That expression frightened me more than confusion.
“I didn’t read every page.”
I leaned back.
The chair creaked under me.
“Did you give him access to your bank accounts?”
“No.”
“Your property?”
“No.”
“Authority to sell anything?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Her mouth tightened.
“I was sure then.”
The door opened an inch.
Denise looked in.
“Everything okay?”
Mom answered before I could.
“My son is interrogating me.”
Denise gave me a look.
I leaned back farther.
“I’m asking questions.”
“You’re doing it with your refinery voice.”
“My what?”
“The voice you use when somebody has misplaced ten million dollars.”
I stared at her.
Mom raised one eyebrow.
“Your wife imitates you.”
May you like
That hurt in a new place.
“Did Chloe know about the power of attorney?”
