Chương 7
“Legal documents?”
“Mostly intake packets, title summaries, routine filing support.”
“And fake guardianships?”
“She denies that.”
“Convenient.”
“Hannah.”
Her tone stopped me.
I looked down.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re angry.”
She folded her hands.
“Be angry.”
Then she pointed at the papers.
“Just don’t let anger decide what evidence means.”
That sounded irritatingly like Warren.
I wondered if authority figures attended a secret conference on phrases designed to annoy me.
Ruiz turned another page.
“Bellamy did admit she met your mother three times this month.”
I looked up.
“Where?”
“Atlantic Heritage’s office.”
“What for?”
“She says Linda brought documents requiring notarization.”
“Which documents?”
“Bellamy claims she doesn’t remember.”
I laughed once.
Ruiz did not.
“People remember when they become motivated.”
“What motivates her?”
“She thinks somebody is preparing to blame her for the forgery.”
That made sense.
People rarely became honest because honesty suddenly appealed to them.
Fear was more reliable.
My phone rang.
Marcus.
I answered immediately.
“Hannah.”
Something in his voice emptied the room of everything else.
“What happened?”
“Your father is here.”
I was already standing.
“At your house?”
“Yes.”
“Is Grandma inside?”
“Yes.”
“Is she safe?”
“For the moment.”
Ruiz was on her feet now.
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Gary brought a locksmith.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“He says Ruth’s house has been burglarized.”
I looked at Ruiz.
She was already reaching for her keys.
Marcus continued.
“And he says whoever broke in stole the original deed.”
“Do not let him inside,” I said.
Marcus was quiet for half a second.
“He’s not inside.”
“Where is he?”
“Driveway.”
“Grandma?”
“With Denise.”
“Lock the doors.”
“They’re locked.”
“Don’t argue with him.”
“Hannah.”
“Marcus.”
“I retired from the Army, not from having common sense.”
Ruiz pointed toward the exit.
I followed her.
Marcus lowered his voice further.
“There’s another man with Gary.”
“The locksmith?”
“No.”
A car door slammed somewhere near him.
“I recognize this one.”
“Who?”
“Douglas Vance.”
That stopped me.
My father had brought his attorney to someone else’s house with a locksmith.
Ruiz heard enough from my expression.
She held out her hand.
“Speaker.”
I put the phone on speaker as we crossed the parking lot.
“Marcus,” Ruiz said, “this is Detective Ruiz.”
“I know who you are.”
“Has anyone threatened entry?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Gary says Ruth gave him authorization to retrieve property.”
“Did he show you anything?”
“A document.”
Ruiz unlocked her unmarked sedan.
“What kind?”
“Power of attorney.”
I looked at her.
She swore under her breath.
“Do not touch it,” she said.
“I wasn’t planning to frame it.”
“Can you read the date?”
Marcus moved away from the phone.
I heard Dad’s voice in the background.
Not words.
Tone.
Impatient.
Marcus came back.
“Dated eight months ago.”
Grandma had never mentioned a power of attorney.
That did not mean one could not exist.
It meant we had another document.
Another signature.
Another layer.
Ruiz started the engine.
“Ask him to leave.”
“I already did.”
“What did he say?”
“That he has legal authority over Ruth’s affairs.”
Ruiz backed out hard enough to make my seat belt lock.
“Tell him law enforcement is on the way.”
Marcus paused.
Then I heard him call across the yard.
“Gary, police are coming.”
Dad’s response was immediate.
“Good.”
Ruiz looked at me.
That was not what either of us expected.
We drove in silence for three blocks.
Then she said, “He wants an audience.”
“For what?”
“We’ll find out.”
I stared at the phone.
Marcus stayed connected.
In the background, I could hear birds, traffic, and the low murmur of men trying not to sound like they were arguing.
“Where’s Grandma exactly?” I asked.
“Living room.”
“Can she hear them?”
“Probably.”
“Put Denise on.”
A few seconds later, Denise’s voice replaced his.
“Hannah.”
“How is she?”
“Mad.”
That was almost a relief.
“What kind of mad?”
“She keeps trying to stand up.”
“Don’t let her.”
“I spent thirty-four years convincing stubborn people not to do things their joints couldn’t support.”
She lowered her voice.
“Your grandmother is top ten.”
“Is she scared?”
Denise did not answer immediately.
That answer was enough.
“She keeps asking whether Gary can make her leave,” she said.
“No.”
The word came out too fast.
I corrected myself.
“I don’t think he can.”
That was more honest.
“Tell her I’m coming.”
“She knows.”
“Tell her again.”
Ruiz drove south toward Marcus’s neighborhood.
I watched familiar streets pass without absorbing them.
My father had lost the forged guardianship order.
Now he had another document ready.
That could mean the power of attorney was legitimate.
It could mean he had a drawer full of fabricated authority.
Neither possibility made me feel better.
“Could he actually have power of attorney?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Even if Grandma doesn’t remember signing it?”
“Yes.”
“If she signed under pressure?”
“Then validity becomes a different question.”
“And if it’s fake?”
“That becomes another crime.”
Ruiz glanced at me.
“Do not turn that into certainty.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that right before you do it.”
I almost snapped at her.
Instead, I looked out the window.
She was right.
I hated her for about fifteen seconds.
Then I was too tired to maintain it.
We reached Marcus’s street twenty minutes later.
Two vehicles were parked along the curb.
Dad’s silver SUV.
Vance’s dark sedan.
A white locksmith van sat behind them.
Marcus stood near the end of his driveway with his arms crossed.
Dad was beside the SUV.
Vance held a document folder.
The locksmith looked like a man who had accepted a routine job and discovered he had wandered into a family war.
He was smoking beside his van.
Ruiz parked behind him.
Dad smiled when he saw us.
That smile made my stomach turn.
“There she is.”
Ruiz stepped out first.
“Mr. Cole.”
“Detective.”
He gestured toward the house.
“My mother-in-law is being unlawfully detained.”
“She is your mother.”
May you like
I said it before I could stop myself.
Dad looked at me.
