Chương 4
“He knows.”
“He knows you recorded him?”
“He found the recorder once.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“What did he say?”
“That I was becoming paranoid.”
Laura sat down again.
“Were you?”
Margaret gave her a flat look.
“Apparently not enough.”
Laura opened her laptop.
“Mom, before we touch the drive, I want a lawyer.”
Margaret nodded.
“That’s why I came.”
Laura looked at her.
Margaret’s eyes shifted away.
“No,” Laura said.
Her mother said nothing.
“You didn’t come because Daniel brought you here.”
“He did bring me here.”
“You packed the envelope.”
“Yes.”
“And the USB.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he might throw you out.”
Margaret rubbed her thumb against her knuckle again.
Laura leaned forward.
“How long did you know?”
“Since Monday.”
It was Thursday.
Laura felt the back of her neck go cold.
“He told you Monday that he’d sold the house?”
“He told me there would be a closing this week.”
“And you didn’t call me.”
“No.”
“You spent three days preparing evidence instead.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked directly at her.
“Because I wanted to know whether he would actually do it.”
Laura stared at her mother for a long time.
For most of Laura’s life, Margaret had seemed cautious to the point of timidity. She hated returning purchases. She apologized to waiters when food arrived cold. She once drove three miles with a flat tire because she did not want to block traffic while calling AAA.
Yet this woman had spent days waiting to see whether her son would steal her home.
“You used yourself as bait?”
“I stayed in my own house.”
“You let him complete the sale.”
“I needed to know who was involved.”
“That is insane.”
“Probably.”
Laura pushed back from the table.
“He could have taken everything.”
“He nearly did.”
“Nearly?”
Margaret reached into her cardigan pocket.
She removed a small brass key.
Safe-deposit box.
Laura recognized the bank’s logo stamped into the plastic tag.
“He thought this was in my desk.”
“Why would he care?”
“The original trust is in the box.”
Laura stared at her.
Margaret’s expression remained calm.
“And something else.”
“What?”
“A letter from your father.”
Laura’s breath caught.
“To who?”
“Daniel.”
Neither spoke for a moment.
Laura remembered her father in fragments more often than scenes: shaving cream on one ear, humming off-key while fixing gutters, the burnt smell of coffee he left on the warmer too long. Edward Bennett had died of a stroke twelve years earlier. Daniel had been twenty-nine. Laura had been thirty-four.
“What does it say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never opened it?”
“It isn’t mine.”
“Dad’s been dead twelve years.”
“It still isn’t mine.”
Laura let out an incredulous breath.
“Mom, Daniel may have stolen your house.”
“And if that letter belongs to him, stealing it would still be wrong.”
“Your ethics are exhausting.”
“I know.”
Laura looked at the clock.
8:43 p.m.
Too late for most law offices, not too late for everything.
She searched for elder law attorneys in the area, then stopped.
Daniel had worked with enough local professionals that she did not want to call blindly.
Her insurance company retained outside counsel. One of those attorneys, Naomi Reyes, had once given a training on fraud referrals and fiduciary abuse. Laura had no idea whether Naomi handled private matters, but she had her office number.
She called.
Voicemail.
Laura left a message that sounded less coherent than she wanted.
Then she called the police non-emergency line.
Margaret frowned.
“You said lawyer first.”
“I changed my mind.”
A dispatcher took the basic information.
When Laura said there might have been fraudulent real estate documents, the response became cautious.
Was there immediate danger?
No.
Was Margaret currently safe?
Yes.
Had Daniel threatened her?
Not directly.
Was she locked out of the house she had occupied?
Yes, possibly, although Daniel had brought her away and Laura did not know whether the locks had been changed.
The dispatcher said an officer could come take a report, but disputes involving ownership and documents might also require civil legal action.
Laura expected that.
She still wanted a report.
Forty minutes later, Officer Ryan Kim arrived with melting snow on his shoulders and the wary expression of a man who had spent the evening listening to families explain why their version of a conflict was obviously the only possible one.
He spoke to Margaret first.
Laura respected that.
He asked Margaret her age, address, how long she had lived there, whether she understood the property had been sold, whether she had signed any documents.
Margaret answered carefully.
When he asked about memory problems, she stiffened.
“My memory is fine.”
“I have to ask.”
“I know.”
“Any diagnosis of dementia?”
“No.”
“Any medications that affect cognition?”
“No.”
“Has anyone suggested you lack capacity to manage your affairs?”
“My son, beginning approximately six months after he discovered I was asking for receipts.”
Officer Kim glanced up.
Laura watched him recalibrate.
Margaret continued.
She gave dates when she could.
Not perfect dates.
Real dates.
“The furnace discussion was in January, five years ago. I can find the exact day because there was a storm and Laura called to say her office was closing early.”
Laura had forgotten that.
Margaret had not.
The officer asked about the recordings.
He did not listen to them.
“I’d rather you preserve everything exactly as it is until somebody advises you how to handle it.”
Laura nodded.
That was the first thing all evening that sounded clean and sensible.
He photographed the deed copies and took down Daniel’s information.
Then he asked the question Laura had been avoiding.
“Where are your medications for tomorrow morning?”
Margaret’s face changed.
“In the suitcase.”
“All of them?”
A pause.
“My blood pressure medication is.”
“And the rest?”
Another pause.
“My thyroid pills are at the house.”
Laura closed her eyes.
Officer Kim asked, “Do you have access?”
“My key no longer worked this afternoon.”
That was new.
Laura looked at her.
“You tried?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“When?”
“Before Daniel put my suitcase in his car.”
