Chapter 6
The incapacity form looked official.
Too official.
A doctor's name.
A clinic address.
My date of birth.
A statement claiming I suffered episodes of confusion after a head injury overseas.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“I've never been treated at this clinic.”
Officer Daniels took the document.
“Don't touch anything else.”
Emma stood beside me.
“What does it mean?”
Michael answered.
“If valid, an incapacity declaration can sometimes be used with other legal documents to give someone authority over a person's affairs.”
“Someone like his mother?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
I remembered the car accident in Dubai.
Concussion.
Two nights in the hospital.
Mom had known about it.
I had told her.
Had she taken that real injury and built a lie around it?
Michael looked through the folder carefully.
“Here's a power of attorney.”
I stepped closer.
My name.
My forged signature.
Margaret listed as agent.
Broad authority.
Banking.
Real estate.
Business.
Medical decisions.
Everything.
“Could she use this?”
“She may already have.”
I looked at the boxes surrounding us.
Of course she had.
That was how she had moved so confidently.
She hadn't simply forged random checks.
She had constructed an entire legal version of me.
A David Carter who distrusted his wife.
A David Carter who wanted his mother in charge.
A David Carter who suffered confusion.
A David Carter who wanted divorce.
A David Carter who signed away access to his life.
For five years, the real me had been overseas while Mom built a replacement.
Emma whispered, “She erased you too.”
I looked at her.
She was right.
Not in the same way.
But she was right.
Mom had taken Emma's voice.
And she'd stolen mine.
Officer Ruiz found another folder.
This one was marked E.
Emma didn't move.
Neither did I.
Daniels opened it.
Photographs.
Emma leaving grocery stores.
Emma walking into the dental office.
Emma speaking to a neighbor.
Emma at a coffee shop.
Most appeared taken from a distance.
I felt ice spread through me.
“She had someone following her?”
Michael leaned closer.
“Possibly.”
Emma hugged herself.
“I saw that car.”
“What car?”
She pointed to one photograph.
A black sedan in the background.
“It was outside the dental office a lot.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“I told Margaret.”
I already knew the answer before asking.
“What did she say?”
“She said I was paranoid.”
Of course.
Ruiz found receipts stapled behind the photos.
Private investigator.
My mother had hired someone to follow my wife.
The invoices described objectives.
Document unusual activity.
Identify male contacts.
Record financial behavior.
Collect evidence relevant to marital dispute.
I wanted to tear the paper apart.
Michael stopped me with a look.
“Evidence.”
I stepped back.
Emma looked at the photographs.
“This man.”
“What?”
She pointed to one image.
A man speaking to her outside the dental office.
“That's Dr. Patel.”
“Your boss?”
“Yes.”
The photo angle made the conversation look intimate.
His hand was on her shoulder.
“What was happening?”
“My aunt had died.”
My chest hurt.
“You never told me.”
“I tried.”
She looked at the photograph.
“He was telling me to take the afternoon off.”
Attached to the photo was a typed note.
Possible affair.
I felt sick.
“They were building a case against you,” I said.
Emma nodded slowly.
“To show you.”
“To show me what?”
“That you married the wrong woman.”
There was no anger in her voice.
Only exhaustion.
Daniels closed the folder.
“This unit is now part of an active investigation.”
Michael asked whether we could recover Emma's personal belongings.
“Eventually,” Daniels said. “Once they're photographed and released.”
Emma nodded.
She didn't argue.
But her eyes remained on the jewelry box.
I touched her shoulder lightly.
She didn't flinch this time.
“We'll get it back.”
“I know.”
My phone rang.
Samir.
I answered immediately.
“Tell me you have good news.”
“I have strange news.”
“Of course you do.”
“The company transfer request came from a law office in Dallas.”
Michael looked at me.
“Name?”
I repeated the question.
“Henderson Legal Partners.”
Michael's face changed.
“What?”
He took out his phone.
“I know the name.”
“Good?”
“No.”
Samir continued.
“There is a lawyer named Preston Cole attached to the documents.”
Michael swore quietly.
I ended the call after Samir sent everything.
“Who is Preston Cole?”
Michael looked toward the officers.
“A lawyer who was investigated several years ago for questionable estate-planning practices.”
“Was he charged?”
“No.”
“Disbarred?”
“No.”
“So he's still practicing?”
“Yes.”
“Could he be Mom's lawyer?”
“Possibly.”
I remembered her saying, You said the lawyer fixed it.
Jennifer's words.
“What kind of estate planning?”
Michael hesitated.
“Complex asset transfers. Elderly clients. Competency disputes.”
Competency.
The incapacity declaration suddenly felt heavier.
“What would Mom gain by having me declared incompetent?”
Michael answered carefully.
“Control.”
One word.
That was all.
Emma walked away from us.
I followed her toward the unit entrance.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
She rubbed her arms.
“I keep thinking this should feel like relief.”
“What?”
“You being home.”
I said nothing.
“Instead every hour we learn something worse.”
“I know.”
“What happens if there are more things we don't know?”
“There probably are.”
She looked at me.
I refused to lie.
“But we'll face them.”
Her eyes filled.
“Together?”
“If you'll let me.”
She looked away.
“I don't know yet.”
“I know.”
That answer hurt.
But she had earned the right to give it.
We left Lakeview around five.
Police sealed the unit.
Michael headed to his office.
I drove Emma home.
Neither of us spoke much.
As we entered the driveway, I noticed a car across the street.
Black sedan.
My pulse jumped.
Emma saw it too.
“That's it.”
“What?”
“The car.”
The sedan pulled away.
I grabbed my phone and photographed the license plate.
Then I called Daniels.
He told us not to follow it.
We didn't.
Inside the house, Emma locked every door.
I checked every window.
Then I did something I should have done years ago.
I asked her what she wanted.
“Tonight. What do you need?”
She stared at me as though nobody had asked in a long time.
“I want the locks changed.”
“Done.”
“I want your mother's things out of our bedroom.”
“Done.”
“And I don't want to sleep in that room.”
“Okay.”
She looked surprised.
“No argument?”
“None.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Guest room.”
“What if I want the guest room?”
“I'll take another one.”
A tiny smile appeared.
The first I'd seen.
“It's a big house.”
“Apparently too big.”
Her smile disappeared.
“I used to hate it.”
I looked around.
“I thought you'd love it.”
“I did at first.”
“What changed?”
“It stopped feeling like ours.”
I nodded.
“We'll fix that.”
“Maybe.”
Again.
Maybe.
I was learning to accept maybe.
A locksmith arrived.
While he worked, I carried Mom's clothes from the bedroom into boxes.
Emma watched from the hallway.
“You don't have to do that tonight.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because every dress I remove makes the room one inch more yours.”
She turned away quickly.
I pretended not to see her cry.
At eight, someone knocked.
Not the front door.
The kitchen window.
Emma screamed.
I spun around.
A face appeared outside.
Nancy.
Mom's friend.
She looked terrified.
I opened the back door but kept Emma behind me.
Nancy pushed inside.
“Lock it.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Lock the door!”
I did.
She leaned against the counter, gasping.
Her hands shook.
“What happened?”
She looked at Emma.
Then me.
“You found the storage unit.”
It wasn't a question.
“How do you know?”
“Margaret called me.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she say?”
Nancy looked like she might faint.
“She said I needed to remember who had helped me.”
I thought of the prescription bottle.
“Nancy.”
Her eyes filled.
“What medication was in that storage unit?”
She closed her eyes.
“Oh God.”
“Tell me.”
“It's mine.”
“Why did Mom have it?”
“She took it.”
“Why?”
Nancy began crying.
“I was stupid.”
“About what?”
“Two years ago, I had surgery. I was taking sleeping medication. Margaret asked for some.”
“Why?”
“She said she couldn't sleep.”
“How much did you give her?”
“At first? Four pills.”
“At first?”
“She kept asking.”
Emma came closer.
“How many?”
Nancy shook her head.
“I don't know.”
My stomach turned.
“Did she ever say what she was using them for?”
“No.”
“Think.”
Nancy covered her mouth.
“Once.”
“What?”
“She made a joke.”
My skin crawled.
“What joke?”
“She said sometimes the easiest way to control a difficult person was to make sure they slept through the argument.”
Emma went completely still.
I looked at her.
“Emma?”
She was staring into space.
“Tea.”
“What?”
Her face turned white.
“The tea.”
I grabbed her arms gently.
“What tea?”
“Margaret used to make me tea after fights.”
Nancy started sobbing.
“No.”
Emma looked at me.
“I would sleep for hours.”
My heart nearly stopped.
“How often?”
“I don't know. Maybe... maybe ten times.”
Nancy sank into a chair.
“I didn't know.”
Emma backed away from me.
“I thought I was exhausted.”
I called Daniels.
He told Emma not to consume anything in the house that might have been prepared by Mom.
Too late.
Years too late.
But we checked the pantry anyway.
Nothing obvious.
Then Emma remembered a tin above the refrigerator.
“Margaret's herbal blend.”
I reached for it.
Stopped.
Evidence.
We left it untouched.
Daniels arrived with Ruiz thirty minutes later.
Nancy gave a statement.
She cried through most of it.
Then Ruiz asked a question.
“Did Margaret ever ask you for medication for someone else?”
Nancy looked at Emma.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Nancy nodded.
Then paused.
“There was one time.”
My throat tightened.
“What time?”
“She asked me if the pills would be dangerous with alcohol.”
The kitchen became silent.
“When?”
Nancy thought.
“Last December.”
I remembered last December.
The gas explosion.
Company dinner.
Two glasses of whiskey.
I had become unusually dizzy before leaving early.
I had assumed exhaustion.
The explosion happened later that night at a restaurant kitchen.
I wasn't there.
But I had nearly stayed.
I looked at Nancy.
“Did she say why she asked?”
“She said a friend was taking the medication.”
I sat down.
Emma whispered, “David.”
“I'm okay.”
I wasn't.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
One sentence.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED OVERSEAS.
Attached was a photograph.
Taken through my kitchen window.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
It showed Emma standing beside me.
Someone was outside.
Watching us.
Officer Ruiz drew her weapon and moved toward the back door.
Daniels called for another unit.
I pulled Emma away from the windows.
The phone buzzed again.
A second message.
This time it was a photograph of Emma alone.
From years earlier.
Outside the dental office.
May you like
Under it were four words.
SHE WAS ALWAYS THE PROBLEM.
