Chapter 3: The Doctor Who Knew Too Much
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
My father was staring at me.
Vanessa had stopped moving near the staircase.
Even the sound of the refrigerator seemed unnaturally loud.
“What did you just say about my mother?”” I finally asked.
Dr. Harrison sighed.
“Marcus, you're understandably upset. Your father has been showing signs of cognitive decline. Vanessa contacted me because she was concerned.””
“My father remembers everything. He just showed me a recording of my wife framing him.””
“Security recordings can be misleading.””
“Then why did you send her an email about an emergency guardianship?””
“I cannot discuss confidential medical matters over the telephone.””
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“You just discussed them.””
He ignored the comment.
“Listen carefully. Your father needs a professional evaluation. I suggest you bring him to my office tomorrow morning.””
“No.””
“Marcus—”
“I'm not bringing him anywhere until I know why you're involved in this.””
I ended the call.
Vanessa immediately stepped toward me.
“You shouldn't have spoken to him that way.””
I looked at her.
“You're worried about his feelings now?””
“He's a respected physician. You're going to ruin everything by making accusations.””
“Everything?””
She pressed her lips together.
I walked toward the kitchen to get some water.
That's when I heard her phone vibrate.
Vanessa had followed me.
She glanced at the screen, then turned her back.
“Who is it?”” I asked.
“Nobody.””
She answered the call.
I watched her expression change.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“I know.””
I moved closer.
“Not now. Marcus is here.””
She turned toward the window.
Then I heard her say something that made the hair rise on my arms.
“The old man has cameras. Marcus knows everything.””
A pause.
“No, the recording doesn't show the paperwork I already submitted.””
I stopped breathing.
Then she lowered her voice further.
“Don't worry. The application is already filed. By tomorrow morning, Robert won't be able to stop us.””
I stepped into the kitchen.
“WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?””
Vanessa spun around.
Her phone slipped from her hand and struck the tile.
The call was still connected.
A man's voice came through the speaker.
“Vanessa, did you get Marcus to sign the medical authorization?””
I picked up the phone.
“Who is this?””
Silence.
Then the man spoke.
“Marcus? This is Dr. Harrison.””
I stared at Vanessa.
The doctor continued.
“We need Robert admitted before his attorney finds out. If the authorization hasn't been signed, we need another route.””
My stomach dropped.
“What authorization?””
Vanessa lunged for her phone.
I stepped backward.
“Stay where you are.””
Dr. Harrison spoke again.
“Vanessa, have you explained the situation to him?””
I brought the phone closer.
“Explain what?””
There was a long pause.
Then he said, “You should speak to your wife about the documents from your mother's case.””
My mother's case.
I hadn't heard those words in years.
My mother, Elaine, had died after a sudden medical emergency when I was twenty-six. She had been treated at a private hospital where Dr. Harrison had been one of the physicians overseeing her care.
At the time, everyone had told us there was nothing more that could have been done.
My father had accepted that explanation.
But I remembered something.
Three months before she died, my mother had changed her will.
She had also become strangely suspicious of certain people around her.
I remembered finding her crying in the kitchen one evening.
When I asked what was wrong, she had held my hand and said, “Marcus, if anything happens to me, make sure your father keeps this house.””
Back then, I thought she was simply frightened of dying.
Now those words sounded different.
I looked at Vanessa.
“What did you do with my mother's medical records?””
She shook her head.
“Marcus, please. You're twisting everything.””
“Why did he mention my mother's case?””
“I don't know!””
The voice on the phone suddenly became impatient.
“Vanessa, disconnect the call.””
I heard a faint clicking sound.
Then the call ended.
I looked down at the phone.
There was a notification on the screen.
A message from an unknown number.
*Stop asking questions about Elaine Williams. You have no idea what you're getting into.*
I took a screenshot.
Then I called the police again.
Within fifteen minutes, two officers arrived.
The first, Officer Bennett, listened as I explained what had happened. His partner, Officer Lewis, spoke with my father separately.
Vanessa sat at the kitchen table, insisting that she was the victim.
“My husband is threatening me,” she told Officer Bennett.
“His father has been mentally unstable for months. I was trying to get help.””
Officer Bennett looked at the torn blouse.
“Ma'am, do you have any medical documentation of an injury?””
“No.””
“Did you report the alleged assault immediately?””
“I was too frightened.””
He glanced toward me.
“Mr. Williams says there's a security recording.””
I handed him the tablet.
“It's all there.””
Officer Bennett watched the footage twice.
He didn't say anything for a moment.
Then he turned toward Vanessa.
“Ma'am, I need you to explain why you removed your own clothing in this recording.””
Vanessa's mouth opened.
“I was panicking.””
“You appear to be alone with Mr. Williams before you start screaming.””
“He was threatening me!””
The officer looked at the screen.
“Your father-in-law is sitting in a chair reading a newspaper.””
Vanessa stood abruptly.
“This is ridiculous. I want a lawyer.””
Officer Bennett nodded.
“That's your right.””
While the officers documented the incident, my father went upstairs to retrieve the original property deed and his medical records.
I remained in the kitchen.
My wife sat opposite me.
For the first time since I had known her, she looked genuinely afraid.
“Marcus,” she whispered, “we can still fix this.””
I stared at her.
“Who is we?””
She looked away.
Then she leaned closer.
“You need to understand that your father isn't the only person who can lose everything here.””
Before I could respond, Officer Lewis returned from the hallway.
“Mr. Williams, your father asked us to look at something.””
He handed me a clear plastic evidence sleeve.
Inside was a small, yellowed envelope with my mother's handwriting on it.
My name was written across the front.
I recognized it immediately.
My father came downstairs, his face drained of color.
“I found it behind the false bottom of your mother's old jewelry box,” he explained.
“I didn't know it was there until yesterday.””
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter dated three days before her death.
The first line made my knees weak.
Marcus, if you're reading this, Dr. Harrison has probably contacted someone in our family. Do not trust the medical explanation I was given.
I looked at my father.
He was crying silently.
And at the bottom of the letter, my mother had written one final sentence:
Your father doesn't know what happened to me, and I was afraid he would be next.
Officer Bennett leaned over my shoulder.
“Mr. Williams, I think we need to preserve this letter.””
But I barely heard him.
Because beneath the letter was a second document.
It was a photograph of a bank transfer dated two days before my mother's death.
The recipient's name wasn't Dr. Harrison.
May you like
It was Vanessa Williams.
And the amount transferred was $75,000.
