Small enough not to notice.
Consistent enough to be a payroll.
Small enough not to notice.
I walked upstairs to his office.
It was locked, of course.
But I’d seen a shiny new key tucked away in the back of the junk drawer a few weeks ago.
I tried it now… and it worked.
I slipped inside.
Whatever David was keeping from me wasn’t going to stay a secret for much longer.
It worked.
Inside the top drawer of David’s desk, I found a manila folder.
I sat down on his leather chair because my legs would not hold me.
There was a notebook.
Dated entries.
At first I thought they were all about me, but then I noticed something.
Tuesday, 6:47 PM. Subject stopped at wine store on Elm. Purchased two bottles. Appeared unsteady exiting.
There was a notebook.
I had not stopped at any wine store.
I had driven straight home from work that Tuesday.
Marcus had never sent him this.
I remembered what Marcus had said about how David got angry when Marcus told him I appeared normal.
David was writing his own observations now, filling in what the boy refused to see.
Marcus had never sent him this.
Behind the notebook, printed text messages.
Marcus’s number.
Photos of me at the grocery store, at the pharmacy, at a stoplight.
There was a letter from a law firm.
Petition for guardianship on grounds of diminished capacity.
Draft copy.
My name typed neatly across the top.
And right at the bottom, I uncovered the reason for David’s scheming.
A letter from a law firm
There was a property appraisal for the cabin at the lake.
Behind it was a revised purchase offer.
Clipped to that was a printed email.
Once a guardian is appointed, any proposed sale of separately owned real property would require court approval.
The medical documentation must clearly establish that your wife is no longer capable of managing the property herself.
Clipped to that was a printed email.
I photographed every page.
I put everything back exactly where I had found it.
Then I called Karen.
“I need you to be my lawyer. Not my friend. Today.”
I told her everything.
I told her everything.
“Do not go home and confront him,” she said. “Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.”
“He has been building this for months. You are going to be smarter than he is for one more week.”
***
I met Marcus at a diner off the highway on Thursday.
“He texted me this morning,” Marcus said. “He wants a specific report for Saturday.”
“You are going to be smarter than he is.”
“What kind of report?”
“He said if I see you at a restaurant, I should photograph you looking confused. Or, you know. Drinking too much. He said he’d pay extra.”
I felt something cold and clear settle into my chest.
“Saturday,” I repeated.
“He said it would be somewhere public. He said his wife has been drinking again and someone needs to document it.”
“What kind of report?”
“Did he say where?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Just that he’d handle the where. I was supposed to wait for an address.”
“Marcus,” I said carefully, “would you be willing to talk to my lawyer?”
He looked up at me.
The guilt was still there, but underneath it, something steadier.
“Would you be willing to talk to my lawyer?”
“He reminded me of my dad,” Marcus said. “My real dad. Same voice when he lied.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’ll talk to her. I’ll say whatever I need to say.”
***
