Chapter 7
My father had not been incompetent.
He was seventy-one, sharp, stubborn, and still beating me at crossword puzzles until the week he died.
Yet Rosehill Memory Care had billed his estate for consultations.
Three of them.
All signed by Dr. Alan Pierce.
All requested by Victor.
One report claimed my father showed “progressive confusion” and “paranoid suspicion toward family members.”
Family members.
That meant Linda.
Victor.
Ryan.
The report was dated two weeks before Dad died.
The same week he called me and said, “Sweetheart, if I ask you to come home suddenly, don’t tell Ryan first.”
I thought he sounded tired.
I told Ryan.
Ryan told Linda.
Dad died before he called again.
My hands went numb as Nora laid the timeline in front of me.
Megan whispered, “They isolated him too.”
Detective Harris reopened questions about my father’s death.
At first, I thought that was impossible.
He had a heart attack.
There were records.
There was a death certificate.
But then Harris found the medication changes.
Dr. Pierce had prescribed a drug my father should never have taken with his heart condition.
Victor picked it up.
Linda signed as “family caregiver.”
I ran to the bathroom and threw up.
When I came back, Nora’s face was grim.
“Emily, this may be bigger than theft.”
I looked at my father’s letter.
Trust your instincts before anyone’s explanations.
My instinct screamed.
May you like
Linda had not started with me.
She had started with my father.
