Chapter 13 - Margaret's Real PlanMargaret's second statement was worse than the first.
Not legally.
Emotionally.
Detective Morales explained it the following morning.
Margaret admitted putting the substance in Emily's food.
She admitted knowing it could make someone violently ill.
She denied knowing it could affect pregnancy.
Her goal, she claimed, was simple:
Make Emily sick enough to cancel Eleanor's appointment.
Ryan stared at the detective.
"That's her defense?"
"It's her explanation."
Emily sat with both hands around a glass of water.
"Did she say why she couldn't just ask Eleanor to postpone?"
"Because she believed Eleanor had already decided to revoke the power of attorney."
Eleanor laughed bitterly.
"I had."
Morales continued.
"Margaret says she needed approximately seventy-two hours."
"For what?" Ryan asked.
"To secure emergency financing for Lone Star."
"Using Grandma's assets."
"She says she intended to use her own expected inheritance as collateral."
Eleanor's expression became furious.
"Expected inheritance."
Emily looked toward her.
Eleanor stood.
"That woman has been spending my death for years."
Ryan closed his eyes.
"Grandma."
"No."
Eleanor's voice shook.
"I am done making this gentle."
The room fell silent.
She turned toward Detective Morales.
"What happens now?"
"I can't give you legal advice, but the financial investigation is expanding."
"And the food?"
"Charges will be determined by prosecutors based on evidence and medical findings."
Emily hated how clinical it sounded.
But she also understood why.
Real justice was paperwork.
Interviews.
Tests.
Not dramatic speeches in kitchens.
Morales looked toward Emily.
"We need to ask one more thing."
"Okay."
"Did Margaret ever give you food or drinks that made you ill before?"
Emily thought.
"No."
Then stopped.
Ryan saw it.
"What?"
"Maybe."
Emily searched her memory.
Three weeks earlier.
Margaret had made tea.
Emily had developed terrible nausea afterward.
She had assumed pregnancy.
"Tea."
Ryan's face changed.
"When?"
"Three weeks ago."
"What happened?"
"I threw up."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was pregnant."
"Emily."
"I throw up because a commercial makes me sad."
Despite everything, Eleanor almost smiled.
Emily continued.
"I didn't think anything of it."
Morales wrote it down.
"Anything else?"
Emily shook her head.
Then Eleanor spoke.
"She gave me tea too."
Everyone turned.
"When?" Ryan asked.
"Often."
Emily looked at her.
"Did it ever make you sick?"
"No."
"Sleepy?"
Eleanor hesitated.
Ryan went still.
"Grandma."
"Sometimes."
Morales's pen stopped.
"How sleepy?"
"I don't know."
"Did you lose time?"
"No."
"Feel confused?"
Eleanor looked frightened.
"Occasionally."
Ryan stood.
"Mom was drugging Grandma too?"
Morales held up a hand.
"We don't know that."
Ryan paced.
Emily watched Eleanor.
The old woman looked suddenly vulnerable.
Not because of age.
Because she was reviewing every cup of tea her daughter-in-law had ever handed her.
"Why would she do that?" Emily asked.
Eleanor whispered:
"Papers."
Ryan stopped.
"What?"
"Sometimes Margaret brought papers after dinner."
"What kind?"
"Bank forms."
"And you signed them?"
"Sometimes."
Emily felt cold.
Margaret may not have forged every signature.
She may have obtained some from an impaired Eleanor who didn't fully understand what she was signing.
Morales closed her notebook.
"We need to know this."
Eleanor nodded.
"I'll tell you everything I remember."
After the detective left, Ryan sat beside his grandmother.
"You're not staying here alone again."
Eleanor looked offended.
"I'm not helpless."
"I didn't say you were."
"You sounded like it."
Ryan took her hand.
"I'm saying someone you trusted may have used that trust against you."
Eleanor looked toward Emily.
"Like all of us."
Emily nodded.
No shame.
That mattered.
By afternoon, Samuel Porter had emergency documents ready.
Margaret's power of attorney was revoked.
Banks were notified.
Credit frozen.
Property filings challenged.
Patricia Wells, the notary, had stopped answering calls.
Police were trying to locate her.
Ryan and Emily moved Eleanor's medication, financial records, and identification into a secure location.
For the first time in years, Margaret had no access.
At six that evening, Ryan received a call from Rebecca.
"We found Patricia."
"Where?"
"At the airport."
Ryan stood.
"Leaving?"
"Attempting to."
"Where was she going?"
"Mexico."
Emily stared.
"Why?"
Rebecca answered:
"Because somebody wired her fifty thousand dollars yesterday."
Ryan's jaw tightened.
"Mom?"
"No."
That surprised everyone.
"Who?"
"The wire came from Lone Star Development Partners."
Ryan frowned.
"Mom controls Lone Star."
"Not alone."
Rebecca paused.
"There is another managing member."
"Who?"
A name.
GREGORY VALE.
Ryan looked blank.
Emily didn't.
"What?" he asked.
She stared at him.
"I know that name."
"From where?"
Emily's pulse quickened.
"Margaret's purse."
Ryan frowned.
Emily remembered the hospital night.
When Ryan searched Margaret's purse, he had pulled out the bottle.
But beneath it had been a business card.
She had only seen it for a second.
GREGORY VALE — PRIVATE CAPITAL.
May you like
Margaret hadn't acted alone financially.
And whoever Gregory Vale was, he was paying people to disappear.
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