Chapter 3 - SHE’S BEEN SAYING I’M LOSING MY MIND
Tessa Morgan answered on the fourth ring.
“Hello?”
“Tessa. It’s Grant Ashford.”
Silence.
Then:
“You’re home.”
He looked at Brooke.
“How do you know?”
“Marlene texted me.”
Grant turned toward his mother.
“You have another phone?”
Marlene looked embarrassed.
“A prepaid.”
Brooke stared.
Marlene continued.
“Tessa gave it to me before she left.”
Brooke laughed bitterly.
“There. Secret phones. Secret letters. And I’m supposedly the manipulative one.”
Grant raised a hand.
“Tessa, can we meet?”
“Not at your house.”
“Why?”
Another silence.
“I don’t trust Brooke.”
Brooke stood.
“This is insane.”
Grant ignored her.
“Where?”
Tessa named a coffee shop near SouthPark.
Grant looked at the clock.
Almost seven.
“Thirty minutes.”
He ended the call.
Brooke stepped between him and the foyer.
“You’re leaving your mother alone after what happened?”
Grant looked at her.
“With you?”
The words landed.
Brooke recoiled.
“I did not hurt her.”
“You had a rope in your hand.”
“She had a panic episode.”
Marlene whispered:
“I was kneeling because she ordered me to.”
Brooke turned.
“And why would I do that?”
Marlene looked at Grant.
“Because I said no.”
“To what?”
“The last paper.”
Grant froze.
“What last paper?”
Marlene shook her head.
“I don’t know the name.”
Brooke said:
“She’s making this up.”
Grant looked at his mother.
“What did it do?”
“It moved money.”
Brooke closed her eyes.
Marlene continued.
“She said it would make things easier.”
“What money?”
“My investment account.”
Grant knew which.
His father had left Marlene a professionally managed portfolio.
Roughly two million originally.
Probably more now.
Grant had never monitored it because it was hers.
Brooke stepped forward.
“She wanted help simplifying her finances.”
Marlene looked at her.
“I wanted Grant to see it.”
“And I told you he’s busy.”
“You told me if I bothered him again, he might lose the Atlanta position.”
Grant felt something cold move through him.
“Did you say that?”
Brooke stared.
“I may have said you were under pressure.”
“Did you tell her I could lose my job because of her?”
“I was exhausted.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Brooke looked away.
Grant called Claire.
His sister answered immediately.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Did Brooke tell you Mom was having cognitive problems?”
Pause.
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“March? Maybe February.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Claire’s voice changed.
“I thought you knew.”
Grant closed his eyes.
“What exactly did she say?”
“That Mom was becoming forgetful. Paranoid. That she might need an evaluation.”
“Did Mom say anything to you?”
“She kept saying Brooke wouldn’t let her talk privately.”
Grant opened his eyes.
“And you didn’t think that was strange?”
“I did.”
“Claire.”
“I called Brooke.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom was living with her.”
Grant rubbed his forehead.
“What did Brooke say?”
“That Mom had started imagining people were against her.”
A pattern.
Every accusation Marlene made became proof of impairment.
Grant asked:
“Did Mom call you at night?”
“Once. She said her door was stuck and Brooke wouldn’t answer.”
Brooke shouted:
“The latch jammed!”
Claire heard.
“You’re home?”
“Yes.”
“Grant, what’s happening?”
He looked at the rope.
“I don’t know yet.”
He ended the call after promising to call back.
Then he contacted a neighbor, Mrs. Wynn.
Same story.
Brooke had warned her gently that Marlene “wasn’t always herself.”
The physical therapist.
Same.
Brooke had asked if Marlene showed confusion.
A church friend.
Same.
Concern.
Repeated.
Distributed.
Grant began seeing architecture.
Not proof of a conspiracy.
But a narrative being built everywhere he wasn’t looking.
He drove to meet Tessa while Claire came over to stay with Marlene.
Brooke remained in the house under Grant’s explicit instruction not to leave until they clarified property and evidence issues.
Legally, he could not imprison her.
He did not try.
He simply told her:
“If you leave, take only personal essentials and tell me where you are going. My lawyer will contact yours.”
Brooke stared.
“Your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“So our marriage is in litigation now?”
“Our marriage is in a room with a rope.”
That silenced her.
Tessa sat at the back of the coffee shop.
Forty-eight.
Practical haircut.
Dark sweatshirt.
No makeup.
She looked like someone who had spent years entering homes where families preferred appearances to truth.
Grant sat.
“Tell me.”
She did not.
She asked:
“Do you believe your mother?”
“I believe I saw something.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Grant looked at her.
“I’m trying.”
Tessa nodded.
“Fair.”
She pulled out her phone.
“Brooke fired me May second.”
“For stealing.”
“That’s what she told the agency.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes. The item she claimed disappeared was Marlene’s pearl bracelet. Marlene gave it to Brooke three days later when she found it in Brooke’s dressing drawer.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“Why did Brooke fire you?”
“Because I interrupted a meeting.”
“With Caleb Voss?”
Tessa looked surprised.
“You found him.”
“What happened?”
“Brooke told me Marlene was doing estate planning. I walked into the dining room and Marlene was crying.”
“Why?”
“There were documents in front of her.”
“What documents?”
“I couldn’t see all of them. One said Durable Power of Attorney.”
Grant’s stomach tightened.
“Who was named?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Marlene sign?”
“One page.”
“Voluntarily?”
Tessa thought.
“That’s complicated.”
“Why?”
“Brooke wasn’t holding her hand. Nobody physically forced her.”
“Then?”
“Marlene kept saying, ‘I need to ask Grant.’”
Grant closed his eyes.
Tessa continued.
“Brooke said, ‘If Grant has to come home because you can’t handle basic decisions, he could lose the partnership.’”
Grant looked at her sharply.
“What did Caleb do?”
“He said they could postpone.”
“Good.”
Tessa nodded.
“But Brooke said they already postponed twice.”
“Did Caleb push?”
“No.”
That mattered.
“He looked uncomfortable.”
“What happened next?”
“Marlene signed one page.”
Grant felt sick.
Tessa opened her phone.
“I took a picture before Brooke caught me.”
She showed him.
Dining table.
Marlene seated.
Brooke standing behind her.
A man Grant assumed was Caleb Voss opposite.
The visible document header:
DURABLE POWER OF ATTORNEY.
Another document beneath:
FIDUCIARY SUCCESSOR DESIGNATION.
Grant zoomed in.
The bottom of one page showed Marlene’s signature.
He whispered:
“Send me this.”
“I already sent it to your mother.”
“Why?”
“So she had proof.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Tessa looked at him.
“I did.”
Grant stared.
“When?”
“May third.”
“I never got it.”
“I left voicemail.”
He searched his phone.
Nothing.
Tessa gave him the number she called.
Correct.
Grant checked blocked voicemail.
Then remembered Brooke had set up a shared spam-management service on their family plan after his number began receiving robocalls.
He had given her administrator access.
Tessa continued:
“Two hours after I called, Brooke called me.”
Grant’s chest tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That if I contacted you again, she would report me to the licensing board for exploiting a vulnerable adult.”
“Did that scare you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because accusations stick. Home-care workers don’t have family lawyers.”
Grant looked down.
Power again.
Different scale.
Tessa handed him another item.
A printed screenshot.
Text from Marlene:
Brooke says I’m losing my mind because I asked where my bank statement went.
Another:
She says Grant agrees I need someone managing money.
Grant stared.
“I never said that.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because Marlene asked me to call you and confirm.”
Grant’s hands tightened.
“And I didn’t answer.”
“You didn’t know.”
“That’s becoming an excuse.”
Tessa softened.
“Maybe. But the question is what you do after knowing.”
Grant looked at her.
That sentence stayed.
He asked:
“How long?”
“How long what?”
“How long has Brooke been doing this?”
Tessa leaned back.
“I only worked there since February.”
“And?”
“Since February, I saw enough to worry.”
“Was she always cruel?”
“No.”
Grant looked up.
Tessa continued.
“That’s important.”
“How?”
“She could be kind. She arranged Marlene’s physical therapy. She cooked special meals. Sat with her during bad nights.”
Grant listened.
“Then something changed.”
“When?”
“Late March.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Money?”
“Maybe.”
Tessa hesitated.
“She started asking a lot about Marlene’s trust.”
There.
Grant felt pieces align.
“What questions?”
“Who controls it. Whether Grant is beneficiary. Whether Marlene can appoint someone else.”
“Did Mom answer?”
“She said finances were private.”
“And Brooke?”
“She smiled.”
Tessa looked away.
“The next day she started a new incident log.”
Grant sat very still.
Not spontaneous cruelty.
Not caregiver burnout alone.
A timeline.
A turning point.
Something had made Marlene’s finances suddenly important.
Grant asked:
“Do you know anyone named Evan Mercer?”
Tessa frowned.
“No.”
Grant didn’t either.
Not yet.
He would soon.
Because while he was meeting Tessa, Claire found a stack of envelopes hidden behind a drawer in Brooke’s office.
All addressed to one man.
EVAN MERCER.
Brooke’s older brother.
May you like
And inside the most recent envelope was a cashier’s check for $35,000.
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