Chapter 5 - A SIGNATURE HE DIDN’T REMEMBEREverett called Malcolm immediately.
His brother answered cheerfully.
“Back from Seattle?”
Everett did not return the greeting.
“Did you sign a statement saying I was mentally incompetent?”
Silence.
Then Malcolm sighed.
“Margaret told you.”
“No.”
“Then Preston?”
“No.”
Another pause.
“Everett, this isn’t a phone conversation.”
“Apparently everyone in my life suddenly says that.”
“Because you sound angry.”
“I am angry.”
“That is exactly why—”
Everett hung up.
For ten minutes he stood beside his desk trying to control the urge to drive straight to Malcolm’s house.
Then he remembered Daniel.
Anger was what Margaret expected.
Maybe what she needed.
If she was building a case that Everett was unstable, shouting at his brother would become another page in it.
He called Lena instead.
“Freeze any voluntary changes to my personal accounts.”
“I can request internal flags, but if Margaret has a valid power of attorney—”
“It isn’t valid.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Not yet.”
“Then we need proof.”
Those three words became Everett’s focus.
Proof.
Not rage.
Not accusation.
Proof.
By afternoon, Daniel and Noah were in the garden under Everett’s supervision.
Margaret watched through the windows.
She had become careful.
Painfully careful.
She spoke gently.
She never raised her voice.
She offered Noah a snack.
She apologized to Daniel.
“I should never have struck you.”
Daniel stared at her.
“I’m sorry.”
He said nothing.
Margaret turned to Everett.
“I’m trying.”
Everett almost admired the performance.
Then the front gate opened.
Dr. Simon Keene arrived without being invited.
Margaret seemed surprised.
Too surprised.
Everett met him in the study.
Keene was a polished man in his early fifties who had treated Everett’s insomnia after Isabel’s death.
“I heard there was an incident.”
“From whom?”
“Margaret.”
“Of course.”
Keene sat down.
“She’s concerned.”
“So am I.”
“I think stress has been affecting you more than you realize.”
Everett watched him.
“Did you sign a statement supporting guardianship?”
Keene’s fingers stopped moving.
“I provided a medical summary.”
“Why?”
“Preston requested it.”
“Why?”
Keene looked uncomfortable.
“He said you had authorized an estate-planning review.”
“Did you speak to me?”
“No.”
“Then how did you conclude I couldn’t manage my own affairs?”
“I didn’t.”
Everett turned his laptop around.
Keene read the document.
His face changed.
“That isn’t what I wrote.”
“Your signature is on it.”
“That is my signature.”
“Then?”
Keene looked genuinely shaken.
“My letter said you had experienced insomnia, grief-related anxiety, and two episodes of temporary disorientation associated with prescription sleep medication.”
Everett leaned forward.
“It says here that I demonstrate progressive cognitive decline.”
“I never wrote that.”
“Can you prove it?”
Keene pulled out his phone.
“I keep copies of every letter.”
He found the original and emailed it.
Lena compared them.
Someone had changed six sentences.
The signature remained untouched.
Everett felt the first piece of solid ground beneath his feet.
A document had been altered.
Now there was proof.
But Keene looked troubled.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Your prescriptions.”
Everett waited.
“You told me the medication had become much stronger.”
“I told you it made me groggy.”
“Yes. I reduced the dosage three months ago.”
Everett frowned.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“I’ve been taking the same pills.”
Keene went silent.
“Show me the bottle.”
Everett went upstairs and brought it down.
Keene examined the label.
The dosage printed on it was twice what he had prescribed.
“That pharmacy label is wrong.”
Everett felt cold.
“Could that explain the confusion Margaret described?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Possibly.”
“And who has been collecting my prescriptions?”
He already knew the answer.
Margaret.
For six months, she had insisted it was easier because Everett traveled so often.
Everett looked toward the hall.
Keene lowered his voice.
“Do not take another pill from that bottle.”
Everett placed it into a drawer.
“Can you document this?”
“Yes.”
“Do it.”
After the doctor left, Everett found Margaret in the living room.
She sat beneath the enormous photograph of Isabel and the boys.
“Dr. Keene seemed upset,” she said.
“He was.”
“Did he explain your condition?”
“Yes.”
Margaret studied his face.
Everett smiled.
“He thinks I need rest.”
Her shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
“Then listen to him.”
“I will.”
He walked away.
For the first time since returning home, Everett did not want Margaret to know what he knew.
Because the question was no longer whether his wife had mistreated his children.
The question was how far she had planned to go.
And whether she had planned it alone.
That evening Lena called again.
“We traced the revised power of attorney.”
“To Preston?”
“Initially.”
“What does that mean?”
“The document was created on his office server.”
Everett waited.
“But the first draft was uploaded from an external email account.”
“Whose?”
Lena gave him the address.
Everett recognized the name embedded inside it.
Not Margaret’s.
Malcolm’s.
May you like
His brother had not simply supported the plan.
He had helped create it.
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