Chapter 9 - THOSE PILLS WERE NOT HISPreston arrived at eight-thirty.
He looked irritated until Everett put the pharmacy report in front of him.
Then irritation disappeared.
“What is this?”
“My medication organizer contained two pills that are not mine.”
Preston read.
His face changed.
“Who put them there?”
Everett watched him.
“I hoped you could tell me.”
Preston looked up sharply.
“You think I did this?”
“I think you prepared documents designed to transfer control from me while telling people I was becoming confused.”
“That is not the same as drugging you.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Everett did not respond.
Preston shoved the paper away.
“I never touched your medication.”
“Did Celia?”
His son went still.
Everett saw the answer before Preston spoke.
“I don’t know.”
“Have you ever seen her near it?”
“She lives here half the week. Everyone has been near it.”
“Did she know where Lorraine kept it?”
Preston stood.
“I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Letting you turn my wife into some criminal because a bird said a sentence.”
“A lab identified medication that was not mine.”
“I know.”
“Security logs place Celia upstairs at one in the morning.”
“She explained that.”
“Badly.”
Preston paced.
Everett let him.
Finally Preston stopped.
“What exactly do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You keep saying that like we all have one hidden somewhere.”
Everett leaned forward.
“You do.”
Preston stared.
“You moved company money without authorization.”
“That is being addressed.”
“You planned to get my signature without telling me the full context.”
“I admitted that.”
“You fed concerns about my competence to lawyers.”
“I panicked.”
“And your wife entered my private floor at one in the morning.”
Preston looked away.
Everett lowered his voice.
“If you want me to believe you did not know about the medication, help me find who did.”
His son’s face tightened.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It is a choice.”
Silence.
Then Preston sat again.
“What do you need?”
“Everything.”
“Meaning?”
“Your messages with Celia about my birthday. Your messages with Julian Mercer. Every document related to Blue Heron. Every conversation with any lawyer about my capacity.”
Preston rubbed his face.
“That could expose me legally.”
Everett stared.
“Yes.”
Preston looked at him.
For the first time, Everett saw fear.
Not fear of losing money.
Fear of consequences.
“I’ll talk to my lawyer.”
“You should.”
Preston stood.
At the door, he stopped.
“Dad.”
Everett waited.
“I really didn’t touch your medication.”
“I hope that’s true.”
After Preston left, security called.
The cloud backup had been recovered.
Everett went immediately to the monitoring room.
The footage was grainy but clear enough.
1:16 a.m.
The upstairs hallway was empty.
1:17.
Celia appeared.
She was barefoot, carrying nothing.
She walked past the linen closet without stopping.
Everett’s pulse increased.
She went toward his bedroom corridor.
The camera did not cover the final ten feet.
Four minutes later, she returned.
Still carrying nothing.
Then she went downstairs.
Everett said, “Keep going.”
At 1:38, Celia reappeared on a lower camera near the side entrance.
She opened the door.
A man stepped inside.
Dark coat.
Tall.
His face turned toward the camera for less than a second.
Everett froze the image.
“Zoom.”
The security manager did.
Everett recognized him.
Julian Mercer.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
The footage continued.
Celia touched Julian’s arm.
They spoke.
No audio.
Then both moved toward the study hall.
Everett felt anger burn behind his eyes.
“Do we have cameras there?”
“Not inside the study.”
“Of course not.”
The manager switched angles.
Thirty minutes later, Julian left through the same side door.
Celia watched him go.
Then stood alone for several seconds.
She leaned against the door.
And smiled.
Everett stared at the screen.
That smile changed something.
It was not the expression of a frightened daughter-in-law helping her husband through a crisis.
It looked intimate.
Secretive.
Satisfied.
Everett called Samuel.
“I need everything you can find connecting Celia and Julian.”
“How fast?”
“Now.”
Then he called Preston.
His son answered.
“What?”
Everett looked at the frozen image.
“You need to come back.”
“I just left.”
“Come back.”
“Why?”
Everett paused.
“Because your wife let Julian Mercer into my house at one-thirty in the morning.”
Silence.
Preston’s voice changed.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Another silence.
May you like
Then:
“I’m on my way.”
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