Chapter 3 - THE DEAD MAN ON THE ACCOUNT
Thomas Vale had died in Arizona.
That was what the family believed.
Massive stroke.
No recovery.
Cremation.
Marcus had attended the memorial.
So had Eleanor.
Now a private bank claimed Thomas had been communicating with them seventeen months ago.
“Could this be identity theft?” Eleanor asked.
Naomi nodded.
“Absolutely.”
“Then why does this feel worse?”
Because everyone at the table understood the same thing.
Dead names were useful.
Dead people did not complain when signatures appeared.
Dead people did not answer investigators.
Marcus sat back down slowly.
“I didn’t know about Thomas.”
Eleanor studied him.
“Should I believe you?”
“For once, yes.”
Brielle laughed bitterly.
“Don’t pretend you’re innocent.”
Marcus turned.
“What does that mean?”
She immediately looked away.
Wrong move.
Marcus leaned closer.
“What does that mean?”
Brielle whispered:
“You knew about the competency petition.”
Eleanor’s pulse slowed.
“What petition?”
Nobody answered.
Then Marcus said:
“It was never filed.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“What petition?”
He rubbed one hand across his face.
“Temporary guardianship.”
The restaurant seemed to shrink.
“You tried to put me under guardianship?”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“Calvin suggested it.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
“Why?”
“He said if your memory got worse, we needed protection in place.”
“My memory is not worse.”
Brielle muttered:
“You repeat yourself.”
Eleanor turned.
“So does everyone when no one answers the first time.”
Naomi almost smiled.
Marcus looked ashamed.
“We never filed.”
“But you prepared documents.”
“Yes.”
“Medical evidence?”
Silence.
Eleanor’s stomach tightened.
“What medical evidence?”
Marcus looked toward Brielle.
Again.
Brielle looked furious.
Naomi noticed.
“So there was a doctor.”
Marcus said:
“Dr. Webb.”
Eleanor knew him.
Her longtime primary care physician.
He had asked strange questions during her last appointment.
Date.
Location.
Names.
Simple memory tests Eleanor found insulting.
He told her it was routine.
Apparently not.
“What did he write?”
Marcus looked at the table.
“That you showed signs of cognitive decline.”
Eleanor felt something colder than anger.
She was seventy.
She forgot where she placed keys.
She occasionally walked into rooms and forgot why.
Normal things.
Someone had turned normal aging into legal ammunition.
Naomi removed a copied report.
“Dr. Webb documented moderate impairment.”
“That’s false.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because two weeks later you completed a full independent neuropsychological evaluation.”
Eleanor stared.
She remembered.
Her own attorney—different from Calvin—had suggested it after she noticed unusual financial documents.
Results:
No dementia.
No significant cognitive impairment.
Above-average executive function.
Marcus looked surprised.
“You got tested?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Eleanor almost laughed.
“Because I suspected my son was preparing to steal my legal capacity.”
That shut him up.
One detective asked:
“Do you know Dr. Webb’s relationship to Calvin Ross?”
Eleanor shook her head.
Naomi answered.
“College roommates.”
Of course.
Another connection.
Another trusted person inside the circle.
Eleanor looked at Marcus.
“How many people did you involve?”
“I told you, Calvin handled it.”
“Convenient.”
“It’s true.”
Brielle snapped:
“He handled everything because Marcus couldn’t.”
Marcus turned slowly.
“What did you say?”
Brielle immediately regretted it.
Eleanor leaned forward.
“Finish that sentence.”
Brielle said nothing.
Naomi’s phone buzzed again.
She looked at the detectives.
Then Eleanor.
“Police found Calvin’s car.”
“Where?”
“Near Lake Briar.”
Marcus went pale.
“What about Calvin?”
“No sign of him.”
“Blood?”
“No.”
“Then maybe he ran.”
Naomi shook her head.
“There was something in the trunk.”
Everyone waited.
“A portable document shredder.”
Eleanor felt her stomach turn.
“And?”
“Bags of shredded records.”
Marcus whispered:
“What records?”
Naomi looked directly at him.
“Guardianship drafts.”
Brielle closed her eyes.
Then Naomi added:
“And one partially shredded life insurance policy.”
Eleanor stared.
“Whose?”
May you like
Naomi’s voice dropped.
“Yours.”
