Chapter 12 - THE PLAN FOR THE DAY AFTER MY FUNERAL
I read the funeral plan before I read the asset list.
That was a mistake.
Victor had drafted instructions.
Private service.
No public viewing.
My parents’ cemetery.
White lilies.
He had even chosen a charity for donations.
For ten seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
Then I understood.
The document was not proof he intended to kill me.
People undergoing major surgery sometimes prepare for death.
Spouses plan.
Hospitals encourage practical conversations.
If the funeral instructions had existed alone, they might have been sad rather than sinister.
But they didn’t exist alone.
They sat beside forged financial transfers.
A false guardianship petition.
A fake power of attorney.
A fraudulent beneficiary form.
And instructions to immediately execute the Brookline sale after my death.
Victor had prepared to profit from either outcome.
If I survived, he would use my kidney and divorce me.
If I died, he would use my estate.
That distinction mattered legally.
It mattered morally too.
Federal investigators could prove fraud.
They could not prove attempted murder.
I refused to claim something the evidence didn’t support.
Victor had done enough without inventing more.
Rita accepted a cooperation agreement.
She admitted everything.
The deed.
The phone access.
The bank transfer.
The fake insurance form.
The Carver deposit.
She would still face consequences, but her testimony made Victor’s position collapse.
Melissa Crane was arrested in Rhode Island.
Dr. Prescott agreed to testify.
The Carvers recovered most of their deposit from frozen accounts.
And the county formally voided the forged deed.
Brookline was mine.
It had always been mine.
Then Victor requested mediation.
Not criminal.
Divorce.
I agreed.
We sat across from each other in a conference room.
He looked older.
The transplant had saved his body.
Everything else had fallen apart.
He pushed a settlement proposal toward me.
He would surrender claims to our joint retirement account.
Release any interest in the house.
Repay stolen funds from the sale of his remaining business assets.
No contest on divorce.
I read it once.
Then I looked at him.
“You’re giving me things that were already mine.”
His face tightened.
“I’m trying to make this easier.”
“No.”
I slid it back.
“For twenty-two years, I made things easier for you.”
Silence.
“This part can be difficult.”
His attorney looked uncomfortable.
Victor whispered:
“Sarah, I do love you.”
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“You loved being cared for.”
He closed his eyes.
“That isn’t the same thing.”
When I stood to leave, he said:
“If you had known about Rita before the surgery, would you still have given me the kidney?”
I stopped.
May you like
That question followed me home.
And for the first time, I realized the answer mattered far more to me than it ever would to Victor.
