Chapter 4 - THE APARTMENT HE BOUGHT WITH MY RETIREMENT
I visited the Seaport condominium on a Tuesday morning.
Daniel told me not to.
So did my surgeon.
So did common sense.
I went anyway.
I didn’t enter.
I simply sat across the street in Daniel’s car while his investigator photographed what happened.
At 9:12, Rita walked out.
At 9:19, a furniture delivery arrived.
At 9:43, workers carried in a new dining table.
At 10:08, Victor’s Mercedes pulled into the underground garage.
He had been discharged from the hospital that morning.
He did not call me first.
He went directly to her.
My body had barely healed from saving his life.
He was already furnishing the life he intended to live after me.
Something inside me became very calm.
Daniel looked at me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
That afternoon, we began preparing the divorce complaint.
Adultery mattered emotionally.
Forgery mattered legally.
Financial fraud mattered even more.
Then Priya called again.
She had discovered a power of attorney.
Dated one day before my transplant.
It supposedly gave Victor authority over my property and finances if I became “medically incapacitated.”
I had never signed it.
My forged signature appeared three times.
Two witnesses had signed beneath it.
Both worked for Victor.
The document had not yet been used publicly.
That was worse.
It meant he was saving it.
“For what?” I asked.
Daniel’s expression hardened.
“If you challenged the house transfer, he could claim you authorized him to handle your property.”
“But I didn’t.”
“We know that.”
“He knows that.”
“Yes.”
I sat back.
Then another thought came.
“What if something had gone wrong during surgery?”
Daniel said nothing.
That silence terrified me.
A power of attorney could become enormously valuable if I had suffered complications.
Victor knew I was healthy enough to donate.
But surgery was still surgery.
I stared at the document again.
Then I noticed the witness names.
One was Victor’s office manager.
The other was someone I knew.
Dr. Alan Prescott.
Not my transplant surgeon.
Our longtime family physician.
The man who had treated me for twelve years.
I called his office.
His receptionist became nervous the moment I mentioned the document.
“Dr. Prescott is unavailable.”
“When will he be available?”
“I’m not sure.”
Daniel leaned toward the speaker.
“This is attorney Daniel Mercer. Tell Dr. Prescott we need to discuss a power of attorney bearing his signature.”
Silence.
Then the receptionist whispered:
“Dr. Prescott closed his practice yesterday.”
I stared at Daniel.
“Where did he go?”
Nobody knew.
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And suddenly a financial conspiracy involving my husband and his mistress had gained something much darker.
A doctor had disappeared the day after I began asking questions.
