Chapter 5
The next morning, I woke to someone screaming.
For one terrifying second, I thought Denise had returned.
I ran down the hallway and pushed open my mother's bedroom door.
Mom was sitting upright in bed.
Her hands were pressed against her ears.
"No! Please! I didn't do anything!"
I rushed to her.
"Mom! It's Marcus!"
She stared at me.
Then her expression changed.
"Oh, baby."
She began crying.
I sat beside her.
"You're safe."
She grabbed my shirt.
"I dreamed she came back."
I held her until her breathing slowed.
It broke my heart to realize that my mother was afraid inside the home where she was supposed to feel protected.
I had spent years building a successful business.
I owned a beautiful house.
I could afford vacations and expensive furniture.
But somehow, I had failed to notice my own mother was suffering a few rooms away.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
She pulled back.
"For what?"
"For not seeing it."
She touched my cheek.
"Baby, you couldn't have known everything."
"But I should have asked more questions."
She looked down.
"I was afraid you'd have to choose between us."
I shook my head.
"No one who loves me should ever force that choice."
After breakfast, Patricia called.
She'd learned the name of the physician Denise had taken Mom to see.
Dr. Leonard Price.
His office was located across town.
The appointment had been presented as a memory assessment.
But there was no complete medical evaluation in the documents Mom had brought home.
Patricia suggested we speak with an independent geriatric specialist and obtain the existing records.
We agreed immediately.
At the new appointment, Dr. Helen Brooks spoke directly to Mom.
Not to me.
Not over her head.
To her.
She asked about Mom's daily routine.
Her medications.
Her memory.
Her ability to manage ordinary decisions.
Mom was nervous at first.
But slowly, she relaxed.
She remembered my childhood birthdays.
She remembered the year my father bought their house.
She remembered her medications and explained exactly why she took them.
She even corrected me about the date my father retired.
Dr. Brooks smiled.
"Mrs. Evelyn, I think it's important that we address your pain and stress as well as your memory concerns."
Mom nodded.
The doctor recommended additional testing where appropriate, physical therapy for her back, and follow-up care.
She also documented that my mother was able to explain her wishes and understand the decisions we discussed.
When we left, Mom held my arm.
"Marcus?"
"Yes?"
"I thought maybe I really was losing my mind."
I stopped walking.
"Why?"
"Denise kept telling me I forgot things."
My chest tightened.
"What things?"
"My purse. My glasses. My medicine."
"Did she move them?"
Mom nodded slowly.
"Sometimes I'd find them in strange places."
I stared at her.
"Did you ever see her move them?"
"Once."
My heart sank.
"Where?"
"She put my glasses in the pantry. Then she told me I'd left them there."
I felt sick.
Denise had been making my mother doubt herself.
And I had mistaken the signs for ordinary aging.
That afternoon, Patricia called again.
"Marcus, I found Robert Collins's professional history."
Something in her voice alarmed me.
"What history?"
"His current credentials don't support the title he's been using. And he's been involved in previous civil disputes concerning property transactions."
I rubbed my forehead.
"Can we stop him?"
"We've submitted information to the appropriate agencies. But we need stronger evidence showing who did what."
I thought about Denise's conversations.
Her sudden secrecy.
Her strange financial habits.
Then I remembered something.
Our old home security system.
Three years earlier, I'd installed cameras near the front entrance, garage, and main hallway.
They weren't hidden.
I'd installed them after several break-ins in our neighborhood.
Denise knew they existed.
But she believed I'd stopped using them.
The old recorder had been moved into a locked cabinet in my office.
I opened the cabinet.
The device was still connected.
My heart started racing.
I checked the recordings.
Some older files had been overwritten, but several weeks remained.
I searched the dates Mom remembered.
Then I found footage from the day Robert Collins visited.
The front camera showed him arriving at eleven seventeen.
Denise opened the door.
He carried a briefcase.
They entered together.
Twenty minutes later, the hallway camera captured Denise guiding my mother toward the dining room.
Mom was wearing her cardigan.
She moved slowly.
Her glasses were absent.
Robert walked beside her.
Then Denise said something.
The audio was faint, but clear enough.
"Just sign where he points, Evelyn. Marcus already approved everything."
My skin went cold.
Mom stopped.
"I'd like to call my son."
Denise grabbed her arm.
Not violently.
But firmly enough that Mom pulled back.
"Don't bother Marcus at work. You'll only upset him."
Robert opened his briefcase.
The camera couldn't see the table.
But I could hear voices.
Mom asked another question.
Denise interrupted.
Then came the sentence I would never forget.
"If you refuse, Evelyn, Marcus may decide this arrangement isn't working."
I stopped the video.
My hands were shaking.
I called Patricia.
"I found something."
She came over that evening.
We preserved a copy of the recording and documented where it came from.
Patricia watched it twice.
Then she looked at my mother.
"Mrs. Evelyn, this supports your account of being pressured."
Mom covered her mouth.
For the first time, someone besides me had seen what happened.
Someone had heard the threat.
Patricia continued.
"We should also look for records of the money's destination."
I nodded.
That's when my phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A woman spoke quietly.
"Is this Marcus?"
"Yes."
"My name is Angela. I'm Denise's friend."
I remembered her from the living room.
"Angela?"
She sounded frightened.
"I need to talk to you."
"About what?"
She took a shaky breath.
"Denise told us your mother was confused and dangerous to herself."
I closed my eyes.
Angela continued.
"But that's not why I'm calling."
"Then why?"
"Because I saw Robert Collins give Denise a folder last month."
"What folder?"
Her voice dropped.
"It had a picture of your mother's house on the front."
I stood.
Angela began crying.
"And Marcus, there's something else."
"What?"
"Denise said she didn't have to worry about you discovering anything."
I gripped the phone.
"Why not?"
May you like
Angela whispered her answer.
"Because once the house was sold, she planned to disappear with Robert."
