Chapter 2
"Mom, give me the bottle."
Marcus spoke gently, but his face was tight with fear.
I looked down at the empty glass bottle in my hand.
Then I placed it on the champagne table.
Vanessa stood in front of us, soaked in wine.
Her makeup had begun running.
She looked furious.
"You assaulted me!"
I stared at her.
"And you tried to make everyone believe I destroyed your property."
Marcus stepped between us.
"Both of you, stop."
I looked at him.
For a moment, I was afraid he would do what he always did.
Ask me to leave.
Tell me to calm down.
Promise to discuss everything another day.
But then he turned toward Vanessa.
"I watched you push the rack."
She stopped breathing.
"Marcus—"
"Don't."
His voice was firm.
"I saw it."
A few guests began whispering.
Adrian appeared beside the hallway.
He looked toward Vanessa.
Then toward the camera.
His expression changed.
I noticed immediately.
So did Marcus.
"Adrian," my son said. "Where were you when this happened?"
Adrian forced a laugh.
"Talking to investors."
I shook my head.
"You were standing beside Vanessa ten minutes ago."
He looked at me coldly.
"Mrs. Brooks, perhaps you should sit down."
Something about his tone made my stomach tighten.
He spoke to me as though I were a troublesome child.
I lifted my chin.
"I'm perfectly capable of standing."
Marcus looked toward the guests.
"Everyone, I'm sorry. The party is over."
Vanessa gasped.
"You can't be serious!"
He ignored her.
He asked the staff to help guests leave safely and keep everyone away from the broken glass.
Then he called the building's security manager.
I watched Adrian whisper something to Vanessa.
She shook her head sharply.
Marcus noticed.
"Nobody leaves until we preserve the camera recordings."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"You can't detain people, Marcus."
My son stared at him.
"You're right. But I'm asking everyone involved to cooperate."
Adrian crossed his arms.
"I have nothing to hide."
I wondered why he looked so frightened.
Twenty minutes later, the penthouse was almost empty.
The cleaning staff had isolated the broken glass.
A security employee helped Marcus access the relevant recordings.
Vanessa sat on the cream sofa with a towel around her shoulders.
Adrian remained near the elevator.
I sat beside Marcus.
The first recording showed Vanessa pushing the wine rack.
There was no question.
She had done it deliberately.
Marcus watched in silence.
Then he turned toward her.
"Why?"
Vanessa began crying.
"I lost my temper."
I shook my head.
"That's not what happened."
She glared at me.
"You poured wine over my head!"
I nodded.
"I did, and I shouldn't have answered your cruelty that way."
Marcus looked surprised.
I continued.
"But I will not accept responsibility for something you staged."
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
Then Marcus played the recording from fifteen minutes earlier.
My heart began pounding.
Vanessa and Adrian stood beside the wine rack.
The camera had no usable sound.
But it clearly showed Adrian handing her a folded document.
She read it.
Then looked toward the doorway.
A minute later, I entered the frame.
Marcus leaned forward.
"What document?"
Adrian shrugged.
"Business paperwork."
I stared at him.
"Then show us."
He said nothing.
Marcus looked toward Vanessa.
"Where is it?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"I threw it away."
I felt cold.
Because I knew exactly what she had been holding.
Earlier that evening, I had seen an identical paper inside her open handbag.
The heading read:
PETITION FOR EMERGENCY CONSERVATORSHIP.
My name appeared beneath it.
I looked at Marcus.
"Your wife wants a court to declare me incapable of managing my own affairs."
The room became silent.
Marcus stared at me.
"What?"
Vanessa stood immediately.
"That's ridiculous."
I looked directly at her.
"Then why did I see my name on those papers?"
She began crying again.
"Evelyn, you're confused."
There it was.
The word she used whenever I asked questions.
Confused.
Forgetful.
Unstable.
Marcus slowly turned toward her.
"Are there legal papers about my mother?"
Vanessa didn't answer.
Adrian stepped forward.
"Marcus, this is a misunderstanding."
My son shook his head.
"No."
He stood.
"I want to see everything."
Vanessa stared at him.
"You don't trust me?"
Marcus's jaw tightened.
"Not right now."
For the first time, she had no answer.
I reached into my evening bag.
Then I removed a folded photograph.
It showed a document I'd discovered two days earlier.
A property transfer authorization.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
But I hadn't signed it.
Marcus studied the photograph.
His face went pale.
"Mom, what is this?"
I swallowed.
"That's what I've been trying to ask you."
He stared at the signature.
Then whispered, "This document transferred the Monroe Street building."
I nodded.
That building had belonged to James and me for twenty-seven years.
It housed several small businesses.
The rental income paid my living expenses.
It was also supposed to provide support for our grandchildren.
Marcus looked toward Vanessa.
"Did you arrange this?"
She began crying.
"I was helping with estate matters."
I shook my head.
"Without telling the owner?"
Marcus turned toward Adrian.
"Did you prepare the transfer?"
Adrian's face hardened.
"I don't answer legal questions without counsel."
Marcus slowly lowered the paper.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he looked at me.
"Mom, why didn't you tell me sooner?"
I felt tears gathering.
"I tried."
He closed his eyes.
I continued.
"Three times."
My voice broke.
"Every time, you told me Vanessa had everything under control."
Marcus covered his face.
I watched his shoulders begin shaking.
For years, my son had trusted his wife.
Now he was beginning to understand what that trust had cost us.
But before he could speak, Vanessa's phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
I saw the name.
Dr. Benjamin Carter.
I recognized it.
He was the physician who had supposedly examined me for memory problems two months earlier.
There was only one problem.
I had never met him.
Vanessa rejected the call.
Then she looked toward me.
Her face was white.
And I knew the forged property document was connected to something far worse.
May you like
Someone had been creating a medical history for me.
A medical history that wasn't mine.
