Chapter 2
The ambulance arrived seven minutes after I called.
Those seven minutes felt longer than the thirty-six years I'd been alive.
I kept one arm around my mother while watching my father's breathing.
Vanessa stood near the kitchen entrance.
She hadn't spoken since mentioning the basement.
Every few seconds, she glanced toward the hallway.
I knew she wanted to leave.
But I wasn't going to chase her.
My parents needed me more.
When the paramedics entered, I explained everything.
My father's unusual drowsiness.
The unmarked medicine bottle.
My mother's restrained ankle.
The spilled food.
The threats.
One paramedic examined Dad while another checked Mom.
I handed over the medicine container.
"Please make sure the hospital knows about this."
The paramedic nodded.
"We'll document what you've told us."
Dad was placed carefully onto a stretcher.
He opened his eyes for a moment.
"Marcus?"
I leaned close.
"I'm here, Dad."
His fingers moved weakly toward mine.
"Don't let her..."
His voice faded.
I squeezed his hand.
"Don't worry about anything right now. Just get better."
Mom began crying again.
I helped her sit.
A paramedic examined the red mark around her ankle.
She asked whether Mom was in pain.
Mom nodded.
Then whispered, "I'm sorry."
I stared at her.
"Sorry for what?"
She looked down.
"For causing trouble."
My heart broke.
I knelt in front of her.
"Mom, you haven't caused anything."
Her lips trembled.
"Vanessa said you would be angry."
I closed my eyes.
"Never at you."
She finally looked at me.
"Promise?"
I took her hands.
"Promise."
The paramedics transported Dad to the hospital.
Mom went too because of her ankle injury and exhaustion.
I followed in my car after giving the responding officers a statement.
Vanessa was still at the house when they arrived.
She immediately began crying.
She claimed my mother had become aggressive.
She said she'd used the chain to stop Mom from hurting herself.
I stared at her.
My mother had spent her entire life helping people.
She volunteered at church.
Cooked meals for neighbors.
Read stories to children at the library.
And now Vanessa was claiming she needed to be chained to furniture for everyone's safety.
The officer listened without drawing immediate conclusions.
He photographed the chain.
The dining room.
The medicine bottle's location.
The red mark on Mom's ankle.
Then he asked me whether there were security cameras.
I remembered the system I'd installed two years earlier.
One camera covered the front entrance.
Another covered the garage.
And a third covered the downstairs hallway.
None pointed directly into the dining room.
But the hallway camera might show movement toward the basement.
I gave the officer that information.
He told me investigators would review what could lawfully be obtained.
Vanessa looked terrified.
At the hospital, Mom was taken for examination.
Dad was admitted for further testing.
The emergency physician explained that several conditions could cause severe drowsiness in an older adult.
Medication effects were one possibility.
So were infection, dehydration, metabolic problems, and other medical issues.
They couldn't determine the cause immediately.
I appreciated that honesty.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the unmarked bottle.
Why had Vanessa transferred his tablets into a plain container?
Why did Mom believe she'd been giving him something unusual?
And why was Vanessa so afraid of the basement?
I sat beside Dad's hospital bed.
His eyes were closed.
A monitor beeped softly.
I remembered him teaching me to swim.
I was seven.
Terrified of the deep end.
He stood in the pool with his arms open.
"Jump, son. I've got you."
I trusted him.
Now he was the one who needed protecting.
And I hadn't been there.
I covered my face.
For months, I'd been working twelve-hour days.
My construction company had won a major commercial project.
I thought the long hours were helping everyone.
I was paying for the house.
Mom's medical appointments.
Dad's prescriptions.
Everything.
Vanessa repeatedly told me she'd handle things at home.
I believed her.
I thanked her.
I even sent her flowers.
Now I wondered what had happened every day while I was gone.
My phone rang.
It was my older sister, Renee.
"Marcus?"
Her voice sounded frightened.
"Mom just called me."
I swallowed.
"Are you coming?"
"I'm already driving."
I closed my eyes.
Renee was forty-two.
A registered nurse.
And the person who always knew what to do when the rest of us panicked.
When she arrived, she hugged me tightly.
Then she looked through the hospital-room window.
Her face crumpled.
"What happened to Daddy?"
I told her everything.
The chain.
The spaghetti.
The medicine.
Vanessa.
By the time I finished, Renee was trembling.
"She chained Mom?"
I nodded.
"To the dining table."
Renee covered her mouth.
Then she whispered, "I knew something was wrong."
I looked up.
"What?"
She hesitated.
"Mom called me two weeks ago."
My stomach tightened.
"About what?"
"She said Vanessa had been yelling at them."
I stared at her.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Renee's eyes filled.
"I tried."
I frowned.
"When?"
"Last Thursday. I left three messages."
I pulled out my phone.
I checked the call history.
Nothing.
Renee watched my expression.
"Marcus?"
I opened my blocked contacts.
My sister's number was there.
Blocked.
I stared at the screen.
"I never blocked you."
Renee went pale.
Then I remembered Vanessa borrowing my phone one evening.
She said she needed to check a delivery confirmation.
I handed it to her without thinking.
My hands began shaking.
Renee looked at me.
"She blocked me?"
I couldn't answer.
Then she said something that made my stomach drop.
"Mom told me Vanessa had been opening their mail."
I turned sharply.
"What mail?"
"Bank statements."
I felt cold.
Renee continued.
"She said Dad kept asking about missing checks."
I looked toward his hospital bed.
My father.
The man who tracked every penny.
The man who had taught me to save before spending.
He'd been asking about money.
And now he was barely conscious.
Renee took my hand.
"Marcus, we need to check their accounts."
I nodded.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from Vanessa.
You have no idea what your parents have been hiding from you.
I stared at the screen.
Another message appeared.
Ask your father about the property deed.
I felt my heart pounding.
The basement.
The documents.
The deed.
Something was connected.
Then Vanessa sent one final message.
If you go looking, don't say I didn't warn you.
May you like
I looked through the glass at my father.
And for the first time, I wondered whether Vanessa had been trying to steal far more than his savings.
