Chapter 8 - THE DOCTOR WHO NEVER SAW ME
Dr. Nathan Ellis worked at a private clinic twenty minutes from my office.
According to the forged letter, he had evaluated me twice.
According to Dr. Ellis, he had never met me.
Detective Ramirez interviewed him that afternoon.
His reaction was immediate.
“That is not my signature.”
He recognized the formatting.
He recognized the clinic letterhead.
Someone had obtained both.
The clinic’s internal audit identified an employee named Monica Vale.
Monica had worked there for seven years.
Her bank records showed a recent payment from a consulting company.
The consulting company belonged to Evelyn Marsh.
My mother’s attorney.
The conspiracy was no longer a family dispute.
It was a structure.
Margaret at the center.
Carla doing the dirty work.
Thomas coordinating the board.
Evelyn creating the legal appearance of legitimacy.
Monica supplying medical documentation.
Every piece was designed to support the next.
By the end of the week, prosecutors were reviewing a growing stack of evidence.
Yet my mother still insisted she was the victim.
Through her attorney, she released a statement.
Margaret Wentworth acted solely to protect her son and family assets from manipulation by an unstable spouse.
I read the statement at Irene’s hospital bedside.
She laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was predictable.
“She’s blaming me.”
“Not for long.”
“She will keep doing it.”
I lowered the phone.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Irene hesitated.
Then she opened her bedside drawer.
Inside was an envelope.
“I asked a nurse to keep this for me after they admitted me.”
She handed it to me.
The envelope contained photographs of handwritten notes.
Margaret’s handwriting.
Dates.
Times.
My business trips.
My flights.
My hotels.
I stared at the pages.
“She tracked me.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you have these?”
“I photographed the notebook in her room.”
One entry was circled.
AUGUST 20.
Austin departs Phoenix 8:40 p.m.
Flight connection.
London arrival following afternoon.
Board at 9:00 a.m.
I felt cold.
My canceled flight had destroyed their timing by pure chance.
Had the storm not closed the route, I would have been thousands of miles away while Margaret forced Irene to open the safe.
I turned the page.
Another entry.
Irene doctor 10:30.
Carla handle cancellation.
Another.
Austin Denver conference.
Speak to Irene about agreement.
Another.
Baby announcement complicates succession.
Resolve before third trimester.
I could barely breathe.
Irene touched my wrist.
“There’s one more page.”
I looked at her.
“Show me.”
She turned to the final photograph.
At the top, my mother had written a name I had not expected.
ROBERT WENTWORTH.
My uncle.
My father’s younger brother.
May you like
Beside his name were four words.
He wants his share back.
