“I didn’t tell them anything.”
“No,” I said.
“You wrote it down.”
Helen removed the first set of pages from the red folder.
They were enlarged copies of the photographs I had taken in Daniel’s office.
The forged medical letters came first.
Each one claimed that I suffered from progressive cognitive decline.
Each recommended that Daniel take immediate control of my financial and medical decisions.
The letters used the names of real doctors, but the signatures were false and the language did not match any legitimate report in my medical file.
Vanessa stared at them.
“I have never seen those before.”
Helen placed the next page on the table.
It was an email from Vanessa’s account.
The words were unmistakable.
Once she signs, we control everything.
Daniel’s answer appeared beneath it.
Make sure it looks voluntary.
Vanessa reached for the page.
Detective Bell moved between her and the table.
“Do not touch the evidence.”
“Evidence?” she snapped.
“Those are private emails taken illegally from my husband’s office.”
Helen’s gaze hardened.
“The office is inside Margaret’s home.
The drawer contained documents bearing Margaret’s forged signature, false statements about her health, and plans to seize her property.
She photographed material directly concerning her own legal and financial interests.”
Vanessa looked at me with open hatred.
“You went through our things?”
“Our things?” I asked.
“You mean the forged papers you kept in my house?”
The paramedics arrived.
Detective Bell allowed them into the kitchen, then asked Vanessa and Daniel to stand on opposite sides of the room.
One paramedic examined the wound near my hairline.
The plate had opened a cut that would require stitches, and the dizziness suggested a concussion.
He asked whether I had lost consciousness.
“I don’t think so.”
Vanessa interrupted.
“She exaggerates.
She has always been dramatic.”
Detective Bell turned toward her.
“You will have an opportunity to provide a statement.
Until then, stop interfering.”
The room became quiet.
I watched Daniel while the paramedic wrapped my head.
He was staring at the photograph of his email.
His shoulders had folded inward, and for a moment he looked like the boy who once broke a neighbor’s window and hid the baseball under his bed.
Back then, he had cried before I even confronted him.
Now he looked frightened, but he did not look sorry.
Detective Bell took him into the dining room first.
Through the doorway, I heard fragments of their conversation.
Daniel admitted that Vanessa’s company was in trouble.
He admitted that they had discussed using my house to secure the loan.
He insisted that he believed I would eventually agree.
Then the detective asked about the medical letters.
Daniel’s voice dropped.
“Vanessa said we needed leverage.”
