Chapter 15 - THE NURSE
The home nurse’s name was Paula Givens.
She had cared for my father during the final two months of his life, tracked his medication, and documented his blood pressure, sleep, and orientation daily. She had already given a written statement that Arthur was mentally clear. Rebecca wanted more than that.
So did I.
We met Paula in her lawyer’s office because by then everyone with direct knowledge of Whitmore House wanted counsel nearby. I didn’t blame them.
Paula wore navy scrubs under a cardigan and looked angrier than afraid.
“Mrs. Whitmore told me my services would not be needed after luncheon on the final day,” she said. “That was unusual.”
“Why?” Daniel asked.
“Mr. Whitmore preferred consistency. He didn’t like medication handed off casually.”
“Did Arthur object?”
“He asked whether I’d be back for evening dosage. Mrs. Whitmore answered before I could and said family would manage.”
My throat tightened.
Paula opened her chart copy.
“Arthur’s sleep medication was prescribed as needed. Not routine. He had taken it only four times that month before the final forty-eight hours.”
“And the refill?” Rebecca asked.
“I did not request it.”
That mattered.
The refill had been entered under Eleanor’s household code. Paula had not authorized it and Arthur had not been using the medication frequently enough to need it.
“On your last visit,” Rebecca asked, “did Arthur seem sedated?”
Paula nodded reluctantly. “By late afternoon. More than expected.”
“Could that happen naturally?”
“With grief, heart strain, exhaustion—some drowsiness, yes. Heavy oversedation? Not based on what I saw before I left.”
Again: careful. Precise. No miracle certainty.
Then she gave us the line that changed the emotional center of the case.
“He asked me where Claire was.”
I looked up.
Paula met my eyes.
“I told him you were on assignment in the city. He said, ‘Good. Keep her out of this house tonight.’”
I swallowed hard.
My father had been trying to protect me, even while cut off from me.
Paula continued, “Mrs. Whitmore was in the room when he said it. She smiled and told him he was being dramatic.”
That sounded exactly like Eleanor.
Make the danger sound theatrical. Make the person noticing it sound unstable.
Rebecca asked the legal question next. “Based on your charts and records, are you prepared to testify that Arthur Whitmore required independent oversight for any late-stage estate execution?”
“Yes.”
That was more than enough.
After the interview, Daniel walked me to the elevator. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do you want a minute?”
“I want eleven years back.”
That was how long I had spent pretending Marcus’s greed was just family temperament and Eleanor’s control was just refinement with sharp edges. I had mistaken scale for nature. I thought because they had always been difficult, they could never become monstrous.
I was wrong.
Then Daniel’s phone buzzed.
Marcus’s attorneys had filed an emergency petition alleging I stole proprietary company data from Arthur’s bank locker.
He wasn’t just defending himself anymore.
May you like
He was preparing to make me look criminal.
📖 Paula’s testimony strengthened my father’s real intent, but Marcus struck back by trying to turn the very evidence that protected me into proof against me. 👇
