Chapter 4 - SIX ROOMS
The kitchen.
The living room.
The hallway.
Lily’s bedroom.
Our bedroom.
The garage.
Six devices had connected repeatedly to our router during the previous four months.
All registered under generic names.
None were ours.
I shut off the router completely.
“Where are they?”
Clara swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
We searched together.
It took almost two hours.
One camera was hidden inside Lily’s night-light.
One behind a vent grille in our bedroom.
One inside a smoke detector in the hallway.
One had been taped beneath a shelf in the garage.
The sixth was inside the digital clock beside our bed.
I photographed each before removing it.
Clara sat on the edge of our mattress when we were done.
“She watched us sleep.”
I sat beside her.
“Yes.”
“She watched Lily change clothes.”
The thought made me sick.
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Her voice cracked.
“I told you something was wrong.”
“I know.”
“You kept leaving.”
“I had a job.”
“And I had your mother telling me I was losing my mind.”
I let the words stand.
She deserved that.
Downstairs, Lily was watching cartoons with the volume low.
I could hear canned laughter through the floor.
“Why did she move in?” I asked.
Clara looked at me.
“You asked her to.”
“I mean why did she agree so quickly?”
My mother had sold her condo in February.
She said she wanted to downsize.
I suggested she stay with us while looking for a smaller place.
She arrived with nine boxes.
She never looked at another property.
Clara rubbed her hands together.
“She started asking about the mortgage almost immediately.”
“Our mortgage?”
“How much we owed. Whether both names were on the deed. Whether your company had life insurance on you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
I remembered that too.
And again, I had laughed.
Mom likes numbers.
I hated myself a little more every minute.
Daniel Mercer called back that evening.
“I pulled the filings.”
“And?”
“Ward Family Holdings was recreated eighteen months ago.”
“By my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Using whose name?”
A pause.
“Yours.”
I stood at the kitchen counter.
“What?”
“You’re listed as managing member.”
“I never signed anything.”
“There’s an electronic signature.”
“I didn’t sign.”
“I believe you.”
“What does the company own?”
“Right now? That’s the problem. Public filings don’t tell me enough.”
“Can you find out?”
“I can request records, but you need your own lawyer.”
“Aren’t you my lawyer?”
“I represented your father’s estate. Given Evelyn’s involvement, I don’t want a conflict argument later.”
“Daniel, just tell me what you’re worried about.”
He hesitated.
Then:
“The trust.”
My stomach dropped.
“What about it?”
“A substantial portion appears to have been transferred into an account associated with Ward Family Holdings.”
“How substantial?”
“Michael.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred eighty thousand dollars.”
I gripped the counter.
Clara watched my face.
“Gone?”
“Transferred.”
“Without me knowing.”
“Yes.”
“Can she do that?”
“Not for her own benefit.”
“Could she claim it was for Lily?”
“She can claim anything. What matters is where the money went.”
Daniel promised to send me referrals.
I ended the call.
Clara asked, “How bad?”
I told her.
She covered her mouth.
Then she said, “Michael, there’s something else.”
She went to the laundry room and returned with a white envelope.
“I found this in Evelyn’s trash three days ago.”
Inside was a photocopy of a medical form.
My name was printed at the bottom.
AUTHORIZATION FOR TEMPORARY CAREGIVER DECISION-MAKING.
Lily Ward.
Authorized caregiver: Evelyn Ward.
My electronic signature appeared beneath it.
I had never seen the form.
Clara turned it over.
On the back was a handwritten note.
Need documented pattern of maternal incapacity before filing.
I read it twice.
“Filing what?”
Clara looked at me.
“I think she was preparing to take Lily.”
Then the doorbell rang.
We both froze.
I checked the camera app connected to our legitimate doorbell.
Evelyn stood on the porch.
Beside her was a woman I didn’t recognize.
The woman carried a leather folder.
Evelyn looked directly into the doorbell camera and smiled.
Then she held up a document.
May you like
Even through the small screen, I could read the heading.
PETITION FOR EMERGENCY TEMPORARY GUARDIANSHIP.
