Chapter 3 - The Doctor Who Never Examined Me
My appointed attorney was named Elise Ward.
She had gray-green eyes, an orderly briefcase, and the habit of letting silence do some of her work.
She met me in a small conference room beneath a humming light.
“I've read the petition,” she said.
“Now tell me what it leaves out.”
I started with the keys, the bruises, and Hal's desk.
Elise listened without interrupting, then placed a copy of the medical declaration in front of me.
It was signed by Dr. Martin Vale, a physician at a private clinic in Springfield.
According to him, I had exhibited serious memory impairment, poor judgment, and paranoia during a consultation six weeks earlier.
“I've never met that doctor,” I said.
“You're sure?”
“Absolutely.”
The page mentioned that Nathan accompanied me to the appointment.
My son had driven me to Springfield that day, but we'd gone to a hardware store and eaten lunch at a diner.
I remembered because he'd talked incessantly about Hal's estate.
At the end of the meal, he had asked me to sign what he called an insurance release.
I refused.
Elise circled the physician's signature.
“Then we'll ask for the clinic records and appointment logs.”
She did not promise a dramatic courtroom victory.
She warned me that my son's petition could remain dangerous even if the medical document was weak.
Courts took allegations of self-neglect seriously, and adults who seemed articulate could still have limitations that required help.
The burden of proving incapacity, she explained, belonged to the party seeking the order.
“What do I do?” I asked.
“Tell the truth consistently, accept an independent evaluation, and don't give them another excuse to portray you as erratic.”
I nodded.
She asked whether I had recordings.
That was when I unfastened my coat and took out the small device wrapped in an old handkerchief.
Elise looked at it but did not touch it.
“Where did this come from?”
“It's a backup of a conversation in Hal's study.”
“Was everyone present aware of the recording?”
I explained that the original device had been left running in my own home, that Nathan had noticed it, and that we'd had a dispute about it afterward.
Elise's face became more careful.
“We need to examine how it was made, preserve the original files, and review the law before anyone uses it.”
It was the answer I expected from a good lawyer.
Not every piece of truth becomes admissible merely because we want it to.
I handed her a written timeline and the names of two neighbors.
At the bottom was a third name.
She pointed to it.
“Who is Arthur Bell?”
“Hal's accountant,” I said.
“He helped us organize our assets for twenty years.”
“Can we call him?”
I looked at the line beneath his name.
Arthur hadn't returned any of my calls for eleven days.
His office receptionist said he'd gone away unexpectedly.
And the last text Arthur had sent me was so strange that I'd memorized it.
May you like
If Nathan comes looking for the red ledger, don't let him know where it is.
