Chapter 2 - THE MISSING FATHER
By sunrise, the police in my hometown had received a report alleging that I was confused, vulnerable, and unreachable.
The report had been filed by my daughter Rachel at 11:58 p.m., while I sat peacefully overlooking the ocean.
She had told them that I was abandoning important medication and might be wandering without knowing where I was.
I had no such medication.
I had never wandered.
I had merely stopped paying her bills.
Nora made two calls, one to my estate attorney Daniel Price and another to a local officer she trusted.
"We'll tell the truth," she said, "but we'll document every word."
When the officer arrived, I showed identification, explained my travel plans, and willingly confirmed that I was safe.
He took notes and assured me an adult was entitled to take a vacation without asking his children for permission.
Then he looked at the report.
"They included a doctor's letter," he said.
The physician's name was unfamiliar.
The letter described episodes of memory loss and financial impulsivity, with a suggestion that immediate oversight might be necessary.
"I've never met that doctor," I said.
The officer's expression changed.
"Then someone has questions to answer."
An hour later, Justin called Nora, apparently believing she was the lodge manager.
She placed the phone on speaker after identifying herself.
"We just need Dad home," he said, his voice smooth and exhausted.
"Your father is safe," Nora answered.
"Why are you involved?"
"Because your mother asked me to be."
The silence was long enough for me to hear waves striking the seawall.
Justin recovered quickly.
"Look, everybody's emotional. We can sort this out privately."
"Then withdraw the inaccurate missing-person report and explain the doctor's letter," I said.
His voice hardened instantly.
"Dad, you have no idea how bad this is going to get."
"Tell me."
"The lodge has lawyers. My employees haven't been paid. And Rachel's mortgage lender is asking questions."
"Those are consequences, Justin. Not emergencies I created."
"You used to care about us."
I remembered Patricia's letter and the thousands of evenings I had spent defending that sentence.
"I still care," I said, "but I won't confuse caring with obedience."
Justin ended the call.
Half an hour later Daniel called from his office.
"Bruce, there is a petition prepared in your county court," he said.
"Filed?"
"Not yet. But someone made a serious mistake in the supporting paperwork."
"What mistake?"
He lowered his voice.
"They attached a signature that looks like yours."
I looked at the envelope in Patricia's handwriting.
"It isn't mine."
"I believe you," Daniel replied.
May you like
"Now we need to prove who put it there."
