Chapter 6 - The Doctor's Letter
Dr. Alan Whitcomb had never examined me.
Not once.
He had attended two family dinners and spoken to me briefly at Julian's wedding.
Yet somehow, a letter bearing his name claimed I suffered from memory loss, confusion, and impaired judgment.
Daniel contacted the medical practice listed on the document.
The practice confirmed that Dr. Whitcomb was affiliated with the office.
It did not confirm the letter was genuine.
That distinction mattered.
Evelyn insisted we avoid assumptions.
"Someone may have forged his signature," she said.
"Or he may have written it."
"Either way, we need evidence."
By afternoon, Daniel had notified the bank of suspected identity theft and submitted copies of the legitimate trust documents.
He also filed the appropriate notices to challenge the questionable property records.
The house was no longer something Julian could quietly market without scrutiny.
But my son was still inside it.
And I knew he would not leave willingly.
That evening, I received a call from an unfamiliar number.
"Mrs. Vance?"
"Speaking."
"My name is Angela Ruiz."
Her voice was nervous.
"I used to work at your son's house."
I remembered Angela.
She had been the housekeeper for nearly four years.
Chloe fired her the previous month.
"Angela, is everything all right?"
"No, ma'am."
"What happened?"
"I saw something I think you should know."
She paused.
"Mrs. Vance, there are cameras in that house you don't know about."
I frowned.
"The security system?"
"No."
"Then what?"
"Hidden cameras."
A chill moved down my spine.
"Where?"
"In the study."
"The upstairs hallway."
"And the room where they kept your things."
I gripped the phone.
"What room?"
Angela hesitated.
"Mrs. Vance, they moved your belongings into a storage room last year."
I remembered giving Julian several boxes of family photographs, old documents, and Thomas's personal possessions.
I had assumed they were safely stored.
"What did they do with them?"
Angela's voice trembled.
"Some things were thrown away."
I closed my eyes.
"And the cameras?"
"I heard Mrs. Chloe say they needed proof you were losing your mind."
Suddenly, everything connected.
The physician's letter.
The power of attorney.
The conservatorship plan.
The pressure to sign.
My son had not merely wanted my property.
He had been preparing a story in which I was too confused to keep it.
"Angela," I said, "will you speak to my attorney?"
"Yes."
Then she added something unexpected.
"There's one more thing."
"What?"
"Mr. Julian keeps a locked room behind the wine cellar."
I sat forward.
"What room?"
"I don't know what's inside."
"Why mention it?"
"Because the night before his birthday, I heard Mrs. Chloe arguing with him about it."
"What did she say?"
May you like
Angela lowered her voice.
"She said if you ever found what was in that room, they'd both go to prison."
