“You accessed Dad’s investment account?”
“No.”
“You told me he invested.”
“He did.”
I said nothing and placed Arthur’s calendar on the table.
Two weeks before his death, he had written:
M — repayment discussion.
M documents incomplete.
Speak to attorney before confronting M.
Sarah looked at Mark.
He had gone pale.
Then came proof Arthur had met Mark six days before he died.
Photographs.
Arthur’s handwritten note.
Mark admits using funds. Claims Sarah knows. I don’t believe him. Wants 30 days. Refused. Attorney Monday.
Sarah covered her mouth.
“You told Dad I knew?”
Mark slammed his hand onto the table.
“This proves nothing!”
I remained calm.
“You’re right.”
Then I reached for the final sealed envelope.
Mark saw the medical laboratory header before Sarah did.
Every trace of anger left his face.
“What is that?”
I explained that Arthur had blood drawn the morning before his death and that later review of the preserved sample raised questions about substances not documented among his prescribed medications.
“I am not saying this proves anyone murdered your father,” I told Sarah. “But it was significant enough that my attorney contacted the proper authorities.”
Mark’s wineglass slipped from his hand.
It shattered against the floor.
Then headlights swept across the dining-room wall.
