He stared at her.
“Don’t start.”
“You said Dad signed the papers.”
“He did.”
“You said the lawyer witnessed them.”
“He did.”
“Then why are you afraid to give her the folder?”
Grant stepped toward her.
“Because you’re making this worse.”
Vanessa backed away.
The movement was small, but it changed the room.
Until then, they had stood shoulder to shoulder, united by greed and panic. Now there was space between them.
Dad watched that space grow.
Detective Alvarez reached for the folder.
Grant pulled it against his chest.
One of the officers took his arm.
He jerked away.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You are being detained while we investigate suspected fraud, elder abuse, and attempted financial exploitation,” Detective Alvarez said.
“You have no proof.”
Dad placed the black recorder on the coffee table.
Grant looked at it.
Then at Harold, who had been brought upstairs by another officer.
Harold’s face collapsed.
Grant understood the evidence did not end there.
The messages.
The signed statement.
The drug records.
The transfer documents.
The recordings.
