“You would put your own son through an investigation?”
I looked at Ethan’s hands. There was a little scar across one knuckle from a bicycle chain he had insisted on repairing himself at twelve.
I had held that hand under running water.
I remembered how fiercely he had trusted me to stop the bleeding.
“Would he be charged?” I asked Mercer.
“He could be. I cannot promise an outcome.”
Khloe let out a breath, as though his honesty had won something for her.
“There. You understand now.”
I understood too much.
If I called it a mistake, my name would remain something they could borrow. My grief would become their explanation, my silence their evidence.
I took the telephone.
Before I could read the statement, Khloe reached into a drawer beneath the hall mirror and pulled out another sheet.
“Then perhaps someone should assess whether you’re capable of making these decisions.”
At the top were the words Family Observations Regarding Cognitive Decline.
Below them was Ethan’s signature.
For a few seconds, the small print would not settle into words.
Missing medication. Confusion about finances. Inability to live independently.
I took no daily medication.
The date was two days before William died.
I looked at my son.
“You were preparing this while he was still here?”
He leaned against the wall.
Khloe lifted her chin.
“We were protecting the family.”
Ethan looked at her, and something in his face finally stopped retreating.
“No,” he said. “We were protecting the house.”
CHAPTER 4 – The Price of the Truth
Khloe turned on him.
“You signed it.”
“Yes.”
