He read it immediately. The three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.
Finally: Okay.
I didn’t sleep after that either.
Angela’s office smelled like lemon polish and coffee. The conference room had a wall of windows that made the morning light too bright, too honest. Margaret Stone was a woman in her late sixties with silver hair cut sharp as a blade and reading glasses hanging from a chain. She didn’t shake my hand; she covered it with both of hers and held it.
“Evelyn, I’ve read the file,” she said. “You did everything right. Now we let them show us who they are.”
At 9:04 the door opened.
Daniel came in first. He looked like he hadn’t slept either. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes red. He saw me and his face did something complicated — relief and shame at once. He started toward me, then stopped when Lisa entered behind him, and Lisa’s mother, Helen, trailing in with a designer handbag clutched like a shield.
Lisa looked immaculate. Cream blazer, pearls, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She had a manila folder and a man in a cheap suit behind her — her attorney, I assumed. She scanned the room, saw Margaret and Angela, and her smile tightened.
“We thought this was a family meeting,” she said lightly. “Not a legal ambush.”
Margaret gestured to the chairs. “Family meetings require good faith. Please sit.”
Lisa sat, folder square in front of her. Daniel sat beside her but not close. Helen sat a little apart, looking uncomfortable. Lisa’s attorney opened his mouth, but Lisa touched his arm.
“Before we start,” she said, her voice warm, practiced, “I want to say how worried we are. Evelyn has been forgetful, isolated. Daniel found unpaid bills—”
“I pay every bill on autopay,” I said. My voice came out thinner than I wanted. “Angela has the records.”
Lisa’s smile flickered. She slid a paper across the table.
“We have a letter from Dr. Patel. He evaluated Evelyn last year for mild cognitive impairment. We are simply requesting a current evaluation for her safety. And interim protection of assets.”
Margaret didn’t touch the paper. She looked at it, then at Lisa.
“Dr. Patel is a dermatologist,” Margaret said calmly. “He saw Evelyn once for a mole removal. He is not a neurologist, not a psychiatrist, and this letter is not an evaluation. It’s a three-sentence note you paid his office fifty dollars to print. I already called him.”
The room went still. Helen’s head snapped toward Lisa.
Lisa’s cheeks flushed. “That’s— that’s not the point. The point is Daniel and I have been managing her finances because she can’t—”
“Can I show you something, Lisa?” Angela interrupted. She was calm, but her hands were tight around a file.
She slid a color copy across the table. The forged power of attorney. My name in a loop that wasn’t mine. The smudged notary stamp.
Daniel stared at it. His brow furrowed.
“What is this?” he asked.
Lisa went very still.
“Where did you get that?” she said to Angela, her voice suddenly sharp.
“From the bank. Where you presented it on the 14th,” Angela said. “With your driver’s license. On camera.”
Daniel picked up the paper. His hand trembled.
“Mom’s signature—” he looked at me, then at Lisa. “Lisa? What is this?”
“It’s nothing,” Lisa snapped. “It was a precaution. You said she was getting confused, you were worried about the bills—”
“I never said to forge her name!” Daniel’s voice cracked. He turned to me, his eyes wide, wet. “Mom, I swear I didn’t know about this. I didn’t—”
