“That’s a shame. I wanted your audience to hear the rest.”
Her face flushed.
I continued.
“The authorization I signed after my surgery allowed David to pay two specific medical bills while I was recovering. It never permitted him to sell property, transfer ownership, or open accounts in my name.”
David shifted in his chair.
“You signed other papers.”
“Which papers?”
“The ones in September.”
“I didn’t sign any papers in September.”
Brooke suddenly placed her phone facedown.
I felt a cold certainty settle over me.
“Show me those documents.”
“Not now,” David said.
“Then we’ll discuss them with my attorney.”
He leaned forward.
“You already have an attorney?”
“I have had an attorney for twenty-three years, David. You simply stopped asking about anything that didn’t benefit you.”
Brooke laughed sharply.
“Listen to her. This is exactly what I mean. She’s becoming paranoid.”
Margaret took out her own phone.
“I believe your wife was the one who put dog food in front of her.”
Brooke turned toward her.
“Stay out of this.”
Margaret didn’t move.
“No.”
I looked down at the stainless-steel bowl.
It had belonged to Rusty, Arthur’s old golden retriever.
Rusty had died two months before Arthur.
My husband had cried harder over that dog than I’d ever seen him cry over anything except the death of his own mother.
He used to say Rusty understood every word spoken in the house, especially the ones people were afraid to say aloud.
