Chapter 6: Julian Makes His Move
He called four more times before noon.
On the fifth call, I answered.
"You need to stop this," Julian said.
"Right now.
Before it goes further than either of us wants."
"Further than you want," I said.
"I'm comfortable with where it's going."
"Elena." His voice shifted — lower, almost reasonable.
The voice he used when he wanted something and had decided charm was the better instrument.
"Dad is confused.
You know that.
You haven't been here.
You don't know what it's been like watching him decline, managing everything, making decisions he can't make anymore.
We've been carrying this alone."
"While sedating him."
A pause.
"That is a serious allegation."
"It's a laboratory result."
Another pause, longer this time.
"I want to meet.
Just the two of us.
No lawyers, no deputies.
Let me show you the full picture."
"The full picture is already in the hands of the financial crimes division."
The silence that followed was a different kind of silence.
I heard him breathe.
"You went outside your own office," he said.
"Conflict of interest," I said.
"He's my father."
"Elena, listen to me." The charm was gone now.
What replaced it was quieter and colder.
"If you push this, I will make sure everyone knows you abandoned him.
I have records.
Emails.
I have a letter Dad wrote two years ago saying you never called, never visited, that he felt like an afterthought to you.
I will put that in front of every person you work with."
I looked at the window.
A pigeon landed on the ledge outside and sat there, indifferent.
"Julian," I said, "I have photographs of his wrists.
I have a toxicology report.
I have certified records of seven hundred and twenty thousand dollars moved through a notary who shares a building with your attorney.
I have four documents bearing Dad's signature that he has stated, on recording, he did not understand or consent to." I paused.
"Bring the letter."
He hung up.
Chloe called eleven minutes later.
"I think there's been a terrible misunderstanding," she said.
Her voice was smooth and careful, each word placed like something fragile.
"We love Arthur.
We have sacrificed enormously for him.
Whatever he told you, he gets confused, Elena.
The doctors have said so."
"Which doctors?"
"His GP.
Dr.
— I'd have to check the name."
"Please do," I said.
"Send me the name, the date of the assessment, and the written findings.
Today."
"I — we can do that."
"Good.
Also send me the original receipts for the medication Chloe has been giving him.
The ones not on his prescription list."
The smoothness cracked.
"I don't know what you're referring to."
"The sedative compound in his bloodwork," I said.
"The one his own physician never prescribed."
A long silence.
"I want to speak to a lawyer," Chloe said.
"That's a very good idea," I said, and ended the call.
I was walking back toward my father's room when a woman stepped out of the elevator at the end of the corridor.
She was perhaps sixty, well-dressed, with the careful posture of someone who had spent years trying not to take up too much space.
She looked at me, then looked away, then looked back.
"Are you Elena Vance?" she asked.
"Yes."
She opened her handbag and took out a small envelope.
"I'm Donna Pryce," she said.
Her voice was steady, but her hands were not.
May you like
"I'm the notary.
And I need to tell you something about the day your father signed that will."
