Chapter 6: The Man by the Boathouse
I showed the text to Gideon at seven o'clock.
I had debated not showing him.
I had told Enzo I wanted to know who the man was before Gideon acted.
But a direct threat changed the calculation.
If something happened to me and Gideon hadn't known, that was a different kind of mistake.
He read it twice.
His face did not change the way most people's faces change when they read something alarming.
It went very still instead.
The stillness of someone who has learned to keep reactions internal because external reactions have costs.
"When did this come in?"
"Five forty-seven."
"Unknown number."
"Yes."
He set the phone on the kitchen table between us.
"You're going to tell me to stay calm."
"I'm going to tell you to think before you move," I said.
"There's a difference."
"Adeline—"
"Gideon." I kept my voice level.
"Your sister is working with someone.
Someone who comes to this property at night and parks by the boathouse.
Your father has seen him twice from his window.
He carries a bag.
He was here the night before I fell."
Gideon went very still.
"My father told you this."
"Last night.
Yes."
"And you didn't—" He stopped himself.
Pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose.
"You should have told me immediately."
"I needed to think about what it meant first."
"That's not your decision to make."
"It is when the alternative is you charging down to the boathouse at midnight and destroying any chance we have of finding out who he is."
He looked at me.
A long look.
The kind that measures something.
"We," he said.
"We," I said.
"Unless you'd prefer to handle this alone and keep making the same mistakes you've been making for three months."
His jaw tightened.
But he didn't argue.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"I want to set up a camera.
At the south end of the property, facing the boathouse path.
Small.
Discreet.
If he comes back, I want his face."
"I can have that done today."
"I also want to know what Rossella is planning for January.
Not the estate clause — I know about that.
I mean the other thing.
The thing she mentioned on the phone."
He went very still again.
"You heard her on the phone."
"Yesterday afternoon.
From the back staircase." I watched his face.
"She said the fall didn't work.
She said to move to the other thing.
The one they discussed in September."
Gideon stood up from the table.
He walked to the window and stood there with his back to me, looking out at the lake.
"September," he said quietly.
"The month the first nurse left."
"The month my father had his second medical evaluation." He turned around.
"The one where the reviewing doctor said his cognition had declined significantly."
I stared at him.
"Had it?"
"No.
I was there.
He was sharp.
He answered every question correctly.
He remembered dates, names, sequences." His voice had gone flat.
"But the written report said otherwise."
"Who was the reviewing doctor?"
"A specialist.
Rossella arranged the appointment." He paused.
"I didn't question it at the time.
I should have."
I thought about the man with the bag.
The one who arrived after dark.
"What was the doctor's name?" I asked.
"Harwell.
Dr.
Phillip Harwell."
I picked up my phone.
Opened a search.
Phillip Harwell.
Medical license.
State of New York.
The results loaded.
License suspended.
October of this year.
Pending investigation into falsified patient assessments.
I turned the phone around and showed him the screen.
Gideon read it.
His hand came up and gripped the back of the kitchen chair.
"She hired a fraudulent doctor," he said.
"To falsify my father's evaluation."
"And now she's hired him again," I said.
"For the other thing.
Before January."
The chair creaked under the pressure of his grip.
"She's going to have him declared incapacitated," Gideon said.
"Officially.
On paper.
With a forged medical report."
"Before the estate review.
Before your father can speak for himself."
Gideon let go of the chair.
He straightened up.
"I need to call my lawyer."
"Yes," I said.
"And Gideon — do it quietly.
Don't tell Rossella.
Don't change anything in the house.
If she thinks the plan is still working, she'll bring Harwell back.
And when she does, we'll have him on camera."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"You've done this before," he said.
"Navigated something like this."
"No," I said.
"But I've sat with enough patients who were being taken advantage of to know how it works.
And I've learned that the only way to stop it is to let them finish setting the trap before you spring it."
He nodded once.
Then he picked up his phone and walked out of the kitchen.
That evening, I checked on Enzo before dinner.
He was in better spirits.
He had eaten well.
His color was good.
As I was leaving, he caught my hand.
"The man was here last night," he said quietly.
"I saw him from the window.
He went into the boathouse."
I kept my face neutral.
"Thank you for telling me."
"Adeline." His grip tightened slightly.
"Whatever Rossella is planning — she has done this before.
Not here.
Before.
With our mother."
I looked at him.
His eyes were steady and very serious.
"She arranged for our mother to be declared unfit," he said.
"Fifteen years ago.
I was too young to understand what was happening until it was over.
By then, the money had moved." He let go of my hand.
"Don't let her do it again."
I walked out of his room and stood in the corridor for a moment with my back against the wall.
Fifteen years ago.
May you like
This was not improvisation.
This was a pattern.
