Chapter 5 - Mask of Deceit
We walked down the corridor toward the guest room. Ethan opened the door slowly, adopting an expression of deep, mournful sorrow.
“Grandma?” he called softly. “Grandma, it’s Ethan. Mom’s here, too.”
Margaret lay propped up against the pillows, acting exactly as we had rehearsed. Her eyes were glazed over, her hands shaking as she pulled the blanket closer to her chin. “Ethan? Diane? Why are you doing this to me?”
Diane rushed forward, kneeling by the side of the bed with a theatrical gasp. “Mother, please! You’re confused again. You had a terrible fall, remember? You’ve been having these episodes. We brought you here so Ethan and Claire could look after you around the clock.”
“I didn't have a fall,” Margaret whispered, her voice cracking with calculated frailty. “You locked me in my own basement for three days before bringing me here. You took my medication.”
Ethan let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Claire, honey, could you go into the kitchen and make some chamomile tea? Grandma gets so agitated when there are too many people in the room.”
“Of course,” I said, stepping back into the hallway. But I didn't go to the kitchen. I slipped into my adjoining office, where David and Arthur sat silently beside the monitors, watching the feeds alongside Marcus.
On the screen, Ethan immediately closed the bedroom door. The second the latch clicked, his entire demeanor transformed. The concerned, grieving grandson vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating predator.
“Cut the crap, Margaret,” Ethan hissed, stepping directly over the bed. He unzipped his messenger bag and pulled out a stack of documents, slapping them hard against the bedside table. “We’re done playing games. The notary is waiting down the street at the coffee shop. You’re signing the deed transfer for the lake property, and you’re signing the power of attorney over to Mom right now.”
Margaret pulled her hands back. “I will never give you that land, Ethan. My father built that cabin with his own two hands. It was meant to remain in a conservation trust for the family.”
Diane leaned in close, her voice a poisonous, venomous whisper. “Your father is dead, Mother. And if you don't sign these papers today, you’ll join him. Do you think anyone is coming to rescue you? Claire thinks you’re a lunatic. We’ve already laid the groundwork with Dr. Bennett. A single stroke of my pen, and you will be transferred to a state-run psychiatric ward three hours away, where you will spend the rest of your miserable days locked in a padded room.”
“You’re monsters,” Margaret choked out.
“We’re practical,” Ethan sneered, thrusting a black ballpoint pen into her frail, shaking fingers. “Sign it, Grandma. Or I stop giving you your insulin altogether. A diabetic coma in an eighty-four-year-old woman with dementia won’t raise an eyebrow from any coroner in this state.”
“And what about Claire?” Margaret asked, looking directly into Ethan’s cold eyes. “She won’t let you do this.”
May you like
Ethan let out a sharp, mocking laugh that sent chills down my spine. “Claire? Claire is an idiot, Margaret. She spends her whole life staring at balance sheets, completely oblivious to what happens in the real world. Once this estate clears, Claire is going to have a tragic little breakdown of her own. Her fake psychiatric files are already primed. When she inevitably ‘takes her own life’ from the overwhelming stress, her two-million-dollar insurance policy will buy me a penthouse in Miami.”
Diane chuckled softly, patting Ethan’s shoulder. “Good boy. Now hold her hand down, Ethan. Make her sign.”
