Chapter 3 - The Woman They Called Unstable
Pierce reached for my phone.
I stepped back.
“Don’t.”
“You’re going to upset Mom.”
“That seems survivable.”
His fingers closed around my wrist.
Before I could pull away, Caleb appeared behind him.
“Your mother wants another bottle of wine.”
Pierce didn’t turn.
“Then get one.”
“She asked for you. Something about the gentleman from the bank.”
That worked.
Pierce released me and adjusted his cuff.
“Put those back, Avery.”
After he left, Caleb looked at my wrist.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you were?”
I couldn’t answer immediately.
He waited.
“I would,” I said at last.
We took the folder upstairs to my room. I photographed the remaining pages, then returned it before Lenora’s guests left.
For the first time in months, I had evidence instead of a feeling.
Evidence was something I understood.
I retrieved Dad’s flash drive from a tin beneath my winter sweaters.
My mother’s initials were engraved on the lid.
Caleb watched from the doorway.
“May I?”
I handed him the drive.
He examined it, then gave it back.
“Don’t plug it into a household computer.”
“You’re full of very specific advice.”
“I’ve had some very specific disappointments.”
“That’s a remarkably polished answer.”
He looked tired.
“Avery, I know someone who can help. An attorney named Ruth Bell.”
“Why would your attorney help me?”
“Because she dislikes people who lock sick men in rooms.”
I wanted to trust him.
That frightened me more than distrust.
At breakfast the next morning, Lenora announced that I had an appointment.
“With whom?”
“A specialist. Dr. Mercer thinks you might benefit from support.”
“What kind of specialist?”
“A psychiatric consultation.”
Pierce kept his eyes on his plate.
My stepsister, Tessa, went pale.
I set down my cup.
“I haven’t spoken to Dr. Mercer.”
“Your behavior has become concerning.”
“Asking about Dad’s care?”
“Accusing people. Sneaking around. Becoming fixated on money.”
Caleb stood near the sideboard.
I felt him listening.
“I’m not attending.”
Lenora’s smile vanished.
“Then perhaps you should find somewhere else to live.”
There it was.
The threat beneath every meal, every conversation, every carefully polite humiliation.
I had savings once. Most had gone toward my father’s early treatment before Lenora restricted my access and called my contributions unnecessary.
After she fired me, references became strangely difficult.
One recruiter finally told me why.
Whitmore Systems had described my departure as involving serious judgment concerns.
I looked at Lenora.
“Did you tell other employers I was unstable?”
“I answered questions honestly.”
Something settled inside me.
Not courage exactly.
Anger with a direction.
“I’ll find somewhere else.”
She blinked.
She had expected pleading.
I stood before she could recover.
An hour later, Caleb carried two suitcases to my old sedan.
“Where are you going?”
“A motel until I figure things out.”
“Ruth has a guest apartment over her office.”
“You’ve already called her?”
“I asked whether she could meet you. Nothing else.”
I studied him across the trunk.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“A great deal.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I know.”
He didn’t soften it with a joke.
That made me trust him a little more.
At Ruth Bell’s office in Hartford, a silver-haired woman shook my hand and read the appointment records without interrupting.
Then she asked permission to contact my father’s former physician.
Not Lenora.
Not the company.
Me.
The distinction nearly made me cry.
“We’ll proceed carefully,” Ruth said. “Your father’s wishes matter. We need a way to hear them.”
She introduced an independent specialist who could assess him if access could be arranged.
“And the financial records?” I asked.
“We preserve them. We don’t make accusations we can’t support.”
I placed the flash drive on her desk.
“My father wanted me to have this.”
Ruth looked at Caleb.
It was brief, but I caught it.
Recognition.
Coordination.
A history I wasn’t part of.
Outside, I stopped him beside my car.
“Who are you?”
He glanced toward the office windows.
“Someone your father asked to help.”
“When?”
“Before I applied for the job.”
The parking lot seemed to tilt.
“You didn’t come here because you needed work.”
“No.”
“You came because of us.”
May you like
He met my eyes.
“Because of what was happening to you.”
