Chapter 4 - The Trap is Set
When we returned home,
the atmosphere had shifted.
Mason was waiting with a man I didn't recognize.
“Mom,
this is Dr. Aris,”
Mason said,
his voice smooth.
“He’s a specialist.
I told him about your recent…
confusion.”
The man looked like a vulture in a lab coat.
I realized then that Mason wasn't waiting for me to sign the Power of Attorney anymore.
He was going for a guardianship.
He wanted a medical professional to declare me incompetent.
“Hello,
Mrs. Brooks,”
Dr. Aris said,
his smile never reaching his eyes.
“Let’s have a little chat,
shall we?”
I sat down on the sofa,
feeling the hidden recording device in my pocket that Mr. Sterling had provided.
“About what,
Doctor?”
I asked,
playing the part of the confused elderly woman.
“Mason says I’m losing my mind.”
Mason winced at my bluntness.
“I didn't say that,
Mom.
I just said you’ve been forgetful.”
For the next hour,
the doctor asked me questions designed to trip me up.
What day was it?
Who was the president?
Could I count backward from a hundred by sevens?
I answered some correctly and purposefully missed others.
I needed to see how far they would go.
“And do you know where you are right now,
Eleanor?”
the doctor asked.
“I’m in my house,”
I said.
“The one I paid for with forty years of sweat.”
The doctor scribbled something on his clipboard.
“She seems agitated,”
Harper whispered loudly from the corner.
“She’s been like this all day.”
I looked at Mason.
“Am I agitated,
son?”
He looked away,
unable to meet my eyes.
“You’re just not yourself,
Mom.”
“I think I’ve seen enough,”
Dr. Aris said,
standing up.
“I’ll send my report to your office,
Mason.”
“Thank you,
Doctor,”
Mason said,
escorting him to the door.
The moment the door closed,
the masks slipped.
“That was easy,”
Harper said,
not even bothering to lower her voice.
“He’ll sign the papers.
By next week,
we’ll have the keys to the farm and this place.”
“We need to find out where she put that folder from the attorney,”
Mason said.
“The one with the inheritance details.”
I sat on the sofa,
listening to them plan my erasure while I was sitting three feet away.
They thought I was a ghost already.
“I’m going to bed,”
I said,
standing up slowly.
“I’m very tired.”
“Goodnight,
Mom,”
Mason said,
his voice cold and dismissive.
“Sleep well.”
I went upstairs,
but I didn't sleep.
I listened to them celebrate in the kitchen.
I listened to them open a bottle of wine.
I listened to them laugh about how they would decorate the farm.
And I waited.
At 2:00 a.m.,
I called Mr. Sterling.
“It’s time,”
May you like
I said.
“Serve the papers tomorrow.”
