There always was.
I arranged for two trusted officers to remain outside his hospital room.
Then I drove to the house where I had grown up.
When I unlocked the front door, the hallway was dark.
A figure stepped out from the shadows.
“What are you doing here?”
Eric stood near the living room entrance.
He wore the same clothes from the station. His face showed irritation, but underneath it I saw panic.
“This is Dad’s property,” I said. “I have his key and his permission.”
“You have no right to come in and start searching,” he snapped. “Vanessa and I are managing his affairs. His mind is gone.”
“I am preserving evidence.”
I stepped past him.
“Interfere with me, and I will have you removed for obstruction.”
The house smelled stale.
Fast-food wrappers covered the kitchen counter. Empty medicine bottles sat beside the sink, but none belonged to my father’s current prescriptions.
I opened the trash bin and pulled out the full liner.
Eric watched from the doorway.
“You are digging through garbage now?”
I ignored him.
Near the bottom, beneath coffee grounds and food containers, I found strips of shredded paper.
I spread them across the kitchen island and began fitting them together.
Twenty minutes later, the fragments formed part of my father’s original will.
The pages had been torn through the signature lines and the sections naming beneficiaries.
My name had been cut apart.
Beneath the shredded will, I found another document.
A General Power of Attorney.
The signature looked wrong immediately.
My father’s handwriting had always been smooth and precise.
This signature was jagged and unsteady.
I checked the notary information through a secure state database.
