Chapter 5 - How to Pretend to Be Weak)
Margaret had always hated acting.
Richard used to joke that she could not hide disappointment when a waiter brought the wrong wine.
Now her life depended on convincing her daughter that she was losing her mind.
The first performance happened Wednesday morning.
Vanessa arrived at the house carrying groceries.
Margaret opened the door wearing her robe at eleven thirty.
"You're not dressed."
Margaret blinked.
"For what?"
"Our appointment."
Vanessa studied her.
Margaret allowed confusion to spread slowly across her face.
"What appointment?"
"The neurologist."
Margaret had known about the appointment for three days.
Vanessa's expression softened.
Too quickly.
"Oh, Mom."
The tenderness made Margaret want to slap her.
Instead she looked frightened.
"I forgot."
Vanessa hugged her.
Margaret stood rigidly in her daughter's arms.
Over Vanessa's shoulder, she saw Daniel through the window.
He was waiting in the driveway.
Vanessa whispered, "It's okay."
No, Margaret thought.
It was not.
At the neurologist's office, Vanessa answered questions before Margaret could.
"She has memory lapses."
"How frequent?"
"Almost daily."
Margaret kept her hands folded.
The doctor turned to her.
"Mrs. Mercer, have you noticed changes?"
Margaret looked uncertain.
"I misplace things."
Vanessa reached over and squeezed her hand.
"She left the stove on last week."
Margaret nearly broke character.
She had an induction stove that shut off automatically.
The doctor asked several cognitive questions.
Margaret intentionally missed two.
Not enough to suggest severe impairment.
Enough to create ambiguity.
When the doctor left, Vanessa leaned close.
"You did well."
Margaret looked at her daughter.
There was triumph behind the smile.
On the drive home, Daniel sat in the front passenger seat.
Vanessa drove.
Margaret watched them through half-closed eyes.
At a red light Daniel said, "We need the signature before Friday."
Vanessa glanced at him.
"Not now."
Margaret kept breathing evenly.
Daniel lowered his voice.
"The lenders won't extend again."
"Then tell them they'll have it."
"If we don't complete the transfer, Mercer North defaults."
"Daniel."
"Thirty-six hours."
Vanessa looked into the rearview mirror.
Margaret did not move.
After several seconds, Vanessa said, "She'll sign."
Margaret memorized every word.
That evening Lena installed the cameras.
One inside the smoke detector.
One behind the wine shelf.
One disguised inside an electrical junction box.
"Three?" Margaret asked.
"Redundancy."
Lena tested the feeds on a tablet.
Margaret pointed to the visible older camera near the basement stairs.
"What about that one?"
"Leave it."
"Why?"
"Let Vanessa find it."
Margaret understood.
"You want her to think she's disabled the surveillance."
"Exactly."
Thomas entered carrying a banker box.
"We have a bigger problem."
He placed the box on the basement workbench.
Inside were photocopies of checks.
Margaret examined them.
Every check appeared to bear Richard's signature.
The dates were impossible.
Two had been issued months after his death.
"Who cashed them?"
Thomas pointed to the endorsement.
A consulting company.
Briar Hill.
Lena leaned closer.
"How did you get these?"
"I have a contact at Hudson National."
Lena's expression sharpened.
"You pulled private banking records?"
"I obtained copies from records already provided in civil discovery."
Lena stared at him.
"You attorneys love language."
"It keeps us employed."
Margaret ignored them.
"Why forge Richard's signature after he died?"
Thomas said, "To make transfers look like obligations he authorized before his death."
Lena nodded.
"Or to frame him."
Margaret looked up.
"For what?"
"Embezzlement."
Margaret laughed in disbelief.
"Richard had no reason to steal from his own company."
"Public perception doesn't care about reason."
Margaret understood.
If the scheme collapsed, the dead man could become the criminal.
Vanessa could become the daughter who discovered the theft.
And Margaret, if legally incapacitated, could become the confused widow who remembered nothing reliably.
It was elegant.
Thomas closed the box.
"Someone has been planning this for years."
Margaret looked at Lena.
"My daughter isn't patient enough."
Lena said nothing.
Margaret repeated, "Vanessa did not design this."
"Maybe not."
"Daniel?"
"Maybe."
"Then who?"
Lena turned off the camera tablet.
"That's what Richard's phone may tell us."
"Have you opened it?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Encrypted."
"Can you break it?"
"We're trying."
Margaret looked at the phone inside Lena's evidence bag.
Then the screen suddenly illuminated.
All three froze.
A message had appeared.
No sender.
Just four words.
SHE IS NOT THE ONE.
Thomas whispered, "What the hell?"
Lena grabbed the phone.
Another message appeared.
ASK WHO PAID BOSTON.
Margaret's hands went cold.
Richard died in Boston.
A third message.
YOU HAVE TWO DAYS.
Then the phone went dark.
Lena tried to wake it.
Nothing.
Margaret looked at her.
"Someone is controlling it remotely."
"Maybe."
"Who?"
Lena slid the phone into the bag.
"Someone who knows we have it."
Thomas checked the basement stairs.
Margaret whispered, "Vanessa?"
Lena shook her head slowly.
"I don't think so."
"Why?"
"Because Vanessa spent forty minutes this morning searching your study for the phone."
Margaret stared.
"How do you know?"
Lena held up the tablet.
"We installed another camera upstairs yesterday."
Margaret almost smiled.
"You didn't tell me."
"You didn't need to know."
Margaret looked at her.
"I see why people dislike detectives."
Lena gave the faintest smile.
Then her phone rang.
She answered.
Her expression changed.
"When?"
Silence.
"Send me the photograph."
She ended the call.
"What happened?" Margaret asked.
Lena showed them the screen.
A photograph of a burned car.
Thomas leaned closer.
"Whose?"
Lena's voice became quiet.
"The hospital administrator who was paid after Richard's death."
Margaret stared at the blackened vehicle.
"Is he dead?"
"No body."
"Then maybe he escaped."
Lena zoomed in on the image.
On the pavement near the driver's door was a white envelope.
May you like
Written across it in black marker were two words.
MARGARET MERCER.
