Rachel’s voice again, thinner now, like she was trying to convince herself: “And the trust… Derek, the Thomas Morrison Memorial Trust… fifteen million.”
“The moment she’s declared incompetent,” Derek said, “you become sole trustee. Combined with the company transfer to Cascade Holdings—forty-seven million total.”
The room tilted.
Dr. Caldwell again: “Assisted living placement within three to six months. Evergreen Manor is very discreet.”
Rebecca’s hand found mine in the dark and squeezed hard.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. They were talking about me—my daughter, my doctor, the man who was supposed to marry her.
They were planning to take everything.
The voices continued—something about timing, about signatures—then I heard chairs scraping, footsteps, a door closing, and finally, silence.
Rebecca turned on the light. Her eyes were wet.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “They were here last Thursday. June 8th. Same conversation. I didn’t know if I should….”
“It’s all right.” My voice came out steady. “Where’s my dress?”
She blinked. “What?”
“The champagne gold dress.”
She disappeared into the back and returned with a garment bag. I took it, looped it over my arm.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Catherine,” she asked, voice shaking, “what are you going to do?”
I looked at her—this woman who’d known me for nearly forty years, who had just saved me from walking blindly into a trap.
“I don’t know yet.”
I walked out into the June sunlight. The street was busy—tourists, couples, a man walking a golden retriever. Everyone looked normal. Happy.
I crossed to my car and opened the back door. I laid the garment bag carefully across the seat, then climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door.
The dress hung in the back like a ghost.
Leave a Comment