CHAPTER 4 — The Papers
Mr. Pierce was a thin man with silver glasses and a leather folder that looked expensive.
He shook my hand without quite looking at me.
"Mrs. Whitmore. Thank you for seeing me. This shouldn't take long."
We sat at the dining room table. Daniel sat on my right. Rachel sat on my left. Mr. Pierce sat across from me.
I was boxed in, and I knew it was on purpose.
He opened the folder and slid the first document toward me.
"This is a durable power of attorney," he said smoothly. "Standard for married couples. It simply allows your husband to manage financial matters if you're ever unable to."
"I thought this was about refinancing," I said.
Daniel squeezed my hand. "It's all part of the same package, honey. Remember?"
Mr. Pierce slid over a second document.
Quitclaim Deed.
My father's address was printed at the top. My address. My home.
Below it, the grantee wasn't Daniel. It was something called DW Family Holdings, LLC.
"What's this?" I asked.
"A trust structure," Mr. Pierce said. "For tax efficiency."
"Who owns DW Family Holdings?"
There was a short pause.
"Your husband is the managing member," he said. "But of course, it's for the family."
The family. I didn't have any family left except the man sitting beside me, and he was the one taking my house.
Then I saw a third page tucked beneath the others. Its letterhead was different. Willow Creek Behavioral Health Center.
Voluntary Admission Agreement.
I looked up.
"Why is this here?"
Rachel leaned in, her voice dripping with sympathy. "Claire. Sweetie. We're all worried about you. You've been forgetting things. You've been so confused. Daniel found a wonderful place. It's like a retreat. Just a few weeks of rest."
"I don't need a retreat."
"That's what people always say," Rachel murmured, "right before it gets worse."
Daniel took the pen from Mr. Pierce and placed it gently in my hand. He closed my fingers around it with his own.
"Claire," he said softly. "Look at me. You trust me, don't you?"
Six months ago, I would have signed without reading a single word.
That was what he was counting on.
"I'd like to read everything first," I said.
"You've read them," Daniel said. "We went through them together on Tuesday."
"I don't remember Tuesday."
"Exactly." His voice was still gentle, but his grip on my hand tightened. "That's exactly why we're doing this. You can't keep track anymore. Let me take care of it. Let me take care of you."
The pen hovered over the line.
Mr. Pierce glanced at his watch.
Rachel's knee pressed against mine under the table, firm and impatient.
I looked at the clock on the wall.
It was 11:22.
Before noon, Harold had written.
May you like
I set the pen down.
"No," I said.
