Chapter 4 - THE FIRST BOUNDARY
Laura Bennett’s office occupied the second floor of a restored brick building near Forsyth Park. The waiting room smelled faintly of old wood and copier toner.
Laura listened without interrupting as Marianne described the hospital call, the forged application, and Naomi’s warning.
When Marianne placed the lottery ticket on the desk, Laura didn’t touch it.
“Has Derek ever had permission to sign for you?”
“No.”
“Power of attorney?”
“No.”
“Access to your email?”
“I thought he was helping.”
Laura nodded without judgment. “Helping can become control when nobody checks the limits.”
They arranged for the ticket to be secured in a bank box accessible only through Marianne and Laura. Laura also referred her to a financial adviser with no connection to Derek and told her not to claim the prize until her identity records were stabilized.
The legal fees would be substantial. So would the cost of repairing her credit.
Marianne signed anyway.
By late afternoon, Derek’s access to her accounts had been blocked.
At six, he appeared on her porch wearing jeans and a hospital wristband. He looked healthy enough to climb the steps quickly.
Marianne kept the storm door locked.
“You left me there,” he said.
“You told me you were dying.”
“I told you the doctors were worried.”
“You said you had six months without experimental treatment.”
Derek glanced toward the neighboring houses. “Can we not do this where people can hear?”
“That mattered to you yesterday?”
His face changed. The wounded-son expression disappeared.
“Naomi is angry because I ended things with her.”
Marianne had not known there was anything to end.
“She’s your bookkeeper.”
“She was more than that. Briefly.”
“How does she know about my lottery account?”
Derek’s eyes shifted to the canvas bag on Marianne’s shoulder.
There it was: not surprise, but calculation.
“You won something?” he asked.
Marianne said nothing.
He stepped closer to the door. “Mom, whatever she told you, the business problems are temporary. I can explain the hospital. I can explain the transfers.”
“Can you explain my signature?”
Derek’s mouth opened, then closed.
Marianne turned the deadbolt on the inner door.
“You don’t come inside until I know what you’ve done.”
His palm struck the glass once, not hard enough to break it.
“You’re really choosing a stranger over your own son?”
“No,” Marianne said. “I’m choosing facts over fear.”
After he left, she found an envelope pushed beneath the door.
May you like
Inside was an invoice from Coastal Care Solutions bearing the name of a cardiologist who had supposedly treated Derek.
The invoice had been printed on the same textured paper Derek used for wedding invitations at his shop.
