Chapter 3 - Every Favor Had An Invoice
The home-care policy existed because Aaron had insisted on supplemental coverage after the twins were born.
At the time I teased him.
“We’re thirty-something.”
He shrugged.
“Bad things don’t check your birthday.”
I hated how right he had been.
The policy allowed reimbursement for certain home-care expenses after qualifying injuries.
Family members could sometimes receive compensation if properly documented.
That was not automatically improper.
The problem was consent.
Documentation.
And truth.
Rachel requested the entire claim history.
Over five months, Diane had received $31,800.
Not directly from me.
From the policy administrator.
She claimed she provided full-time caregiving.
Some weeks she had.
Others?
I had a professional home aide named Carmen there four days a week.
Carmen was paid separately.
Mom still billed as though she had been providing those hours herself.
Then Rachel showed me something worse.
Several forms contained an electronic signature under my name.
I stared at the screen.
“That’s not mine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
My legal signature includes my middle initial.
These didn’t.
The forms used a simplified version I used only for delivery apps and school-style forms.
Someone who knew me casually might not notice.
My mother would.
She had watched me sign documents my entire life.
Rachel leaned back.
“Do not call her yet.”
“I want to.”
“I know.”
“She threw unpaid bills at me while getting paid thirty grand?”
“We don’t know whether every claim was improper.”
“Rachel.”
“We establish what happened.”
I hated her caution.
I also needed it.
Anger wanted one clean villain.
Evidence was slower.
That evening Carmen came by.
She cried when I told her why I was asking questions.
“I thought your mother was handling insurance.”
“She was.”
“She always asked me to text her my hours.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“She said she needed them for reimbursement paperwork.”
“Did she ever ask you not to send them directly to me?”
Carmen hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That you were overwhelmed.”
There it was again.
Overwhelmed.
Helpless.
Unable.
Every description of me benefited the person taking control.
Carmen looked embarrassed.
“She told me you might have to move in with her if your recovery didn’t improve.”
“What?”
“I assumed you knew.”
I didn’t.
After Carmen left, I looked around my own living room.
My house.
My babies.
My medication.
My bank account.
And somehow, during six painful months, my mother had begun building a story in which none of them could function without her.
Then I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, Diane had asked whether I had updated Aaron’s estate documents after his death.
At the time I thought she was worried about the twins.
Now I called Rachel.
“Mom asked me who controls everything if I become incapacitated.”
Rachel went quiet.
“When?”
“Before the fight.”
“How long before?”
“Maybe three weeks.”
Rachel’s voice changed.
“Elena, I need you to check whether she ever asked you to sign a power of attorney.”
I already knew the answer.
May you like
She had.
Twice.
