Chapter 3 - The Daughter Who Had Stopped Believing Her
Margaret waited until Caleb drove away.
He told her he was going to the hardware store.
She knew better.
The notification on his phone had changed something.
He was racing a deadline.
Margaret showered, changed clothes, and retrieved the second burgundy case.
Inside was a microSD card.
She put it into an adapter hidden inside Tom’s old desk.
Then she opened a laptop Caleb believed no longer worked.
The files were there.
Not everything.
Enough.
Three weeks of short motion-triggered clips.
Caleb searching her desk.
Caleb removing envelopes from the mail.
Caleb photographing documents.
Caleb standing in her kitchen telling someone on the phone, “She’ll sign it. She always signs when I tell her it’s for taxes.”
Margaret stopped the video.
Her hands began shaking.
Not because she was surprised.
Because hearing it made denial impossible.
She called Rebecca.
Her daughter answered on the fourth ring.
“Mom?”
“I need you to come over.”
“I’m in Sacramento.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“Is Caleb there?”
“No.”
Margaret heard Rebecca exhale.
“Did you two fight again?”
Again.
The word hurt.
Caleb had prepared everyone carefully.
Margaret was anxious.
Margaret was confused.
Margaret was becoming suspicious.
He never said dementia.
He didn’t need to.
“Rebecca, your brother locked me in the dog kennel.”
Silence.
“What?”
“He wanted a password.”
“Mom, slow down.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
There it was.
Slow down.
The phrase Rebecca had started using after Caleb began calling her privately.
“I’m not confused.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were thinking it.”
Rebecca said nothing.
Margaret looked through the window at the empty guesthouse.
“Come see me before you decide who’s telling the truth.”
She sent Rebecca one video.
Only one.
Caleb at the desk.
The envelopes.
The sentence about making Margaret sign.
Rebecca called back twenty-two seconds later.
“What is that?”
“My house.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
“Why was he going through your things?”
“I think you should ask him.”
Rebecca’s breathing changed.
“Mom, don’t sign anything.”
Margaret almost laughed.
“I already did.”
“What?”
“Two months ago.”
“What did you sign?”
Margaret looked toward Tom’s filing cabinet.
“That’s what I need to find out.”
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Because suddenly the missing money was no longer the most frightening question.
The question was what Caleb had convinced her to authorize while everyone believed he was helping.
