There it was.
The first move.
The beginning of the trap.
I turned toward her.
“What were you worried about, Melissa?”
She looked at Brian.
Brian looked away.
I pulled the folded intake form from my jacket pocket and laid it on the counter between us.
Neither of them touched it.
But both recognized it.
I saw recognition flash across Melissa’s face before she buried it.
“You went through my private documents?” she said.
“They had my name on them.”
Brian went pale.
“Dad, listen—”
“No. You listen.”
I tapped the paper.
“Declining memory. Confusion. Emotional instability. Preferred transition date within sixty days.”
Melissa lifted her chin. “We were trying to help you.”
“By forging my signature on a power-of-attorney document?”
Brian whispered, “Melissa.”
She shot him a warning look.
I turned to my son. “You knew.”
His eyes filled with panic. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Then explain what it was like.”
