PART 5 — THE DOCTOR’S NAME

“I think I know.”

Nobody moved.

I looked at my son.

“Then tell me.”

Mark sat down slowly.

“About three weeks ago, Alicia asked me for the name of your doctor.”

Alicia’s head came up.

“Mark, don’t.”

He ignored her.

“She said Silver Meadows needed it before they could give us information.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“Yes.”

I swallowed.

“Anything else?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Your date of birth. Insurance information. Medication list.”

Every answer felt worse than the one before it.

Thomas leaned forward.

“Did Dorothy authorize you to provide any of that?”

“No.”

Alicia slammed her palm against the table.

“We were trying to help her!”

Thomas didn’t raise his voice.

“Then why didn’t you tell her?”

Alicia had no answer.

I looked again at the Silver Meadows paper.

Progressive memory impairment.

Those words bothered me.

Not just because they were false.

Because they sounded medical.

“Thomas.”

“Yes?”

“Where did they get that diagnosis?”

He studied the page.

“It doesn’t identify a diagnosing physician here.”

Mark suddenly looked confused.

“Wait.”

He pulled out his phone.

Alicia stood.

“We’re leaving.”

“No.”

Mark’s voice had changed.

Not louder.

Harder.

He scrolled through his messages.

“I remember something.”

Alicia grabbed her purse.

Thomas calmly said, “I’d recommend you remain seated.”

She glared at him.

Mark kept scrolling.

Then stopped.

His face changed.

“What is it?” I asked.

He turned his phone toward Thomas.

A text from Alicia.

Three weeks earlier.

Got the doctor paperwork handled. Silver Meadows shouldn’t give us trouble now.

Thomas read it.

Then looked at her.

“What does ‘handled’ mean?”

Alicia crossed her arms.

“You’re twisting everything.”

“Then untwist it.”

Silence.

Thomas pointed at the intake summary.

“Who told Silver Meadows Dorothy has progressive memory impairment?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who completed this form?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who submitted it?”

“I don’t remember.”

I almost laughed.

Of all the answers she could have chosen.

Thomas apparently noticed the irony too.

“Interesting time to develop memory trouble.”

Mark looked at his wife.

“Alicia.”

“What?”

“What did you do?”

“I filled out a questionnaire.”

His face drained.

“You told me her doctor filled it out.”

“I said the medical section was handled.”

“No. You said her doctor.”

They stared at each other.

Then Thomas asked the question that changed the room.

“Did you ever contact Dorothy’s physician?”

Alicia didn’t answer.

“Alicia?”

“No.”

My son closed his eyes.

I felt something inside me settle.

Not break.

Settle.

There is a difference.

Breaking hurts all at once.

Settling is when you finally stop arguing with what you already know.

Thomas gathered the Silver Meadows pages.

“Dorothy, after they leave, we’re contacting the facility. We’re also documenting everything that was represented about you.”

“Fine.”

Alicia laughed.

“You’re acting like I committed some enormous crime.”

“I haven’t accused you of a crime,” Thomas said. “I’m establishing facts.”

Then Mark spoke.

“What about Bruce?”

Alicia froze.

Thomas turned toward him.

“What about him?”

Mark stared at his wife.

“You said Bruce needed Mom’s information because he was preparing a market estimate.”

Alicia said nothing.

“But he didn’t need her insurance information for that.”

“No.”

“Or her medications.”

“No.”

“Or her doctor’s name.”

“No.”

Mark’s voice dropped.

“So why did you ask me for all of it at the same time?”

Alicia grabbed her purse.

“I am done with this.”

She headed toward the front door.

I didn’t stop her.

But just before she reached the hallway, Thomas said:

“One more thing.”

She stopped.

Thomas had returned to the folder.

He pulled out the property valuation again and examined the last page.

Then he frowned.

“Dorothy.”

“Yes?”

“Bruce didn’t prepare this only as a valuation.”

He turned it around.

I leaned closer.

Near the bottom was a line I hadn’t noticed.

Target listing date: December 27.

Two days after Christmas.

But beneath that was something worse.

Seller representative: Mark Harper.

My son stared at his own name.

“I never agreed to that.”

Thomas looked directly at him.

“Then we have another question.”

He tapped the page.

“If you aren’t the person who authorized Bruce to prepare this…”

His eyes moved toward Alicia.

“…who did?”

Alicia stood perfectly still beside my front door.

And then her phone rang.

She looked at the screen.

So did Mark.

I couldn’t see the name.

But Mark could.

His expression changed instantly.

“Answer it,” he said.

Alicia declined the call.

“Alicia.”

“It’s nothing.”

The phone rang again.

This time Thomas could see the screen too.

He looked at me.

“Dorothy,” he said quietly, “I believe we’ve just found someone else we need to speak with.”

I looked at Alicia’s phone.

And finally saw the name flashing across it.

BRUCE KELLER.