Chapter 6 - The Daughter Who Manipulated a Dying Man
By noon, I was no longer only a grieving daughter.
According to the internet, I was a thief.
The first article appeared on a local business blog.
MARLOWE HEIRESS ACCUSED OF MANIPULATING TERMINALLY ILL FATHER.
An hour later, another appeared.
FAMILY WAR ERUPTS OVER $60 MILLION ESTATE.
Then came a photograph of me leaving Dad’s house.
My split lip was visible.
The caption described me as “embattled executor Elena Marlowe.”
Nothing mentioned that Julian had hit me.
Nothing mentioned missing company funds.
Nothing mentioned forged documents.
Someone was controlling the story.
By three o’clock, former employees were being interviewed anonymously.
“Elena isolated Richard during his final days.”
“She wanted control.”
“Julian was the natural successor.”
Every sentence sounded prepared.
Samuel entered the study holding his tablet.
“Do not respond publicly.”
“They’re saying I killed him for money.”
“They are implying manipulation.”
“That’s better?”
“No. It’s legally different.”
I laughed bitterly.
He did not.
Rebecca had left to coordinate with investigators.
Police still had not found Julian.
Raymond claimed through an attorney that he had no idea where his nephew was and denied every allegation.
Then the petition arrived.
Julian had filed an emergency challenge against my appointment as executor.
The filing claimed Dad lacked mental capacity when he signed his final estate documents.
It also alleged I had restricted Julian’s access to him.
“This was prepared before the funeral,” Samuel said.
I looked at the timestamp.
He was right.
Julian had filed less than ninety minutes after Dad was buried.
Before the safe opened.
Before the investigators appeared.
He had planned to challenge me regardless of what the safe contained.
“He knew Dad made me executor.”
“Apparently.”
“How?”
Samuel’s mouth tightened.
“That is a question I would like answered.”
The hearing was scheduled for the next morning.
They wanted me removed before I could authorize deeper access to the company records.
It was fast.
Too fast.
That meant someone had influence.
Or preparation.
Probably both.
That evening, I returned to St. Catherine Hospital.
Not officially.
Not as executor.
As Dad’s daughter.
I walked through the same automatic doors I had entered every day for almost two weeks.
Everything smelled the same.
Disinfectant.
Coffee.
Fear.
A nurse named Mia recognized me near the elevators.
Her expression softened.
“Elena.”
“Hi.”
She hugged me.
I almost broke.
Kindness had become dangerous because it made grief real again.
“I heard about your brother,” she whispered.
“Everyone has.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Mia, can I ask you something?”
Her face changed.
That told me enough.
“What?”
“Did Dad’s medications change while he was here?”
She looked toward the nurses’ station.
“I can’t discuss medical records.”
“I know.”
“I could lose my job.”
“I’m not asking you to break the law.”
She exhaled.
“What are you asking?”
“Was there anything unusual?”
She hesitated.
Then said, “You need to request the full administration log.”
“Why?”
“Elena…”
“Please.”
She looked terrified.
“Your father had periods of confusion.”
“I know.”
“But sometimes they happened after certain family visits.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“What family?”
“I can’t—”
“Mia.”
She looked down.
“Your uncle came more often than you knew.”
Raymond.
“How often?”
“Late.”
My skin went cold.
“He wasn’t on the visitor list.”
“He told security he was handling business for your father.”
“Did he see Dad alone?”
“Sometimes.”
I remembered leaving the hospital at midnight.
Returning at six.
Believing Dad had slept.
“What else?”
Mia shook her head.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this.”
Then she leaned closer.
“There was one night your father pulled out his IV.”
“What?”
“He was upset. He kept saying someone had given him something.”
My throat tightened.
“What did the doctor say?”
“They said he was confused.”
“Was he?”
Mia looked directly at me.
“I don’t think so.”
A voice behind us interrupted.
“Mia.”
We turned.
A hospital administrator stood ten feet away.
Tall.
Dark suit.
Perfect tie.
His badge read ANDREW KELLER — VICE PRESIDENT, OPERATIONS.
Mia stepped back.
“I need to go.”
She left quickly.
Keller approached me.
“Ms. Marlowe, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“I understand this is a difficult time.”
I waited.
“But staff members cannot informally discuss confidential clinical information.”
“I didn’t ask her to.”
“I’m sure.”
His smile never reached his eyes.
“You can submit a formal estate request.”
“I will.”
“That would be appropriate.”
I studied him.
“Do you know Raymond Marlowe?”
His smile flickered.
Only slightly.
“I’m familiar with many families who visit our hospital.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I don’t believe discussing another visitor would be appropriate.”
I nodded.
Then looked at his badge again.
“Do you know Meridian Medical Holdings?”
This time, the smile disappeared.
Three seconds.
Maybe two.
Enough.
“I’m not familiar with every vendor.”
“Funny.”
“What is?”
“My father used to say people become very careful with words when the truth is nearby.”
His jaw tightened.
I walked away.
When I reached the parking garage, I found an envelope beneath my windshield wiper.
No stamp.
No name.
Inside was a USB drive.
And a handwritten note.
YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FATHER?
CHECK CAMERA 4B.
11:42 P.M.
THREE NIGHTS BEFORE HE DIED.
I spun around.
The garage was nearly empty.
No one.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A woman whispered, “Don’t take that drive home.”
“Who is this?”
“They’re watching your car.”
I looked around.
“Who?”
“If you want the original hospital footage, come alone.”
“Where?”
She gave me an address.
I recognized it.
An abandoned diner two miles from the hospital.
“Who are you?”
The woman’s voice trembled.
May you like
“I’m the person who deleted the footage the first time.”
Then she hung up.
