Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE RECORDING
The police didn't tell me everything.
They couldn't.
But Detective Alvarez agreed to meet with me privately.
He was older, quiet, and careful with his words.
“I need you to understand something,” he said. “We're investigating multiple issues now.”
“The crash?”
“Yes.”
“The forged medical records?”
“Yes.”
“The cameras?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the table.
“What did he do?”
“We don't know yet.”
Then Detective Alvarez placed a flash drive on the table.
“We recovered video.”
My hands tightened.
“From the house?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“Some of it is difficult.”
I nodded.
He connected the drive.
The first recording showed the kitchen.
Marcus was standing beside the counter.
I was sitting at the table.
I looked exhausted.
He was holding a bottle of medication.
“You need to take this.”
“I already did.”
“You're lying.”
“No.”
He slammed the bottle down.
“You don't get to decide.”
The video ended.
Another began.
Marcus was talking on the phone.
“She gets worse every week.”
Pause.
“No, I'm not exaggerating.”
Pause.
“I may need guardianship.”
My blood ran cold.
Another video.
Marcus was speaking to someone I didn't recognize.
A woman.
Blonde.
Elegant.
She stood inside our living room.
Marcus handed her a folder.
“I need you to make sure she doesn't get access to the accounts.”
The woman looked through the papers.
“What if she fights?”
“She won't.”
“How do you know?”
Marcus smiled.
“She doesn't know how much money is involved.”
I stared at the screen.
Money.
“What money?”
Detective Alvarez looked at me.
“We're still tracing it.”
The next recording answered part of the question.
Marcus sat at his desk.
A bank statement was visible.
There were large transfers.
Thousands.
Then tens of thousands.
One account was mine.
My savings.
My inheritance from Grandma.
Money I thought was still untouched.
I felt sick.
“How much?”
Detective Alvarez didn't answer.
Claire leaned forward.
“Tell her.”
“Approximately eighty-seven thousand dollars.”
My eyes filled with tears.
I had been wondering why Marcus suddenly became obsessed with controlling my medication, appointments, and movements.
It wasn't just control.
It was access.
If he could convince everyone I couldn't manage my own affairs, he could eventually control the money.
But there was another recording.
The woman returned.
Marcus gave her an envelope.
She asked:
“Is the power-of-attorney ready?”
“Yes.”
“And the doctor?”
“Almost.”
I froze.
“What doctor?”
Detective Alvarez paused the recording.
“We don't know yet.”
Claire looked at me.
“Do you recognize her?”
I stared at the woman's face.
Something about her seemed familiar.
Then it hit me.
“She was at my rehabilitation clinic.”
Claire frowned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Detective Alvarez leaned forward.
“What was she doing there?”
“I don't know.”
He replayed the video.
The woman turned toward the camera.
And suddenly I recognized her.
She was Dr. Shepherd's former office manager.
The same woman who had disappeared from the clinic two weeks earlier.
Detective Alvarez immediately stood.
“That's enough for tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because if she's involved, this goes beyond domestic abuse.”
He took the drive.
“We may be looking at an organized financial scheme.”
I looked at Claire.
She squeezed my hand.
But before we left, Detective Alvarez's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked directly at me.
“Your husband was released.”
My heart sank.
“Why?”
“Bail.”
I felt dizzy.
Then he added:
May you like
“And someone just posted his bail anonymously.”
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