“You know how your mother is. She always knows how to make herself look innocent.”
Under the kitchen table, my recorder captured every word.
I leaned back.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“The psychiatric assessment is at ten. Dr. Leonard specializes in cognitive decline. Once he confirms what’s happening, we can finally move her somewhere safe.”
“We?”
Abigail nodded toward a folder on the counter.
“I’ve already researched facilities.”
I opened it.
Three private memory-care centers.
The cheapest cost nearly nine thousand dollars a month.
“You planned all this?”
“Someone had to.”
She said it too quickly.
I turned another page.
Behind the facility brochures were legal forms.
Durable power of attorney.
Medical decision authority.
Asset management authorization.
My jaw tightened.
“These seem serious.”
“They’re standard.”
“You want control of Mom’s finances?”
“Only so bills can be paid.”
“She pays her own bills.”
“Not anymore.”
I closed the folder.
