I raised the folder he had attempted to force me to sign. “Your custody papers included a medical power of attorney, financial control over my separate assets, and a clause allowing you to relocate our daughter for ‘wellness supervision.’ You were going to move her to Celeste’s house and call me unstable.”
Celeste snapped, “This is nonsense.”
Lila pressed play on the laptop.
Damon’s voice filled the room: “Get the judge lined up. Once the trust transfers, we freeze her out.”
Then came Celeste’s voice from another recording, cold and uninterested: “Keep the doses small. She only needs to look confused, not dead.”
My father stumbled as though someone had hit him.
I watched his face crumble, but I did not save him from it.
The bank tracing followed. Shell invoices. Forged emails from my account. “Allowance” payments sent to a company Damon owned. Four thousand dollars a month, stolen first, then turned into a leash around my neck.
The hospital legal director entered with the police.
Damon pointed at me. “She’s my wife.”
“No,” I said. “I’m your witness.”
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