Chapter 3 - WHAT I SIGNED
Karina was waiting in our kitchen when I came home with Detective Fuentes.
Two officers remained by the doorway.
My wife looked at them, then at me.
“You brought police into our house?”
“They need to collect Mom’s medication.”
“Then ask me. I organized everything.”
Fuentes spoke calmly. “Please tell us where it is.”
Karina opened a drawer hard enough to rattle the silverware.
“There. Happy?”
I recognized the weekly pill organizer. I had bought it when my mother began mixing up dates.
Or when we believed she had.
An officer photographed it before touching anything.
Karina folded her arms.
“Your mother has been confused for months.”
“The doctors are looking into that,” Fuentes said.
“She forgets taking pills. Then takes them again.”
“Did you tell her doctor?”
“I told my husband.”
She looked at me.
“You remember.”
I did.
I remembered every easy explanation I had accepted because accepting it meant I could return to work.
While the officers collected containers, I went upstairs.
The bedroom smelled like Karina’s perfume. My shirt hung over the chair where she always complained I left it.
Nothing looked different.
That was the terrible part.
I opened the cabinet where we kept household records.
A blue folder lay beneath the insurance papers.
Inside was a draft authorization allowing Karina to coordinate the sale of property held by my mother.
Attached was a copy of my signature.
I carried it downstairs.
“What is this?”
Karina’s face changed for half a second.
Then she sighed.
“The paperwork we discussed.”
“We discussed paying for a home health aide.”
“And managing expenses.”
“This says sale.”
“It’s a draft.”
“Why is my signature attached?”
“You signed the consent packet.”
I remembered doing it at breakfast while answering a work call.
Karina had turned the pages.
I had barely looked.
Fuentes took the folder from me.
“May we retain this?”
“Yes.”
Karina stepped forward.
“That contains private family information.”
Fuentes looked at her.
“Then we’ll be careful with it.”
After the officers left, Karina blocked the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my mother.”
“You’re letting her destroy our marriage.”
“No. I’m trying to find out what happened.”
She lowered her voice.
“My father can make this disappear.”
I stared at her.
“The investigation?”
“The misunderstanding.”
For years, I had heard reassurance in that tone.
Now I heard a warning.
My phone buzzed.
May you like
A message from an unfamiliar number.
This is Jorge. Come see me before you make your father’s mistake.
