thought it might help us both,” she said.
“Just to make sure you’re handling everything well.”
At eleven, Dr.
Preston arrived.
He seemed uncomfortable the moment Paige began answering questions for me.
He asked my name, the date, where I lived, what medications I took, and whether I knew why he was there.
“Paige says she worries I’m confused,” I replied.
“I worry Paige is attempting to manufacture evidence that I’m confused.”
Paige laughed too quickly.
“See? She’s suspicious.”
I turned to the doctor.
“Would you please document that Paige interrupted my answer and characterized disagreement as suspicion?”
The room became very still.
Dr.
Preston lowered his pen.
“Mrs.
Vance, if there is a legal or financial dispute, I should not be evaluating you at the request of an interested party.
I can refer you for an independent assessment.”
“I would appreciate that.”
Paige’s face went pale.
After he left, she followed me into the kitchen and closed the door.
The softness vanished from her voice.
“What did Michael leave you?”
“His watch.”
“Stop lying.
Darren found references to transfers on an old laptop.”
“Then why ask me?”
Her lips tightened.
“Because I was his wife.
His property belongs with me.”
“Property Michael legally transferred months ago would belong to whoever received it.”
Her eyes flashed.
That was the first time I saw fear.
Not grief.
Fear.
“Michael made things unnecessarily difficult before he died,” she said.
“I won’t let you do the same.”
I said nothing.
Behind Paige, beneath the edge of Michael’s bookshelf, a tiny green light blinked.
I had seen Michael install security cameras years earlier after a neighborhood burglary, but I believed he had removed them.
That evening, while Paige was showering, I examined the bookshelf.
The camera connected to a small local recorder hidden behind a panel.
I called Samuel before touching anything else.
The following morning, a licensed investigator he recommended arrived while Paige was out.
Together, they preserved copies of the recordings.
Michael had kept months of footage.
Most of it was useless: empty rooms, delivery drivers, Michael working at his desk.
Then we found the night he had collapsed.
At 9:41 p.m., Paige entered the study carrying tea.
Michael was on the phone.
She placed the mug on his desk and left.
Several minutes later, he drank.
Forty minutes after that, he stumbled when he stood.
That did not prove she had drugged him.
But another recording changed everything.
Two weeks before Michael died, Paige and Darren were alone in the study.
Their voices were faint, but clear enough.
Darren asked, “What happens if he never signs?”
Paige replied, “Then we stop waiting for permission.”
Darren paced.
“You’re already pushing this too hard.”
“He moved assets.
I know he did.
If he files for divorce before we find them, I’m finished.”
Then Darren said something that made the investigator stop playback.
“Do not involve me with his car again.”
The room went silent.
I felt all the blood drain from my face.
Michael had died when his car left the road on a rainy curve.
The crash had been treated as an accident.
Samuel immediately contacted law enforcement.
I did not sleep that night.
The next morning, investigators interviewed me, collected copies of the recordings, and requested the original device.
They also
