The woman on Daniel’s security screen was named Nina Vale.
I had seen her twice at Pine Valley Hospital while my father was recovering from heart surgery.
She wore a hospital badge, carried patient files, and moved through the cardiac wing with the confidence of someone who belonged there.
The second time I saw her, she had been standing outside my father’s room with a clipboard and a document she wanted him to sign.
She told him it was an insurance authorization.
My father refused because my name was not listed anywhere on the form.
At the time, I assumed it had been a clerical mistake.
Now Nina was frozen on the hallway monitor outside my apartment, standing beside Thomas and Mrs.
Higgins with a black notary case in her hand.
“When was this recorded?” I asked.
Daniel checked the timestamp.
“Eleven days ago.”
Mrs.
Higgins backed away from the screen.
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves she entered my apartment,” I said.
“She was helping us with paperwork,” Thomas replied.
“What paperwork?”
He looked at the folder in my hands but did not answer.
Lena was still on speakerphone.
I heard the quick rhythm of her keyboard.
“Alice, photograph the medical letter and send it to me now.”
I placed the folder on the kitchen counter and took clear pictures of every page.
Thomas hovered nearby, clenching and unclenching his hands.
The letter claimed I had been examined at Pine Valley Hospital after exhibiting severe confusion, paranoia, and impaired judgment.
It recommended immediate supervision of my finances and property.
The physician’s name beneath the statement was Dr.
Samuel Ortega.
I knew that name because Dr.
Ortega had once worked with my father’s surgeon.
He had also died eleven months earlier.
Lena went silent after receiving the photograph.
Then she said, “No one leaves.
Daniel, can you secure the elevator on that floor without trapping anyone inside?”
“I can restrict access and call building security.”
“Do it.
I am contacting the hospital’s legal department and the title company.”
Thomas laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“You’re making this sound criminal.
It’s a family matter.”
“A dead physician signed a letter saying I am mentally incompetent,” I said.
“That is not a family matter.”
Mrs.
Higgins set my blue mug down so hard that coffee spilled across the counter.
“You have always twisted everything,” she said.
“Thomas tried to build a stable home, and you treated him like a tenant.”
“He was living in property I owned before we met.”
“He was your husband.”
“That did not give him permission to forge my name.”
Thomas stepped between us.
“You were gone for nearly two months.
You ignored this marriage.”
“I called you every night.”
“You called to talk about your father.”
“My father was recovering from open-heart surgery.”
