Chapter 7 - MY FATHER’S DEATH
I had never questioned Dad’s death.
Why would I?
He was sixty-six.
He worked constantly.
He ate terrible food, hated exercise, and believed sleep was something invented for lazy people.
The official cause had been cardiac arrest.
Case closed.
But now every detail from that week came back wrong.
Mom had found him.
Fenwick had arranged the private doctor.
The funeral happened fast.
There had been no autopsy.
I called Detective Ruiz.
“I need you to look into my father’s death.”
There was a pause.
“Why?”
I told her about Fenwick’s call.
She didn’t dismiss it.
She also didn’t encourage me.
“We’ll check records.”
“I want his body exhumed.”
“Austin, slow down.”
“My wife was drugged. Seven million dollars is missing. The man who helped steal it says my father planned to expose my mother three days before he died.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Which is why I’m telling you not to run ahead of evidence.”
I hated the answer.
But she was right.
I returned to Irene’s room.
She was sitting up.
Her face looked worse in daylight.
I sat beside her.
“I need to ask you something difficult.”
She studied me.
“About your dad?”
I stared.
“How did you know?”
“Your face.”
“What about it?”
“You make the same face whenever something involves him.”
“Apparently I have a face for everything.”
“You do.”
For half a second, she smiled.
Then it faded.
“What happened?”
I told her.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she reached for my hand.
“There’s something else.”
That sentence had started to terrify me.
“What?”
“Your mother used to talk about your father when she thought I was half asleep.”
“What did she say?”
“Once she said, ‘Walter should have kept his mouth shut too.’”
My father’s name was Walter.
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“About three weeks ago.”
“Context?”
“I don’t know. She was talking to Carla downstairs. I had taken the pill she gave me. I could barely stay awake.”
I called Ruiz again.
This time, she asked me to send a written statement.
Later that afternoon, a detective visited the county medical examiner’s office.
Dad’s original records were still archived.
At 5:12 p.m., Ruiz called.
“Austin?”
“Yes.”
“We found something unusual.”
I stood.
“What?”
“Your father’s death certificate says cardiac arrest.”
“I know.”
“But the medical notes mention severe vomiting, disorientation, and abdominal pain in the hours before his death.”
I frowned.
“Heart attack symptoms?”
“Could be.”
“But?”
“Could also indicate poisoning.”
The room went silent around me.
Ruiz continued.
“We need more before we say anything.”
I swallowed.
“Can you exhume him?”
“We’re preparing a request.”
I hung up.
Irene touched my arm.
Before I could speak, Marcus rushed into the room.
He looked furious.
“What happened?”
He threw a printed email onto the table.
“Fenwick just filed an emergency motion.”
“For what?”
“To enforce the guardianship petition.”
“After last night?”
“He claims your accusations against your mother prove you are experiencing a paranoid breakdown.”
I laughed once.
A dark, humorless sound.
“Of course he does.”
Marcus pointed to the final paragraph.
“And he attached a psychiatric evaluation.”
“I’ve never had a psychiatric evaluation.”
“I know.”
I looked at the doctor’s name.
Dr. Samuel Creighton.
Then Irene whispered:
“I know him.”
I turned.
“What?”
“That’s the man your mother brought here twice.”
I stared at the signature.
May you like
The fake doctor was real.
And he had been inside my home.
