Chapter 8 - THE DOCTOR WHO NEVER TREATED ME
Dr. Samuel Creighton had a license.
That surprised me.
What surprised me more was that he specialized in geriatric psychiatry.
I was thirty-eight.
Marcus pulled his public records.
“Few complaints. No major discipline.”
“Then why would he sign this?”
“Money.”
“Blackmail.”
“Or stupidity.”
Irene looked at his photograph.
“That’s him.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do here?”
“He talked to Margaret in the kitchen.”
“Did he ever speak to you?”
“Once.”
“What about?”
She hesitated.
“He asked whether you had become more angry lately.”
My stomach sank.
“What did you say?”
“I said you were stressed.”
Marcus groaned.
“Then?”
“He asked if you forgot things.”
“Irene.”
“I didn’t know what they were doing.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
She blinked quickly.
“I said sometimes you forget where you put your keys.”
Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“Congratulations. You’re clinically incompetent.”
Despite everything, Irene gave a weak laugh.
That sound reminded me why we were fighting.
Detective Ruiz obtained the raw security footage.
Creighton appeared twice.
In one clip, Mom gave him an envelope.
In another, he examined documents while Carla practiced my signature.
That was enough for police to bring him in.
Creighton folded before dinner.
He admitted Fenwick paid him $40,000 to prepare a “preliminary competency concern.”
He claimed he never expected the document to be used in court.
Ruiz called that explanation “creative.”
Then Creighton gave them something important.
Fenwick had contacted him almost a year earlier.
Not months.
A year.
The original plan hadn’t involved Irene.
It involved me.
According to Creighton, Fenwick wanted a path to remove me from control of the Wentworth trust if I ever challenged certain financial transactions.
Then Irene got pregnant.
Everything accelerated.
“Why?” I asked Ruiz.
“Your father’s trust has a provision.”
Marcus answered before she could.
“What provision?”
He pulled up the trust agreement.
I had read it years ago but never cared about this section.
“If Austin dies without descendants, a large portion eventually shifts into a family branch structure.”
Ruiz nodded.
“But if Austin has a child?”
Marcus looked at me.
“Control consolidates through Austin’s descendants.”
I understood.
My baby changed who inherited the money.
Irene whispered, “So my pregnancy threatened them.”
“Yes.”
My phone slipped in my hand.
Seven million stolen.
Guardianship papers.
Drugging Irene.
It was no longer about stealing what they could.
They needed control before our baby existed legally as an heir.
Ruiz leaned forward.
“There’s another possibility.”
I didn’t like her tone.
“What?”
“If they couldn’t get the guardianship order…”
She stopped.
I finished for her.
“They needed another way to keep the baby from inheriting.”
Irene went pale.
I stood immediately.
“No.”
Marcus said my name.
“No.”
I looked at Ruiz.
“You think they were trying to make Irene miscarry.”
“We don’t know.”
Irene covered her stomach.
Ruiz spoke carefully.
“The sedative alone doesn’t prove intent to harm the pregnancy.”
“But beating her does.”
“Yes.”
Before anyone could say more, a nurse entered carrying a clear evidence bag.
“We found this mixed with Mrs. Wentworth’s belongings.”
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Irene frowned.
“That’s not mine.”
Ruiz put on gloves and opened it.
A handwritten schedule.
Dates.
Dosages.
Next to Friday’s date, someone had written:
DOUBLE DOSE — AUSTIN GONE 5 DAYS.
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Below that:
IF STILL PREGNANT, FENWICK HAS PLAN B.
