Chapter 6 - THE DOCTOR
Dr. Lawson had treated my father for fifteen years.
He diagnosed the cancer.
He coordinated hospice.
He signed the death certificate.
And according to Dad’s letter, he had also been meeting privately with Uncle Ray.
Helen handed me photographs.
Samuel had taken them.
Raymond and Lawson outside a restaurant.
Raymond entering Lawson’s clinic after hours.
Mom meeting Lawson in a parking garage.
“What am I looking at?”
Helen answered carefully.
“Your father became suspicious about changes in his medication.”
My mouth went dry.
“What kind of changes?”
“Dosages.”
“Who noticed?”
“Thomas.”
“He was managing his own medicine?”
“Until Margaret insisted he couldn’t.”
I turned to Evan.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
For once, I believed him immediately.
Helen continued.
“Thomas told me he felt much worse after Dr. Lawson altered several medications.”
“He had terminal cancer.”
“Yes.”
“So feeling worse wouldn’t be unusual.”
“No.”
“But your father said something very specific.”
She found another page.
“He wrote, ‘The pain is manageable until I take what Lawson added.’”
A coldness moved through me.
“What did he add?”
“A sedative.”
“Normal for hospice?”
“It can be.”
“Then what’s suspicious?”
Helen hesitated.
“The dosage recorded in Lawson’s chart does not match the dosage listed on the medication bottle your father photographed.”
Samuel put a photograph in front of me.
The label was clear.
The numbers were different.
“Which one was higher?”
“The bottle.”
My breathing changed.
“By how much?”
“Enough that Thomas wanted a second opinion.”
“Did he get one?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“His appointment was scheduled for the morning after he died.”
Nobody spoke.
I looked at Helen.
“Are you telling me my father might not have died naturally?”
“I’m telling you Thomas was afraid someone was accelerating the process.”
Evan stood abruptly.
“No.”
He paced away.
“No.”
I understood.
There are truths so ugly your mind refuses to touch them.
I had spent eleven months believing I failed my father.
Now I was being asked to consider that the people around him might have engineered his final days.
Helen slid the bank statements toward me.
One account belonged to my mother.
Six weeks before Dad died, she received $150,000.
The sender was a consulting company.
I had never heard of it.
Helen had.
“It’s controlled by Raymond.”
Evan stared at the page.
Mom had always told us she handled the family finances carefully.
Dad was old-fashioned about money.
She managed household expenses.
Nothing unusual.
Except now there was $150,000.
“What was it for?”
Helen shook her head.
“Thomas never found out.”
“Did he confront her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That it was a loan.”
“Did he believe her?”
“No.”
I looked down at Dad’s letter.
At the bottom of the page, he had written one sentence in capital letters.
CLAIRE, DO NOT LET THEM TURN THIS INTO A FAMILY ARGUMENT.
THIS IS EVIDENCE.
Then Helen’s phone rang.
She checked the screen.
Her face changed.
“Who is it?”
She answered.
Listened.
Then stood.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Don’t touch anything.”
She hung up.
“What happened?”
Helen looked at Samuel.
Then at me.
“Someone broke into your father’s house.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did they take?”
“We don’t know yet.”
May you like
She closed the file.
“But the locked cabinet in his study is gone.”
