Chapter 4 - The Doctor Arthur Wanted
My doctor’s name was Dr. Samuel Price.
I had trusted him for six years.
After Chloe told me what she heard, Melanie contacted his office with my permission.
The first surprise came quickly.
Arthur had called Dr. Price separately three times.
I had never known.
He reported concerns about my memory.
Decision-making.
Mood.
Supposed episodes of confusion.
Dr. Price documented the calls because that was what responsible physicians did.
But Arthur’s descriptions were more severe than anything I reported myself.
One note referenced me “misplacing financial documents.”
That never happened.
Another said I had “forgotten a meeting with an accountant.”
Wrong again.
I had rescheduled it.
Then Melanie found something else.
Arthur asked Dr. Price what evidence would be required to establish temporary incapacity for financial purposes.
Dr. Price refused to make any determination without a full independent evaluation.
That was probably why Arthur had become more aggressive.
He needed symptoms.
Documented ones.
Dr. Price called me personally.
“Rebecca, are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Are you with Arthur?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I told him about the juice and the recording.
He immediately arranged a medical evaluation at a hospital unaffiliated with Arthur.
I went with Chloe.
The results did not provide some dramatic instant answer.
That was frustrating.
Medicine rarely behaves like television.
Doctors found signs consistent with repeated exposure to something that could contribute to fatigue, dizziness, and cognitive slowing.
They needed further testing.
My physician explained only what was medically necessary.
Not how someone might create the symptoms.
I did not want that knowledge anyway.
I wanted distance.
The preserved drink became evidence.
So did blood and urine samples.
Melanie told me to focus on one fact:
Arthur did not need to know what we knew.
Not yet.
So I went home the next afternoon.
Not alone.
Chloe stayed with me.
Arthur returned at six.
He acted normal.
Almost.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you?”
“At the doctor.”
His face changed.
“Dr. Price?”
“No.”
Tiny pause.
“Why?”
“Second opinion.”
He smiled.
“That’s probably good.”
Then his eyes moved toward Chloe.
“You staying tonight?”
“Yes.”
He looked disappointed.
That was confirmation enough.
At dinner, Arthur barely ate.
He asked whether the new doctor prescribed anything.
No.
Whether they changed my diagnosis.
No.
Whether they wanted to see me again.
Yes.
Every question was casual.
Every answer seemed to irritate him.
Then my phone rang.
Melanie.
I stepped into the hallway.
Her voice was controlled.
“We found something.”
“What?”
“Arthur contacted an estate-planning attorney six weeks ago.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“For what?”
“To discuss what happens if a spouse becomes unable to manage inherited assets.”
My eyes closed.
“Did he use my name?”
“Not initially.”
“Initially?”
“He followed up.”
I looked through the doorway.
Arthur sat at the dining table with Chloe.
Smiling.
Listening to her talk about work.
Playing father.
“What did he ask?”
“He wanted to know whether a spouse could petition to manage property if the acting trustee was medically incompetent.”
My voice dropped.
“My trust.”
“That appears to be what he was asking about.”
Then Melanie added:
“There’s more.”
Arthur had not only asked about incapacity.
He had asked whether a business debt could be satisfied using assets controlled by an incapacitated spouse if the managing party argued that protecting the marriage required it.
The lawyer told him no.
Repeatedly.
Arthur kept asking different versions of the same question.
I stood in the hallway listening to my husband laugh with our daughter.
May you like
And suddenly I knew the orange juice was not the beginning.
It was the point where his legal plan had failed and something more desperate had started.
