The Guardianship

The deed was dated January 13th. The death certificate was dated January 14th.

In the span of twenty-four hours, Arthur had stolen an empire.

I flipped through the rest of the documents in the manila envelope. Most were boring—tax returns, stock certificates, old bank statements. But tucked in the back was a single sheet of blue legal paper, folded into thirds.

It was a Medical Power of Attorney.

I recognized the form. I had filled one out for my own father before he passed. It gives someone the right to make medical decisions for you if you can't make them yourself.

This one was for Margaret Black-Hawthorne.

The primary agent was Arthur Hawthorne.

The alternate agent was left blank.

But it was the next section that made my breath hitch.

*Declaration of Incapacity.*

It required the signatures of two physicians to activate.

The first signature was Dr. Aris Thorne. The man with the yacht.

The second signature was illegible, a scrawl of black ink that looked more like a seismograph reading than a name. But the stamp underneath was clear.

*Dr. Elias Vane. Chief of Neurology, St. Jude’s Hospital.*

I pulled out my burner phone and searched the name.

*Dr. Elias Vane. Deceased. 2016.*

He died in a car accident. One week after the funeral.

I looked at the date next to his signature.

*January 12, 2016.*

Two days before the funeral. One day before the "accident" at the house.

According to this document, Margaret was already incapacitated. She was already "gone."

Which meant she couldn't have signed the deed transfer on the 13th.

Arthur had trapped himself. In his rush to secure the assets, he had created a paradox. If the Power of Attorney was valid, the deed transfer was legal, but it proved he knew she wasn't dead. If the Power of Attorney was invalid because she was still lucid, then the deed transfer was a forgery.

Either way, he was guilty.

But there was something else. A clause at the very bottom of the document, in tiny print.

*In the event of the primary agent’s death or incapacitation, guardianship reverts to the state, unless a family member petitions for transfer.*

Arthur had covered his bases. He didn't want Julian to have control. He didn't want anyone to have control. If he died, Margaret became a ward of the state. She would be lost in the system forever.

Unless.

Unless someone proved the initial declaration was fraud.

I took a photo of the document. Then I took a photo of the signature line.

Arthur’s signature was bold, arrogant. Margaret’s signature was absent.

But there was a witness signature.

*Tessa Boyd.*

Tessa.

She hadn't just cleaned up the blood. She had witnessed the legal execution of her employer.

Why hadn't she told me?

"Because she's terrified," I whispered to the empty room.

I put the documents back in the envelope. I put the ledger back in the safe. I locked it. I put the key back in the cannon.

I replaced the rug.

I stood up. The room was exactly as I had found it.

I had the proof. I had the motive. I had the timeline.

He didn't need her dead to get the money. He just needed her gone.

And for ten years, he had kept her in a twilight state, alive enough to keep the trust from dissolving, but dead enough to keep her from claiming it.

I walked to the door. I needed to find Tessa. I needed to get her to testify.

But as I reached for the handle, I heard a sound.

A creak.

Directly above my head.

Someone was walking on the second floor.