unnecessarily.
The investigative team was working to identify each participant’s actions through witness statements, the audio, the exterior camera, and physical evidence.
The picture emerging was horrifying.
Gordon had summoned his sons to confront Iris about the property sale.
Several had assaulted her when she refused to sign.
Others had prevented her from leaving or intervening.
The violence continued until Iris collapsed.
Then Gordon had ordered his sons to conceal what happened.
He had instructed them to say she fell from the loading platform.
And he had delayed the call for emergency medical assistance.
I thought about Ada.
A child who had never been given the chance to open her eyes.
I thought about Iris, trapped inside the building where she had once played as a little girl.
Then Ruiz placed another document in front of me.
It was a medical power of attorney naming Gordon as Iris’s representative.
The document was dated Tuesday.
At the bottom was my supposed signature.
I stared at it.
“That’s not mine.”
“We suspected that,” Ruiz said.
“On Tuesday, I was in Germany.”
She nodded.
“We’ve confirmed your travel records.
We’re also investigating the notary.”
The stamp belonged to Patricia Dunn, a longtime bookkeeper for Bellamy Timber.
Patricia had been employed by Gordon for nineteen years.
She also handled the company’s correspondence with banks and attorneys.
Investigators had already discovered that the disputed medical document was not the only suspicious paper she had notarized.
There was another power of attorney.
One that supposedly allowed Gordon to sell Iris’s trust property.
Its signature was also being challenged.
And the developer had already transferred a substantial advance into an escrow arrangement connected to the proposed sale.
The transaction was scheduled to close on Friday.
One day away.
Gordon wasn’t merely afraid of losing his authority over his daughter.
He was terrified of losing millions of dollars he had already counted on receiving.
Iris’s refusal threatened to expose fraudulent documents and a business built on increasingly desperate financial decisions.
That explained the pressure.
It did not excuse the violence.
Ruiz contacted the prosecutor’s office to ensure the financial investigation and the assault investigation were coordinated.
An emergency notice was delivered to the closing attorney, placing the disputed authority under scrutiny.
The sale would not proceed on the strength of documents that were now central to a criminal investigation.
Meanwhile, the hospital’s legal staff confirmed that Gordon’s claimed medical authority would not be honored.
He could not move Iris from the hospital or control her treatment through a forged document.
That evening, I returned to her bedside.
For hours, I spoke softly about ordinary things.
The porch light I’d forgotten to repair.
The neighbor’s dog that kept stealing garden gloves.
The yellow blanket folded inside Ada’s nursery.
Shortly after midnight, Iris moved her hand.
At first, I thought I’d imagined it.
Then her fingers tightened around mine.
“Caleb?” she whispered.
I leaned toward her.
“I’m here.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Is she really gone?”
I didn’t pretend not to understand.
“Yes,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“Ada’s gone.”
Iris closed her eyes.
A terrible sound escaped her, quiet enough that someone outside the room might not have heard it.
I held her hand until she could breathe normally again.
Then she opened her eyes.
