Adrian stepped closer. “Turn them back on.”
“No.”
His voice dropped. “Don’t play games with me.”
For the first time in years, his anger did not scare me. It clarified him.
“I’m not playing games,” I said. “I’m ending them.”
Vanessa softened her voice. “Mr. Bennett, last night got out of hand. We were drinking. Nobody meant to hurt your feelings.”
“Take off my wife’s robe.”
Her softness vanished.
Adrian slammed his palm on the counter. “Enough about the robe!”
“No,” I said quietly. “Enough about you. I want everyone out of this house by six tonight.”
Vanessa laughed. “That’s illegal.”
“No. You are not tenants. You never paid rent. You never signed a lease. You lived here because I allowed it.”
Adrian pointed at me. “You wouldn’t throw your own son out.”
“Last night, you served your father dog food in front of guests. Let’s stop pretending blood excuses cruelty.”
Then Vanessa said it.
“You’re confused. This is exactly what we were worried about.”
There it was.
The trap.
I placed the assisted-living intake form on the counter.
Neither of them touched it.
But they recognized it.
“You went through my private files?” Vanessa said.
“They had my name on them.”
Adrian went pale. “Dad, listen—”
“No. You listen. Declining memory. Emotional instability. Transition within sixty days. A forged power of attorney.”
Vanessa lifted her chin. “We were trying to help you.”
“By forging my signature?”
Adrian whispered, “Vanessa.”
She shot him a look.
I turned to him. “You knew.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Then tell me what it was like.”
He rubbed his face. “You’re getting older. This house is too much.”
“I pay every bill.”
“You forget things.”
“I forgot nothing.”
Vanessa stepped forward. “Denial is common at your age.”
I looked at her for a long moment.
Then I walked to the porch and called my attorney.
