Chapter 3: What the Doctor's Report Was Hiding
I set the document on my knee and read it a second time.
The company was called Corbin Meridian Holdings.
Garrett's name still appeared at the top as founder.
But the ownership percentages had shifted.
Before the accident, Garrett held eighty-two percent.
The revised document showed fifty-one percent — transferred to a holding entity called DG Family Trust.
"What is DG Family Trust?" I asked.
"Douglas and Gertrude," Garrett said.
"Their initials."
I looked up at him.
"They filed this while you were in the hospital."
"Three weeks after my accident.
I was still on medication strong enough that I couldn't read a full sentence without losing the thread." He paused.
"I didn't find out until my accountant flagged an irregular dividend payment four months later.
By then, the filing had already been notarized."
"Did you confront Douglas?"
"I tried." His jaw tightened.
"He told me I had signed it.
That I had agreed before the accident to restructure for tax purposes.
He had a document with my signature on it."
"And did you sign it?"
"I don't know." The words came out slow and careful.
"That's the honest answer.
I was under a great deal of pressure before the accident.
There were meetings I barely remember.
But something about the wording — I went back and read it again last month.
The language in that restructuring agreement is not language I would have approved.
Not in that form."
I folded the document and handed it back to him.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're the only person in this house who has no reason to lie to me."
That landed somewhere quiet and heavy.
"Garrett, I've been here two days."
"I know.
But you heard Gertrude on the phone this morning and you told me exactly what she said.
Douglas's last caregiver lasted three weeks before he resigned without explanation.
The one before that was let go after a month.
I never got a real reason for either." He looked at the document in his hands.
"I think they were watching those caregivers.
Testing them.
Waiting to see if they could be managed."
"And if they couldn't be managed?"
"They disappeared from my life."
The room was very quiet.
"What do you need from me?" I asked.
"Right now?
Nothing dramatic.
I need you to keep doing your job exactly as you've been doing it.
Be pleasant with Douglas.
Be neutral with Gertrude.
Don't give them any reason to look at you twice." He set the document back in the drawer and closed it.
"And if you hear anything else — anything — I need you to tell me before you tell anyone else in this house."
I nodded slowly.
"There's one more thing," he said.
He reached beneath the folded blanket across his lap and produced a small envelope.
Inside was a business card.
A name: Patricia Howe, Attorney at Law.
A phone number written in pen beneath it.
"If something happens to me before this is resolved — if I have a sudden setback, if my condition appears to worsen without medical explanation — call that number."
My hand went still on the card.
"What do you mean, worsen without explanation?"
Garrett looked at me steadily.
"My last blood panel came back with elevated sedative markers.
I had not been prescribed any sedatives."
I stared at him.
He said nothing else.
He didn't need to.
I slipped the card into my pocket and said goodnight.
In the hallway, I passed Douglas coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water.
He smiled at me — easy, warm, the kind of smile that asked for nothing.
"Long day?" he said.
"Getting settled," I said.
"Still learning the routine."
"You'll get there." He raised the glass slightly.
"Garrett can be a lot to manage.
Don't let him wear you down."
May you like
I smiled back.
I did not sleep again that night.
