Chapter 6: The Board Review
The medical records arrived on a Thursday, five days after I'd delivered the letter.
Sandra from the clinic called Garrett's personal cell — a number I hadn't known he had, kept separate from the house line Douglas monitored.
Garrett told me afterward, his voice flat and controlled in the way I'd come to recognize as the register he used when something had made him very angry.
"There are two sets of records," he said.
I looked up from the medication log.
"Two sets?"
"The official file and a supplemental file that was never shared with me.
The supplemental file contains notes from a consulting physician I never met.
A Dr.
Farrow." He set his phone face-down on the blanket.
"Dr.
Farrow's notes indicate that my prognosis is, quote, 'unlikely to include meaningful motor recovery' and that 'continued aggressive rehabilitation would be inadvisable given patient's psychological fragility.'"
"Psychological fragility," I repeated.
"I have never been evaluated for psychological fragility.
No one has ever used those words to me or in my presence." He looked at the window.
"Those notes were added to my file six weeks after my accident.
Two weeks before Douglas filed the ownership restructuring."
The shape of it came clear all at once.
"They needed a medical record that supported incapacity," I said.
"If I'm deemed unable to manage my own affairs — cognitively or psychologically — the restructuring becomes much harder to challenge." He turned back to me.
"Douglas has been building a case.
Not just legally.
Medically."
"You need to call Patricia Howe."
"I already did.
This morning." He held up the phone.
"She wants to meet.
Not here.
She said to come to her office."
"When?"
"Monday.
She suggested I arrive without informing anyone in the house."
I thought about the logistics.
Monday was Douglas's golf morning — he left at eight and was rarely back before noon.
Gertrude drove Evelyn to her church group at nine.
"I can get you there," I said.
Garrett looked at me steadily.
"Rebecca.
What I'm about to do — if Douglas finds out before I'm ready, he will move fast.
He'll contact the board, he'll use the medical file, he'll have me declared—" He stopped.
"I need you to understand what you're stepping into."
"I understand."
"Do you?
Because the last person who helped me — my accountant, the one who flagged the dividend — he withdrew from my account two weeks later.
No explanation.
His office told me he'd taken on too many clients."
The room was very quiet.
"I'm not your accountant," I said.
Something in Garrett's face shifted — not quite relief, but close to it.
Monday morning, I loaded his wheelchair into the car at seven fifty-five while Douglas was still finishing breakfast.
I told Gertrude I was taking Garrett for a short drive, that the doctor had recommended fresh air and light movement.
She looked at me with flat eyes and said nothing.
We were out of the driveway before eight.
Patricia Howe's office was on the fourteenth floor of a building downtown.
She met us at the elevator — a tall woman in her early sixties, silver-haired, with the kind of stillness that came from spending decades in rooms where everything mattered.
She shook Garrett's hand first.
Then mine.
"You're the caregiver," she said.
"Rebecca Miller."
"Garrett told me what you did at the clinic." She held the door.
"Come in."
We sat across from her desk.
She opened a folder.
"I've reviewed the ownership documents and the medical file you sent me," she said.
"I want to be direct with you, Garrett.
What Douglas filed is not airtight.
The signature on the restructuring agreement has inconsistencies I want a forensic analyst to examine.
And the supplemental medical notes — a physician adding records to a file without patient contact or disclosure is a serious problem."
"Can it be challenged?" Garrett asked.
"Yes.
But the window matters." She set her pen down.
"The board review you mentioned — when exactly is it?"
"Five weeks from today."
Patricia nodded slowly.
"Then we have five weeks," she said.
"And Douglas cannot know we've started."
On the drive home, Garrett was quiet for a long time.
Then he said: "Douglas called while we were in her office."
I glanced at him.
"I didn't answer," he said.
"But he'll ask where we went."
We pulled onto the residential street.
The house came into view.
May you like
Douglas's car was in the driveway.
Golf had ended early.
