Chapter 6: What the Receipts Said
Jake didn't say a word.
He just looked at me with that flat, steady expression and then walked back to his room.
The door didn't slam.
That was almost worse — the quiet click of a man who wasn't rattled, or was working very hard to seem that way.
I didn't sleep.
I sat at the kitchen table with my phone and spent two hours looking up every medical billing code I could find for the type of treatment Mom was receiving.
I had asked her doctor's name before I left her room.
Dr.
Anita Patel.
Oncology.
The hospital was twenty minutes away.
By two in the morning I had a rough picture of what her treatment should cost.
It was significant.
But it wasn't forty-three thousand dollars in six months.
Not even close.
At seven the next morning, Dad came into the kitchen and found me still at the table.
"Did you sleep?"
"No.
Sit down."
He sat.
"I need you to get me every piece of paper Jake has given you about Mom's medical expenses.
Bills, receipts, insurance statements, anything."
"He keeps most of it in his room."
"Then I need you to ask him for it.
Today.
Tell him I want to go over the insurance claims with you both.
Make it sound routine."
Dad looked at his coffee.
"He won't like that."
"I know."
"He'll say you're overstepping."
"He'll be right.
Ask him anyway."
Dad nodded slowly.
He was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Do you think he actually took it?
The money?"
I didn't answer right away.
Outside, a bird landed on the porch railing and sat there for a moment, then flew off.
"I think forty-three thousand dollars didn't go to a hospital," I said.
Dad pressed his lips together and said nothing.
Jake came out at eight, showered and dressed like a man with somewhere to be.
He stopped when he saw me at the table.
"You're still here."
"I said I would be."
He poured himself coffee.
"Mom have a good night?"
"She did.
She wants to see us both this morning."
"I'll check on her after I make some calls."
"Jake." Dad's voice was careful.
"Ryan wants to go over the medical paperwork.
Together.
All three of us."
The coffee mug stopped halfway to Jake's mouth.
"Why?"
"Because I'm her son," I said.
"And I'd like to understand her care."
"You've been her son for about twelve hours.
I've been managing this for eight months."
"Then it should be easy to walk me through it."
Jake set the mug down.
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Fine," he said.
"After Mom's morning medication.
We'll sit down."
He went back to his room.
Dad exhaled.
At ten o'clock, Jake came to the kitchen table and dropped a manila folder in front of me.
It was thick.
I opened it.
The first three pages looked right.
Hospital letterhead.
Itemized charges.
Insurance adjustments.
Real enough.
Page four was a receipt from a medical equipment supplier.
I looked at the address.
Typed it into my phone under the table.
The company had been registered eight months ago.
One employee listed.
I turned the page over and looked at Jake.
"This equipment supplier," I said.
"Do you know them well?"
"They were recommended by the hospital."
"Which department?"
A pause.
"I don't remember.
One of the nurses, I think."
I nodded and kept turning pages.
Halfway through the folder, I found a wire transfer confirmation.
The amount was eleven thousand dollars.
The recipient account had a name I didn't recognize.
"Who is Coastal Care Solutions?" I asked.
Jake's hand moved to the table.
"Another supplier."
"For what?"
"Specialized bedding.
Pressure mattress.
It's for patients who can't move around much."
I looked down the hall toward Mom's room.
"She walked to the bathroom on her own last night."
"She has good days and bad days."
"Jake." I set the paper down.
"Coastal Care Solutions was incorporated seven months ago.
I looked it up this morning.
The registered agent is a man named Derek Fowler." I watched his face.
"Is Derek a friend of yours?"
The kitchen went very still.
Jake stood up.
"I don't have to sit here and be interrogated by someone who abandoned this family."
"Sit down."
"No." He grabbed the folder.
"This conversation is over."
"Jake." Dad's voice, quiet and tired.
"Sit down."
Jake looked at Dad.
Something passed between them — something old and complicated.
Then Jake sat.
I reached into my jacket pocket and put my phone on the table, screen up, showing the Secretary of State business registration page for Coastal Care Solutions.
Listed as co-owner: Jacob Alan Mercer.
Jake's full name.
The room was completely silent.
Jake looked at the screen.
May you like
Then he looked at me.
Then, for the first time since I had walked back into this house, he looked like he wasn't sure what to say next.
