“Nothing specific,” I said. “When you have substantial wealth, you learn that some people may see you as an opportunity.”
Later, through the thin walls, I heard part of Carter’s interview with Arthur, and what I heard turned my stomach.
“My mother has been acting strange lately,” Arthur said. “I don’t think she’d really hurt anyone, but she’s been more suspicious than usual.”
“Suspicious in what way?” Carter asked.
“Little things. Asking questions about Genevieve’s background. Making comments about women who marry for money. The normal mother-in-law stuff, I guess, but now…”
He let the sentence fade exactly where it needed to.
Then came the next quiet blade.
“Mom can be very controlling when it comes to family money. She doesn’t like anyone she thinks is after her fortune.”
By the time Carter returned to me, his manner had changed. The respectful neutrality was gone. In its place was caution edged with suspicion.
“Mrs. Vance,” he said, “have you been concerned about your daughter-in-law’s intentions regarding your family’s wealth?”
“I think any parent is entitled to protect family assets,” I said carefully. “But I have never had a reason to harm Genevieve.”
“Your son says you’ve been acting more suspicious lately.”
“I don’t believe I have. Arthur may be mistaking caution for something else.”
He kept writing. I could almost see the outline of the case forming in his head. Wealthy older woman. Tension with younger daughter-in-law. Money at the center. Opportunity. Means.
“I need permission to search your home,” he said.
I knew I could refuse, demand a warrant, force the process to slow down. But refusal would only make me appear more guilty.
“Of course. I have nothing to hide.”
When I left the hospital that afternoon, I glanced through a gap in Genevieve’s curtain. She was sitting up, breathing steadily, speaking quietly with a nurse. When she noticed me watching, she gave me a small, satisfied smile.
That smile told me everything.
This was not over. It was only beginning.
The search of my home was thorough, professional, and devastating. Detective Carter arrived with a full forensic team and, this time, a warrant broad enough to open every drawer in the house. I sat in my living room as strangers in latex gloves moved through my private life as though it were a crime scene in a television pilot.
“We appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Vance,” Carter said as technicians spread through the halls. “This should only take a few hours.”
I retreated to my study, the same room where Arthur had demanded money three days earlier, and tried to understand how quickly my life had changed. Less than seventy-two hours before, I had been a wealthy widow managing her family estate in uneasy peace. Now I was the focus of an attempted-murder investigation.
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