Chapter 7 - The Lie on Paper

We reached Simone's office at twelve forty. She had dark circles under her eyes, a coffee maker that sounded close to death, and no patience for rich families who thought laws were optional.
"Sit," she told us. "You can be angry after we read."
On her screen sat a scanned filing delivered to my registered address three weeks earlier. It claimed I had exhibited paranoid behavior, refused medical advice for my son, and threatened foundation employees. Attached were statements from Vivian and a physician I'd never met.
"My father filed this before tonight?"
"His attorneys drafted it," Simone said. "But the actual petition was filed this evening. They were waiting for an excuse."
Another document arrived through a contact authorized to share a copy with Nora: an internal intake log from Briar Glen. The patient listed as Anna Reed had been admitted on the same date the authorities reported Mara dead.
Under responsible party, the file read Evan Mercer.
Below it was my electronic signature.
"That's from the insurance packet," I said. "I signed one page. The others were underneath."
Simone leaned closer.
"The digital signature includes a timestamp two days after your wife was declared deceased. If you have proof you were elsewhere, that matters."
I had been at Theo's pediatric appointment with Lydia that afternoon. The memory was sharp because I'd spilled formula all over my shirt.
Grant checked his notes. "We can get the clinic's record."
Nora folded her hands so tightly her knuckles whitened.
"At Briar Glen, they told Mara you signed her confinement order willingly. She kept asking what she had done wrong."
I couldn't answer.
Then Simone opened the death certificate and frowned.
"This is strange. There was no positive DNA identification. The cause is certified using dental comparison from files supplied by a private clinic."
"My father's dentist," I said.
She looked up.
"Evan, there is a difference between suspicion and proof. But every new document gives us another reason to investigate."
Grant's phone buzzed. A message from a source at St. Agnes had arrived.
WEST STAIRWELL FOOTAGE EXISTS. NOT ON THEIR SERVER. ASK FOR THE FIRE-SAFETY COPY.
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Below it was a warning.
SOMEONE HAS ALREADY REQUESTED ITS DESTRUCTION.