Maryanne managed a weak smile.
“They’ve essentially confessed their entire plan to me over the past few months.”
“What exactly is the plan?”
Maryanne took a deep breath as if preparing herself to relive the most terrifying parts.
“Starting when they return from Seattle, Emily is going to begin documenting what she calls concerning changes in my condition. She’ll call Mrs. Patterson and maybe even bring in another nurse for a second opinion. She’s going to report that my breathing seems labored, that my color is off, that she’s noticed signs of organ failure.”
“But you’re fine.”
“Not for long. She’s going to increase the drug dosages to actually cause the symptoms she’s reporting. Respiratory depression, irregular heartbeat, signs that my body is shutting down.”
Maryanne’s voice was clinical, as if she were discussing someone else’s death.
“The beauty of their plan is that it will look completely natural. A brain injured woman whose body finally gives up the fight.”
“How long do they think this will take?”
“Based on what I overheard, they’re planning for it to happen over about 10 days. Long enough to seem natural, but not so long that it becomes inconvenient.”
Maryanne paused.
“They want me dead before Thanksgiving.”
That was less than 3 weeks away.
“And what about after? What happens when you’re dead?”
“They inherit everything through Amal’s status as my next of kin. The house, the remaining money, my life insurance policy. They’ve already researched probate laws to make sure there won’t be any complications.”
Maryanne’s voice grew cold.
“They’ve even picked out my burial plot, the cheapest one they could find, of course. No point in wasting money on a dead woman.”
I was shaking with rage and horror.
“We have to stop them. We have to find a way to prove what they’re doing.”
“I’ve been thinking about that for months,” Maryanne said. “The problem is that everything they’ve done has been very carefully planned. The medical records, the financial documents, even the witnesses who can testify to my supposed condition. It all supports their story.”
“But we know the truth now.”
“We know the truth, but proving it is another matter entirely.”
Maryanne looked at me with an expression that was both desperate and determined.
“That’s why I need your help, Lorine. You’re the only person who’s seen me conscious. You’re the only one who knows what they’re really doing.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Maryanne was quiet for a moment. And when she spoke, her voice was stronger than it had been all day.
“I want you to help me gather evidence. Real evidence. The kind that even the best lawyers can’t explain away.”
“How?”
“They think they’re so clever, but they’ve made one crucial mistake.”
Maryanne’s eyes had a fierce gleam.
“They trust you completely. Grant believes his sweet, naive mother would never suspect anything. He thinks you’re the perfect witness because you’re too innocent to see what’s really happening.”
“So, we use that.”
“Exactly. Over the next few days, before they return, I need you to help me find proof of what they’ve been doing. Bank records, medication bottles, anything that shows the truth about their scheme.”
Maryanne gripped my hand tightly.
“And when they come back and start the final phase of their plan, we’ll be ready for them.”
“What if they suspect something? What if they realize you’re conscious?”
Maryanne smiled. And for the first time since this nightmare began, I saw hope in her expression.
“Then we’ll give them the performance of their lives. We’ll let them think they’re winning right up until the moment we destroy them.”
The determination in her voice sent chills down my spine, but they weren’t chills of fear anymore.
They were chills of anticipation.
For the first time in my life, I was going to fight back against the people who had used and manipulated me, and we were going to win.
The next two days passed in a blur of careful investigation.
Maryanne and I worked together like detectives, gathering evidence whenever Mrs. Patterson wasn’t scheduled to visit.
We had to be incredibly careful about timing.
Maryanne would pretend to be unconscious during the nurse’s visits, and I would play the role of the concerned caregiver, asking appropriate questions about her condition.
Mrs. Patterson was a kind woman in her 50s who genuinely cared about her patients.
Watching her check Maryanne’s vital signs and adjust her blankets with such gentle professionalism made me realize how thoroughly Grant and Amily had deceived everyone involved.
“Her breathing seemed steady today,” Mrs. Patterson noted during her Friday morning visit, making notes on her chart. “How has she been overnight?”
“Very peaceful,” I replied, hating how easily the lies came now. “No changes that I’ve noticed.”
After she left, Maryanne and I immediately got back to work.
She directed me to places in the house where Grant and Amily had hidden evidence of their crimes.
“Check the filing cabinet in Grant’s office,” Maryanne whispered. “Top drawer behind the tax documents. That’s where they keep the forged papers.”
I found what she was talking about.
Copies of power of attorney documents, medical directives, and bank authorizations, all bearing Maryanne’s signature.
But when I compared them to her real signature on some old Christmas cards, the differences were obvious to anyone who knew what to look for.
“They practiced,” Maryanne explained when I showed her what I’d found. “I caught Amaly tracing my signature on practice sheets months ago. When I asked her about it, she said she was helping me with thank you notes for getwell cards. I believed her.”
We also found records of the illegal drug purchases.
Amaly had been ordering sedatives through onlineies using fake prescriptions and multiple identities.
The shipping records were all there hidden in a box in their bedroom closet.
“She’s been getting them delivered to different addresses,” I told Maryanne as I photographed the evidence with my phone. “Post office boxes, neighbors houses when they’re out of town. Even some to your old address in Portland.”
“How much has she spent on this?”
I added up the receipts.
“Over $3,000 in the past 4 months. All paid for with transfers from your bank account.”
The irony was sickening.
They were using money to buy the drugs they plan to kill her with.
But our most disturbing discovery came when I found Amal’s journal.