Chapter 4: The Doctor Who Came to Both Doors
Dr.
Ellison called back the next morning.
Adrian let it ring twice before answering.
"Adrian." The doctor's voice was warm.
Practiced.
"Marcus said you wanted to speak with me.
How are you feeling?"
"Better than you'd expect," Adrian said.
"I want to ask you something directly."
"Of course."
"How many times have you spoken with my brother about my condition?"
A pause.
Not long.
But long enough.
"Daniel has been concerned about you," Dr.
Ellison said.
"As your next of kin, it's appropriate for family to be kept informed of—"
"I never authorized you to speak with Daniel about anything."
"Adrian, your brother has your best interests—"
"Did you tell him I wouldn't pursue further rehabilitation?"
Silence.
"Did you tell him my mental state was consistent with withdrawal?"
"I don't know where you heard that phrase—"
"I read it in an email," Adrian said.
"Written by Daniel.
Using language that came directly from a clinical assessment.
Language that a layman doesn't use unless someone with a medical license used it first."
Dr.
Ellison said nothing.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," Adrian said.
"And I want you to think carefully before you answer.
Did Daniel Cole pay you to shape your clinical recommendations to me in a way that would make me stop fighting?"
The line was quiet for a long time.
"I think," Dr.
Ellison said finally, "that you should speak with your attorney."
"I already have one," Adrian said.
"She'd like to speak with you too.
Expect her call before noon."
He ended the call.
The attorney's name was Claire Voss.
Marcus had found her by nine that morning.
She arrived at the mansion at ten-thirty, carrying a leather bag and no pleasantries.
"Walk me through what you have," she said, sitting across from Adrian in the study.
He laid it out.
The folder.
The Crestline registration.
The email.
The notary stamp.
The doctor.
Claire read everything without speaking.
When she finished, she set the papers down and looked at him.
"The notary stamp alone voids the transfer document," she said.
"That's the easy part.
The harder part is proving the signature was forged rather than obtained under duress or diminished capacity."
"It was forged," Adrian said.
"I was in this room for two weeks.
I signed nothing."
"Do you have anyone who can confirm your whereabouts during that period?"
"Marcus.
The household staff.
My physical therapist, who I stopped seeing — but who kept records of my cancellations."
Claire nodded slowly.
"The email is useful but not sufficient on its own.
We need Dr.
Ellison on record, or we need someone inside Crestline Capital to talk." She paused.
"Who is R.
Hargrove?"
"I don't know yet."
"Find out." She closed her bag.
"And Adrian — don't let Daniel know you've seen any of this.
Not yet.
If he believes you're still passive, he'll keep moving.
And every move he makes from this point forward is evidence."
After she left, Adrian sat alone in the study for a long time.
Then he picked up his phone and sent Daniel a text message.
*Thinking about what you said.
Maybe you're right.
Can you come by Thursday?*
Daniel's reply came in under two minutes.
*Of course.
I'll bring coffee.
So glad you're seeing things more clearly.*
Adrian set the phone face-down on the desk.
He opened his laptop and searched for R.
Hargrove, financial advisor, New York.
The third result was a LinkedIn profile.
Robert Hargrove.
Senior Partner, Meridian Wealth Advisory.
Formerly of Cole Enterprises — Finance Division.
May you like
He had worked for Adrian's company for six years.
He had left fourteen months ago, three months before the accident.
