Chapter 3 - THE FLIGHT TO NOWHERE
I picked up the silver watch. The metal was cold against my palm. Mary had given it to Arthur on their tenth anniversary. He had been devastated when he thought he’d lost it.
Now it was hidden in Cal’s office, tethered to a United Airlines baggage tag.
“Flight 1482,” Sarah read aloud, squinting at the pink tag. “Departing JFK at 11:30 PM tomorrow. Destination: Costa Rica.”
“One way,” I added, tracing the printed letters. “He’s leaving. He’s putting Arthur in a home, taking the house, and leaving the country.”
“But he can’t take the house,” Sarah argued, her voice rising in panic. “Dad’s signature is forged. A blind man could see that’s not Dad’s handwriting. The bank would never accept this!”
“They will if it’s notarized,” I said quietly.
I looked back down at the deed. There, in the bottom right corner, was the embossed stamp. Bridgette Hayes, Notary Public.
She hadn’t just lied about my signature on the medical forms. She had legally validated a forged property deed to steal a million-dollar home.
I squeezed the watch tightly in my hand. “We’re calling the police. Right now.”
“Wait,” Leah’s voice came from the doorway. She had her laptop balanced on one arm. “I was searching Bridget’s name online to see if she actually is a registered notary. She is. But Aunt Dana… you need to see her Facebook page.”
Leah hurried over and set the laptop on the desk.
The profile belonged to a "Brie Hayes." The profile picture showed Bridget smiling on a sunlit patio, holding a glass of wine.
“Look at the date of the photo,” Leah pointed.
Posted three months ago.
That was six months after Arthur’s stroke. Three months into Bridget supposedly working for us just two days a week as a struggling caregiver.
In the photo, Bridget wasn't wearing scrubs. She was wearing a tailored silk blouse. And resting against her collarbone was a heavy, distinctive piece of jewelry. A sapphire pendant surrounded by crushed diamonds.
“That’s Mom’s necklace,” Sarah gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Dad kept it in the lockbox under his bed. He was going to give it to Leah for her college graduation.”
“I checked the lockbox last week,” I said, feeling sick. “It was empty. Cal told me he moved the jewelry to a safe deposit box at the bank because of the home health aides coming in and out.”
He had blamed the caregivers to cover his tracks, while handing his mother’s heirloom to his mistress.
“Scroll down,” I told Leah, my voice hardening.
Leah scrolled. The next post was a photo of Bridget holding up a set of keys with a leather BMW keychain. The caption read: He spoils me. New chapter starting soon! ✈️🌴
“He’s funding her,” Sarah whispered. “He’s draining Dad’s accounts. But how? He doesn’t have Power of Attorney.”
“We need to ask Arthur,” I said.
We hurried back downstairs. Arthur was exactly where we left him, his eyes fixed on the screen of the tablet. He looked exhausted, the skin around his eyes bruised purple with fatigue, but he refused to let Leah push his wheelchair to the bedroom.
“Arthur,” I said gently, kneeling beside him. I held out the silver watch.
He blinked. A single tear escaped his left eye and tracked down his cheek.
“Cal hid it,” I told him softly. “And we found the papers. He’s trying to sell the house, Arthur. He and Bridget. They forged your signature on a deed.”
Arthur’s eyes darted to the screen. The machine began to speak.
“NOT FORGED.”
I froze. “What?”
“I SIGNED IT.”
Sarah dropped to her knees beside me. “Dad, you couldn’t have. You can’t hold a pen.”
Arthur’s eyes moved laboriously across the keyboard.
“BEFORE THE STROKE. CAL CAME TO ME Crying. SAID HE OWED DANGEROUS MEN. SAID THEY WOULD HURT DANA.”
My heart stopped.
Arthur looked right at me.
“I SIGNED THE HOUSE TO HIM TO SAVE YOU. THE NEXT DAY, I HAD THE STROKE.”
Silence swallowed the room. Cal hadn't forged it. He had manipulated his elderly father, weaponized my safety, and secured the asset right before Arthur’s brain hemorrhage.
Then, a harsh knock hammered against the front door.
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Through the frosted glass side-panel, I didn't see Cal. I saw the distinct silhouettes of two uniformed police officers. And standing behind them, holding a clipboard, was a woman in medical scrubs.
“It’s Cedar Ridge,” Leah panicked, looking at the clock. “But it’s only 9 PM! They weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow!”
