Chapter 6 - The Setup
We walked down the hallway together. Vanessa pulled the key from her pocket and unlocked the deadbolt with a dramatic sigh.
"Be careful, Doctor. She was very agitated this morning," Vanessa warned.
They stepped into the room. I lingered in the doorway, positioning myself right under the hidden camera I knew was recording our every move.
My mother gave an Oscar-worthy performance. She sat in the corner, rocking back and forth, refusing to make eye contact with Dr. Keller. When Vanessa approached her, she flinched and swatted at the air, acting perfectly terrified and disconnected from reality.
Dr. Keller took notes on his clipboard, his face grim. "Classic severe paranoia," he muttered to himself. "Loss of motor function, inability to communicate coherently. Just as you described, Vanessa."
Vanessa looked back at me, a triumphant, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. She had done it. She had fooled the expert.
"Doctor," I said, my voice cracking with feigned emotion. "Could you give my wife and me a moment alone in the hall? This is... it's very hard to see."
"Of course, take your time," Dr. Keller said, stepping out past us and heading toward the living room to finalize his paperwork.
I pulled Vanessa into the hallway, just out of sight of the doctor but directly in the audio pickup range of her own hidden security camera. I needed the final nail in the coffin.
"Vanessa," I whispered, holding her by the shoulders. "Are we sure about this? Once he signs that paper, she's locked away forever."
"Ethan, look at her," Vanessa whispered back, her tone sharp and urgent. "She's a shell. She doesn't know us."
"I know," I said, pretending to hesitate. "But selling the downtown house... it feels wrong. That was my father's house."
Vanessa's mask slipped, just for a second. The greed overpowered her caution. She stepped closer to me, her voice dropping to a harsh, greedy hiss.
"Ethan, don't go soft on me now. We talked about this. That old bat doesn't need a million-dollar property to rot in a nursing home. We do. I've spent six months dealing with her, setting this up so we could be rich. Do not ruin this for me now just because you feel guilty. She's crazy, the doctor agrees, and the money is ours. Now go back in there and sign the damn papers."
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I looked at her. Really looked at her. I saw the cold, calculating monster hiding beneath the floral dress and the fake tears.
"You're right," I said, my voice completely deadpan. "Let's go sign the papers."
