Chapter 3 - THE WILL BEFORE THE FUNERAL
Christopher crossed the room so fast I barely had time to understand what he was doing.
He grabbed the remote from Raymond’s hand.
The television went black.
Raymond didn’t resist.
He couldn’t.
But the damage was done.
Helen had seen the footage.
So had Edith.
So had I.
Christopher stood over his uncle, breathing hard.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
Not angry.
Afraid.
“Where did that come from?” Helen asked.
Christopher tossed the remote onto the chair.
“A corrupted security feed.”
Helen stared at him. “A very specific corruption.”
“You’re a lawyer. You know video can be manipulated.”
“Not usually by paralyzed men.”
Christopher looked at Raymond.
Raymond’s eyes were closed again.
He had spent whatever strength he possessed on that one small act.
Christopher turned to me.
“You.”
“What about me?”
“You’ve been tampering with the system.”
“I don’t even know the Wi-Fi password.”
“That didn’t stop you from stealing documents.”
Helen stepped between us.
“Enough.”
Christopher ignored her. “Open the diaper bag.”
“No.”
“Open it.”
Helen said, “She doesn’t have to.”
“This is private property.”
“So is her bag.”
“She’s an employee.”
“She was an employee,” Edith said.
Christopher rounded on her. “Why are you still here?”
“Because I haven’t finished my coffee.”
I almost laughed.
Christopher didn’t.
Helen lifted her folder. “We are leaving. Raymond is coming with us.”
“No.”
Helen looked at him.
“That was not a request.”
“You don’t have medical authority.”
“Neither do you.”
“I filed for emergency guardianship.”
“Filed. Not granted.”
“I have physician documentation stating he is medically unstable and cannot be transported.”
“From Samuel Wallace?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll call another physician.”
Christopher’s expression hardened.
“The court hearing is Friday. Until then, I’m his closest available relative.”
Helen said, “His closest living relative is his sister.”
The room went silent.
Christopher blinked.
I looked at Raymond.
Sister?
Christopher recovered quickly. “Claire is estranged.”
“She is alive.”
“She hasn’t spoken to Raymond in seven years.”
“That does not make you next of kin.”
“She lives in Vermont and wants nothing to do with this family.”
Helen’s voice sharpened. “You seem unusually informed about what she wants.”
Christopher’s jaw flexed.
Raymond opened his eyes.
“Claire,” he breathed.
Helen leaned down. “Do you want me to contact her?”
One blink.
Christopher stepped forward.
“That proves nothing.”
Helen turned. “Actually, it proves he is conscious.”
“He could be reacting randomly.”
Raymond’s eyes moved to Christopher.
Then, with visible effort, he lifted one finger.
Not the polite one.
Edith coughed into her fist.
I covered my mouth.
Helen’s shoulders shook.
Christopher went red.
Even Raymond seemed pleased with himself.
It was the first moment in that house when I felt hope outweigh fear.
It lasted less than a minute.
A car pulled into the driveway.
Edith looked toward the window.
“Dr. Wallace.”
Helen straightened.
“Good.”
Christopher’s eyes narrowed. “Why good?”
“Because now we can ask him questions.”
Wallace entered ten minutes later carrying his leather bag and wearing the expression of a man who expected obedience.
It disappeared when he saw Helen.
“Helen.”
“Samuel.”
“I didn’t know you were here.”
“That makes two of us.”
Christopher cut in. “She’s leaving.”
“No,” Helen said. “I’m not.”
Wallace looked at Raymond.
His eyes stopped.
Something in his face changed.
Maybe it was the color in Raymond’s cheeks.
Maybe the way his eyes were positioned.
Maybe doctors simply notice when a patient they thought was nearly gone looks too present.
Wallace walked to the bed.
“Raymond?”
Raymond remained still.
Wallace took his wrist.
Checked his pulse.
Then his pupils.
I watched the doctor watching him.
“What did you give him last night?” I asked.
Wallace didn’t look at me.
“A comfort medication.”
“Which one?”
“That is not your concern.”
“It is if it isn’t on the chart.”
Now he looked at me.
His gaze sharpened.
Helen said, “What did you administer at approximately four yesterday afternoon and again around midnight?”
Wallace stood.
“Who told you there was a second dose?”
“No one had to.”
She set the clear document sleeve on the desk.
The syringe lay inside.
Wallace stared at it.
Only for a second.
But I saw the fear.
Christopher saw it too.
“What is that?” he asked.
Helen answered, “You tell me.”
Wallace’s face recovered.
“I’ve never seen it before.”
I almost admired the speed of the lie.
I said, “It fell from your hand.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I watched you prepare it.”
Wallace turned to Christopher. “You need to remove her.”
Helen said, “She’s a witness.”
“To what? Routine medical care?”
“To undocumented medication.”
Wallace laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“You searched the internet and decided you’re a toxicologist?”
“No,” I said. “I decided I’m a person who knows the difference between a labeled prescription and a blank white box.”
His eyes went cold.
Then he looked at Raymond again.
“I need to examine my patient privately.”
Helen folded her arms.
“No.”
“You’re interfering with care.”
“Then call emergency services and have him evaluated at a hospital.”
“He isn’t stable enough to transfer.”
Raymond’s finger moved.
One blink.
Helen saw it.
“So you say.”
Wallace’s attention snapped to Raymond.
“Did he do that on command?”
No one answered.
He leaned over.
“Raymond, can you hear me?”
Raymond kept his eyes closed.
Wallace reached for his penlight.
Raymond opened his eyes and stared straight at him.
I had never seen hatred so clean.
Wallace stepped back.
Christopher whispered, “Samuel.”
Wallace looked at him.
For one second, they forgot we were there.
And in that second, I understood the balance between them.
Christopher had the money.
Wallace had the medical control.
Neither trusted the other.
That mattered.
Helen’s phone rang.
She checked the screen.
“I need to take this.”
She stepped into the hallway.
Christopher immediately moved toward me.
“You have no idea what you’re involved in.”
“I’m beginning to.”
“You think my uncle is some kind of victim?”
“I think he’s been awake while you planned his funeral.”
His face hardened.
“You know what he did to this family?”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.”
He pointed at Raymond.
“He destroys people and then buys silence. He ruined my father.”
Raymond’s eyes flickered.
Christopher continued, voice lower now.
“My father built half the west coast operations. Raymond pushed him out after one bad quarter. Took his shares. Took his title. Took everything.”
Wallace said, “Christopher.”
But Christopher was no longer listening.
“My father died owing money to everyone he knew. And Raymond didn’t even come to the funeral.”
For the first time, his rage looked personal.
That made him more dangerous, not less.
I said, “So you decided to kill him?”
Wallace’s head snapped toward me.
Christopher went still.
Then he laughed.
“You really should stop saying things you can’t prove.”
“Maybe.”
I looked at the syringe.
“Maybe I’m getting closer.”
Helen returned.
Her face had changed.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The courthouse clerk confirmed the emergency hearing was moved up.”
Christopher smiled.
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
My stomach dropped.
Helen looked at him.
“You knew.”
“Of course I knew.”
“You told the staff Friday.”
“Plans change.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed.
“Why was I not notified?”
“Ask your office.”
“I will.”
Christopher’s smile widened.
He had gained a day.
Maybe that had always been the plan.
Helen turned to Raymond.
“We have less than twenty-four hours.”
Wallace said, “For what?”
“For an independent capacity evaluation.”
“No outside doctor is examining him without my approval.”
“You don’t own him.”
“I’m the attending physician.”
“And I am his attorney.”
Christopher stepped forward.
“And I am his family.”
Raymond’s lips moved.
The sound was barely audible.
“Not.”
We all froze.
He tried again.
“Not… family.”
Christopher’s face collapsed into something raw.
It lasted only a second.
Then anger replaced it.
“You don’t mean that.”
Raymond swallowed.
His voice came out as a whisper of air.
“Thief.”
Wallace grabbed the bedrail.
“That’s enough.”
Christopher stared at his uncle.
“What did you call me?”
Raymond’s eyes did not leave him.
“Thief.”
This time the word was clearer.
Christopher went white.
Helen reached for her phone.
“I’m documenting that.”
Wallace moved toward the IV.
“No.”
I stepped between him and the line.
“Move,” he said.
“What are you giving him?”
“He needs sedation.”
“He just spoke.”
“He’s agitated.”
“He called Christopher a thief.”
“Exactly.”
Helen said, “Do not administer anything.”
Wallace ignored her.
I blocked his hand.
He looked at me with open contempt.
“If his heart fails because you interfere, that is on you.”
The sentence hit exactly where he intended.
For a second, I saw Theodore in a hospital.
A doctor telling me I had caused something terrible because I thought I knew better.
Doubt is a powerful weapon when you’re scared.
Wallace knew how to use it.
Raymond’s fingers closed around my wrist.
Weakly.
But enough.
I looked down.
One blink.
He did not want the drug.
I stepped back from Wallace.
But instead of moving away, I pulled the IV line out of Wallace’s reach.
Helen’s eyes widened.
Wallace said, “You are obstructing medical care.”
“I’m protecting a conscious adult who just told you no.”
“He didn’t tell me anything.”
Raymond forced air through his throat.
“No.”
There it was.
Tiny.
Ragged.
But unmistakable.
No.
Helen immediately started recording on her phone.
“Raymond, do you consent to Dr. Wallace administering medication right now?”
Raymond looked at her.
“No.”
Wallace’s face drained.
Helen turned the camera toward him.
“You heard him.”
Christopher said, “This is insane.”
“No,” Helen replied. “This is capacity.”
He pointed at Raymond. “He can barely speak.”
“He understands questions and communicates decisions.”
“For thirty seconds.”
“That may be enough.”
Christopher turned to Wallace. “Do something.”
Wallace didn’t move.
Now that the phone was recording, his confidence had evaporated.
Helen stepped closer to Raymond.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions. Blink once for yes, twice for no if speaking is too difficult. Do you understand?”
One blink.
“Is your name Raymond James Winslow?”
One blink.
“Are you in your home in Bellevue, Washington?”
One blink.
“Is the current year 2026?”
One blink.
“Do you want Samuel Wallace to continue as your physician?”
Two blinks.
Christopher swore.
Helen continued.
“Do you want to go to a hospital for independent evaluation?”
One blink.
“Do you want me to oppose Christopher Winslow’s guardianship petition?”
One blink.
Christopher walked toward the door.
“This is staged.”
Helen kept recording.
“Do you believe Christopher has taken money or property from you without permission?”
One blink.
Christopher stopped.
His back remained to us.
Helen asked, “Do you have evidence?”
One blink.
His shoulders tightened.
“Where?”
Raymond looked toward the diaper bag.
Every person in the room followed his eyes.
I felt my heart fall into my stomach.
Christopher turned.
His gaze landed on the bag.
Then on me.
“Give me that.”
I backed away.
“No.”
Wallace blocked the other side of the room.
Helen stepped in front of me.
Christopher said, “There are stolen company records in that bag.”
“You don’t know what’s in it,” Helen replied.
“I know my uncle.”
Raymond made a rough sound that might have been a laugh.
Christopher lunged.
Not at me.
At the bag.
Helen grabbed his arm.
Edith shouted from the doorway.
Theodore woke and started screaming.
Everything happened at once.
Christopher pulled the diaper bag.
I held on.
The strap tore.
The bag fell.
Diapers spilled across the carpet.
A bottle rolled under the bed.
The black notebook slid out.
So did one of the sealed envelopes.
Christopher saw it.
His face changed.
He dropped to one knee.
I got there first.
Our hands hit the envelope at the same time.
He squeezed my wrist.
Hard.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“No.”
Then Raymond moved.
Really moved.
His hand came off the mattress.
His arm shook violently with the effort.
But he reached toward the bedside table and knocked the water glass to the floor.
It shattered.
Everyone froze.
Raymond looked at Christopher.
Then at Helen.
Then he spoke three broken words.
“Open. The. Letter.”
Christopher released my wrist.
Helen snatched the envelope.
Across the front, in Raymond’s handwriting, were six words.
TO BE OPENED IF I AM INCAPACITATED.
Helen tore it open.
Christopher whispered, “Don’t.”
She unfolded the letter.
Her eyes moved down the page.
Then she looked at him.
“What?” he demanded.
Helen turned the letter so we could see the final paragraph.
It contained a date from four months earlier.
And beneath it, Raymond’s signature.
Helen read aloud.
“If my nephew Christopher seeks control of my person, estate, company, or medical decisions while I am unable to speak for myself, I direct my counsel to treat that act as hostile and to investigate him for financial misconduct.”
Silence.
Theodore stopped crying.
Even he seemed to feel it.
Christopher looked at Raymond.
“You planned this?”
Raymond’s eyes stayed open.
Christopher’s voice cracked.
“You planned against me?”
Raymond whispered one word.
“Because.”
He took a breath.
Then another.
“You… stole.”
Christopher stepped backward.
Helen folded the letter carefully.
“The guardianship hearing just became much more interesting.”
Christopher’s face emptied.
Then he smiled.
It was the calmest I had seen him.
And that frightened me more than the anger.
“Maybe,” he said.
He looked at Wallace.
Then at me.
May you like
Then at the clock.
“But Raymond has to survive until morning first.”
