Felix Rowan.

“I don’t know this doctor,” I said.

“Your sister did not either until Adrian arranged an evaluation.”

“When?”

“Six weeks ago.”

I remembered Adrian telling me Mara had begun seeing a specialist.

He never gave me a name.

My eyes moved down the petition.

At the bottom was a filing stamp.

Dated the day before Mara died.

I looked up.

“He filed this while she was in intensive care.”

“Yes.”

“He told me he was downstairs praying.”

Naomi said nothing.

I pushed the document away.

“What else?”

She opened a ledger showing transfers from Mara’s accounts into limited companies.

The companies led to other companies.

But eventually, all roads seemed to point toward Adrian.

Hundreds of thousands of dollars were already gone.

“Did Mara know?”

“She discovered the first transfer three months ago.

She confronted her husband.”

“How do you know?”

“She recorded the conversation.”

Naomi connected a flash drive to the laptop.

My sister appeared on the screen.

The sight of her hit harder than the burial.

Mara sat in her bedroom wearing an old gray cardigan.

Her hair was tied carelessly behind her head.

She looked exhausted, but her eyes were focused.

“Lena,” she began, “if Naomi is showing you this, then I did not get enough time.”

I covered my mouth.

Mara took a breath.

“Adrian has been telling people I’m losing my mind.

I believed him for a while.

That’s the worst part.”

She looked down.

“I started forgetting things.

Waking up groggy.

Finding messages I didn’t remember sending.

Once I found a signed authorization form in my desk.

The signature looked like mine, but I knew I hadn’t signed it.”

I remembered every time Adrian had told me she was confused.

Mara continued.

“So I stopped taking anything he gave me.”

She leaned closer to the camera.

“For three days, the confusion disappeared.”

My skin prickled.

“Then he noticed.”

The video jumped slightly, as though she had stopped and restarted recording.

“He began crushing something into my tea.

I saw him in the reflection of the kitchen window.”

Naomi paused the video.

“Did she test it?” I asked.

“She took a sample from the cup to a private laboratory.”

Naomi showed me the report.

A sedating antihistamine combined with a prescription sleep medication had been detected at levels that could cause severe drowsiness and confusion, especially when mixed with Mara’s existing heart medication.

My throat tightened.

“Could it kill her?”

“At dangerous levels, combinations like that can increase risk.

But this report alone does not prove what caused her death.”

That distinction mattered.

Naomi was careful with facts.

I was grateful for it.

Grief wanted certainty.

Evidence demanded patience.

The video resumed.

Mara told me she had found payment records between one of Adrian’s companies and Dr.

Rowan, the physician supporting the incompetency petition.

Then she said something stranger.

“There’s another person involved.”

She glanced toward the door.

“I still don’t understand why.”

The video ended.

“Who?” I asked.

Naomi reached into the case and removed a sealed envelope.

“That is what Mara wanted you to discover for yourself.”

Before I could open it, my phone buzzed.

Adrian.

I ignored the call.

Another came.

Then a message.

Lena, where are you?

A second message followed.

We need to settle Mara’s affairs before outsiders