Court Papers in the Locked Drawer of a Community Doctor
“Rachel, what are you doing?” he asked, looking around the room to see if any of our neighbors were watching us.
“Open it,” I said, my voice quiet but perfectly clear.
He hesitated, then pulled the folder toward him and flipped open the heavy cardboard cover.
The first page was a copy of the bank statements from Oak Creek National Bank, with every three hundred and fifty dollar Friday withdrawal highlighted in bright yellow.
David’s hand went to his gold watch, his fingers twitching against the metal strap.
“This is joint money,” he muttered, his voice losing its smooth professional rhythm.
“I have expenses at the clinic.”
“Turn the page,” I said.
The second sheet was Marcus’s signed, notarized affidavit, detailing the exact dates and times David had paid him to follow me.
The boy’s signature at the bottom was bold and dark, stamped with Karen’s official notary seal.
David’s face lost its color, the red wine in his glass catching the light as his hand began to unsteady.
“This is absurd,” he whispered, his eyes scanning the legal terms on the page.
