Chapter 4

The next morning, early, Aunt Kirsten Lambert from the old neighborhood called.

"Monica, get down here, quick! Owen's got a real-estate agent with him. He's trying to sell your breakfast shop!"

The shop sat on a prime corner where the old part of the city met the new.

Twenty-some years ago the spot was nothing. Now it was ringed by a subway stop, a shopping district, and schools, worth close to six million.

I'd bought that shop with my savings from before the marriage and the dowry my father left me. The deed carried my name alone.

Owen had no right to dispose of it, and no legal authority to sign for me.

By the time I got there, the agent had checked the paperwork and didn't dare put anything through.

Owen stood over him with a forged power of attorney, pushing him to run it anyway.

Sabrina waited off to the side. Behind her sat a pickup van from Serenity Rehabilitation Center.

Owen held up a preliminary psychiatric evaluation and explained it to the gathered neighbors.

"Monica's been going through menopause. Her head's not right. Yesterday she pulled a knife on Sabrina and said our two kids aren't even hers."

"The doctor recommends closed observation first. Everyone keep back, don't let her hurt anyone."

Joan covered her face and cried.

"Last night my mom didn't even recognize me. She said she'd send us all to prison. We hate to do this, but she really did hurt someone. Who's going to answer for it if she does it again?"

Sabrina shoved two documents into my hands.

One was a consent-to-treatment form. The other was a property management authorization.

"Monica, just check into the hospital for a few days' observation. Until the official evaluation comes back, let Owen manage the shop and the money for you, so nothing sets you off."

I tore the documents to pieces in front of everyone.

"You want to sell my shop? Show me the authorization. You want to control my money? Grow a spine and petition the court for it."

"A fake evaluation you paid for and a bunch of people with no legal authority. And you think that entitles you to take away my freedom?"

I pointed at the signature on the paper.

"That isn't my handwriting. Whoever forged it can face the consequences."

The smile fell off Sabrina's face.

She stepped close and dropped her voice to a threat.

"Monica Prescott, don't push your luck when you're being handed a way out."

"Once you're locked inside, once the facility fills in the observation records and gets the official opinion, you won't even be able to sign your own name."

I stared at her.

"Done pretending at last?"

"Lay one hand on me today and I'll turn you from a company executive into a criminal suspect."

Two staff from the rehab center climbed out with restraint straps.

Terry lunged from behind and wrenched my arm back.

"Mom, the harder you fight, the more you prove there's something wrong with you."

"Go in and cool off a few days. We'll hold the shop and the bank card for you. When you're ready to cooperate, we'll talk about letting you out."

I stamped down hard on his foot and used the moment he flinched to twist half free.

"Twenty-four years you called me Mom, and in the end you hand me to a black-market facility to grab my money."

"Terry, even a dog I raised would wag its tail at me. You're lower than a dog."

Owen saw the red marks the strap had cut into my arm, and something moved in his face.

I fixed my eyes on him.

"Owen, they have no legal paperwork, but they've brought restraint straps and a needle."

"Stop them now and I'll only ever think of you as a coward. Keep standing there watching, and you're an accomplice."

He looked away.

"Just cooperate with the exam. If there's really nothing wrong with you, they'll let you come home."

I laughed then.

"Fine."

"Twenty-five years of marriage, and it turns out it was only worth a 'they'll let you come home.'"

"I'll remember that line. Someday you'll be on your knees begging, and don't blame me for showing you no mercy."

As I struggled, one of the staff drew out a sedative needle.

The point closed in on my neck.

The neighbors, frightened by the talk of a "violent mental patient," held back, and for a moment no one dared step in.

Right then, the shriek of brakes cut over the crowd.

Three black company cars pulled up smoothly at the corner.

Legal and security poured out.

The lead guard clamped down on the man's wrist and tore the needle from his hand.

Legal flashed their credentials at the same moment and told everyone present to preserve the evidence.

The police, answering the report, came in through the crowd from the other side.

Alex walked up to me with a folder and said, respectfully,

"Chairwoman Prescott, everyone at the company is waiting for you."

"The subsidiary Sabrina runs has posted losses three months running, and two point three million is missing from the books. We've assembled everything."

"Do we suspend her first, or report it now?"