Chapter 10 - THE NIGHT AVA COULD NOT REMEMBER
Ava remembered the hospital only in fragments.
A car accident.
Rain.
A concussion.
Mark sitting beside her bed.
Her mother asleep in a chair.
Forms.
Too many forms.
She had always believed they were insurance documents.
Rose remembered more.
“You were medicated,” she said.
They sat in Maya's office while an investigator recorded the conversation.
“Mark brought paperwork?”
“Robert Bellamy did.”
Ava's breath stopped.
“You met Bellamy?”
“He told me he was helping Mark with the business.”
“What did I sign?”
“I don't know. You kept asking Mark where you were.”
Ava closed her eyes.
“Was I coherent?”
“Sometimes.”
“Why didn't you stop them?”
Rose's eyes filled with tears.
“I thought they were helping you.”
Ava reached across the table.
“Mom.”
“I should have—”
“No.”
Ava squeezed her hand.
“This is not yours to carry.”
The words surprised her.
Years earlier she would have blamed herself.
Now she understood something Haven taught its clients every day.
Responsibility belonged to the person who exploited trust.
Not the person who gave it.
Hospital archives still existed.
Finding them took a subpoena.
The records showed Ava had received medication strong enough to impair judgment.
A nurse's note documented that two businessmen had requested a private conversation with the patient.
One was Mark.
The other Robert Bellamy.
Maya looked stunned.
“If the agreement was executed while you were cognitively impaired—”
“Then what?”
“It may be voidable.”
Ava leaned back.
But another document complicated everything.
The hospital had recorded the presence of a notary.
That notary had certified Ava was competent.
His name was Samuel Reed.
He was still alive.
They found him in Wisconsin.
He refused to speak.
Then, two days later, he called Ava directly.
“I lied.”
Ava sat down.
“About what?”
“Your competency.”
“Why?”
“They paid me.”
“Who?”
“Bellamy.”
“Mark?”
A pause.
“He was there.”
“Did he know?”
“Yes.”
Ava closed her eyes.
No ambiguity left.
Mark had known from the beginning.
Samuel continued.
“I've lived with it for seventeen years.”
“Twelve.”
“What?”
“It was twelve years ago.”
Silence.
Then Samuel said something strange.
“No.”
Ava's skin chilled.
“The agreement I notarized was seventeen years ago.”
“That isn't possible. I hadn't met Mark.”
Samuel breathed heavily.
“Then we aren't talking about the same woman.”
Ava looked at Maya.
“What woman?”
The line went dead.
An hour later they obtained the archived notary log.
There were two entries involving Meridian.
One from twelve years ago.
One from seventeen years ago.
The older entry listed a different signer.
Evelyn Rose Mitchell.
Ava stared at the name.
Rose whispered, “That's your aunt.”
Ava looked at her mother.
“I don't have an aunt Evelyn.”
Rose's face went white.
“Yes,” she said.
May you like
“You did.”
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