Chapter 9 - THE DOCTOR MARGARET KEPT ON RETAINER
Dr. Alan Lansing wore the expression of a man who was used to entering wealthy homes in crisis and leaving with a check.
He had silver hair, a soothing voice, and the deeply irritating habit of speaking about people while they were in the room.
“Emily,” he said, “I’m only here to ensure you are safe.”
Richard stepped in front of him. “My client is not your patient.”
Lansing did not blink. “This is a wellness inquiry.”
Emily folded her arms. “Based on what?”
Ryan answered from the doorway. “You threatened two family members with a shovel.”
Margaret, now carefully composed again, added, “We are frightened for her.”
The police officers looked uncomfortable. Good, Emily thought. At least some people still had instincts.
Richard produced the toxicology report, the camera footage stills, and the draft conservatorship petition. He delivered them like cards in a game he was increasingly enjoying.
One officer turned to Ryan. “Sir, did you omit any details when you requested this visit?”
Ryan’s smile thinned. “I reported a mental-health concern.”
“And not that you may have drugged the family dog?”
Lansing’s posture shifted. Only slightly.
Margaret noticed and pounced. “This is precisely the kind of destabilizing chaos I was trying to avoid.”
Emily finally laughed.
Dr. Lansing turned to her. “Mrs. Holloway, do you feel like harming yourself or others?”
“No.”
“Did you intend to intimidate your family members?”
“Yes.”
Everyone looked at her.
She did not look away.
“I intended to scare the people who were framing me.”
Lansing frowned. “That is not a standard response.”
Emily’s voice went almost gentle. “Neither is poisoning a dog to trigger a psychiatric intervention.”
The officers exchanged a glance.
Richard then asked Lansing a question no one else had thought to ask.
“How long have you provided services to the Holloway family?”
“Approximately twelve years.”
“And are you currently under private advisory contract to the estate oversight committee?”
Margaret’s face changed instantly.
Lansing said, after the briefest pause, “Yes.”
Richard nodded. “Then you are conflicted and this assessment request is compromised.”
The officers ended the visit without removing Emily.
Ryan looked murderous.
Margaret looked calculating.
Lansing looked embarrassed for perhaps the first time in his professional life.
As the police departed, Ethan stopped Dr. Lansing at the front door.
“Did my mother talk to you about Emily before tonight?”
Lansing hesitated.
Ethan said, “Answer carefully.”
“Yes,” Lansing admitted. “She expressed concern over several months.”
“Did you ever evaluate my wife independently?”
“No.”
“Did you prepare notes about her without meeting her?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Margaret went pale.
Richard smiled without warmth. “Thank you, Doctor. That will be useful.”
By midnight, Ryan’s wellness assault had failed, but the damage was still spreading. Holloway Heritage’s board requested an emergency leadership review—not of Emily, but of the governance environment around Ethan.
Someone on the board now believed the family conflict might threaten the company itself.
Emily found Ethan alone in his father’s study, sitting in the dark.
“You should sleep,” she said.
He laughed once without humor. “I used to think my family was difficult. It turns out they’re a litigation strategy.”
She sat beside him on the old leather sofa.
After a long silence, he asked, “Why didn’t you leave me?”
Emily turned.
“What?”
“Any of this. Mom. Ryan. The estate. The way I kept asking for patience when you were the one paying for it.”
She thought about the answer.
“Because you weren’t them,” she said quietly. “You were just still standing too close.”
He looked at her then with such naked guilt that she nearly regretted the honesty.
Then the desk phone rang.
Richard was downstairs, but the internal line still lit the study.
Ethan picked up.
Listened.
Stood abruptly.
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
Emily’s stomach dropped.
It was Nora, calling from the gatehouse.
Margaret had taken one of the estate cars and left ten minutes earlier despite the auditor’s freeze on family asset movement.
“She also took two boxes from your father’s archive room,” Nora said through the receiver.
Ethan’s face went cold. “Which boxes?”
The answer turned the air to ice.
“The ones labeled private wills and committee correspondence.”
May you like
Margaret was not leaving out of hurt.
She was moving evidence.
