THE BACK ROOM SECRET 🗝️⚖️ / Chapter 3 / 10

Chapter 3 - The Forensic Examiner“Evelyn?” Daniel’s voice echoed through the foyer, bright, cheerful, and entirely fake. “Honey, you’re home early! How was the flight from Chicago?”

I stepped out of the back hallway, holding a cup of tea, my expression calm, tired, and completely unsuspecting.

Daniel walked into the living room, wearing his expensive tailored suit, his handsome face lighting up with a practiced smile. Behind him stood Lorraine, wearing her mink coat, carrying three shopping bags from high-end boutiques downtown.

“It was exhausting,” I said, letting out a soft sigh and leaning in to let Daniel kiss my cheek. His skin smelled of expensive cologne and scotch. “The meetings dragged on for days.”

Lorraine set her shopping bags on the sofa, her sharp eyes scanning my face with patronizing pity. “Well, you look worn out, dear. I told Daniel you’re working far too hard on those little consulting jobs of yours. A wife’s place is supporting her husband, not running around playing businesswoman.”

“You’re right, Lorraine,” I said softly, lowering my eyes. “I’m completely drained.”

Daniel wrapped his arm around my waist, his grip firm, controlling. “Did you check on Grandma Margaret in the back room?”

“I gave her some water,” I replied, keeping my voice even. “She seems very frail, Daniel. Maybe we should call her doctor or take her to the hospital?”

Daniel and Lorraine exchanged a swift, imperceptible glance.

“Oh, darling, no,” Daniel smoothed back my hair with fake tenderness. “Her doctor already evaluated her last week while you were away. He said her mind is deteriorating rapidly. Moving her to a hospital now would only confuse her and cause unnecessary trauma. We’re keeping her comfortable right here.”

“Besides,” Lorraine chimed in, pouring herself a glass of wine from the sideboard, “she specifically asked not to see any doctors. You know how stubborn old people get when they reach eighty. Just let her rest, Evelyn.”

They were laying the groundwork. If Margaret died in that back room over the next forty-eight hours, they had already convinced me—and the neighbors—that she was terminally ill and refusing medical care.

“I understand,” I said, nodding meekly. “I’ll just go unpack my bags.”

As I turned toward the stairs, Daniel called out, “Oh, Evelyn! Before I forget... I left some routine corporate tax forms on your desk in the study. Just sign them when you get a chance so I can send them to our accountant tomorrow.”