“I know,” Malcolm said.
Then his voice dropped lower.
“And I know your children have been asking questions about your finances.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of questions?”
Malcolm opened the folder. But he didn’t hand me anything yet.
“Three weeks ago,” he said, “David met with an attorney. A man named Bradley Voss. He has an office in Bellevue. He specializes in elder law.”
I felt cold. Colder than the hospital air.
“Two weeks ago, Sarah toured three assisted-living facilities. One in Lynnwood, one in Shoreline, one in Everett. She told them she was looking for a placement for her mother. She asked about memory care.”
My fingers closed around the hospital blanket.
“Memory care,” I said. “I don’t need memory care. I do the crossword in pen.”
“I know,” Malcolm said.
“And Michael,” he said, “has been asking around about the process for having an older parent declared unable to manage her own affairs. He asked a paralegal at his gym. She told a friend. The friend happened to be my researcher’s cousin.” He shook his head. “Seattle’s a small town, sometimes.”
