My sister told me our terminally ill father was dead to steal his clinic while he ate breakfast with me.
The next morning, armed with Arthur’s will and a renewed sense of purpose, I called Mr. Ishikawa’s office again. This time, I spoke directly to his assistant, stressing the urgency. Within an hour, he called me back, his voice grave.
“Elara,” Mr. Ishikawa said, his tone formal. “My assistant mentioned you found something important. Can you come to my office? Bring whatever you have.”
I dressed quickly, my hands still shaking with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. This was the moment of truth.
When I arrived at his downtown office, Mr. Ishikawa, a man whose quiet demeanor belied a sharp legal mind, was already waiting. He took the envelope from my hand, his expression unreadable as he unfolded the parchment.
He read the disinheritance clause aloud, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he reached the part about fraudulent incapacitation. His brow furrowed deeper with each word.
“This is… extraordinary, Elara,” he finally said, looking up, his gaze intense. “Meticulously drafted. Properly witnessed, dated over five years ago. This predates any of Serena’s recent maneuvers. It’s solid.”
“It’s Dad,” I replied, a surge of pride and sorrow hitting me. “He always thought ahead.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Ishikawa murmured, carefully refolding the document. “This changes everything. Serena’s filings are still on record, but this will supersede them. The challenge, however, will be proving the fraud she committed.”
“I know,” I said, thinking of Dr. Sharma. “But there’s also the notary. Carla Rossi. She notarized Serena’s new will and the Declaration of Incapacity. I need to talk to her.”
Mr. Ishikawa hesitated. “Be careful, Elara. Notaries are sworn officers of the state. If she was involved in fraud, she won’t admit it easily.”
“I have to try,” I insisted, my jaw set. “She’s the first direct link, the first physical signature, besides Serena’s, on those fraudulent documents.”
I found Carla Rossi’s address in the Yellow Pages. Her business, “Carla’s Clips & Notary Services,” was tucked into a small strip mall on the outskirts of Phoenix. The storefront was faded, the neon sign above it missing a few letters.
The bell above the door jingled as I stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of hairspray and cheap perfume. Carla, a woman with tired eyes and a perpetually worried expression, looked up from a customer’s head.
“Be with you in a minute, honey,” she said, her voice raspy. “Just gotta finish Mrs. Henderson’s perm.”
I nodded, my heart pounding. She looked exactly like the person Serena would prey on—someone struggling, someone easily pressured.
When Mrs. Henderson finally left, her hair smelling strongly of chemicals, Carla wiped her hands on a towel and turned to me.
“Alright, what can I do for ya?” she asked, her gaze sweeping over me, assessing.
“My name is Elara Davies,” I began, trying to keep my voice calm and even. “I’m Arthur Davies’s daughter.”
Carla’s eyes widened, a flicker of something like fear passing through them. Her perpetually worried expression deepened. She fidgeted with a pair of scissors on her station.
“Oh,” she said, her voice dropping. “Dr. Davies. I… I’m so sorry to hear about your father.”
The lie hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. She thought he was dead. Serena’s declaration had obviously circulated.
“My father isn’t dead, Carla,” I stated, my gaze unwavering. “He’s very much alive.”
Her face went pale, her hand flying to her mouth. “What? But… but Serena, your sister, she told me…”
“I know what she told you,” I interjected, stepping closer. “She presented you with documents declaring him deceased, and others declaring him incapacitated. Documents you notarized, Carla.”
She backed away slightly, bumping into her styling chair. Her eyes darted around the empty salon, as if looking for an escape route.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, though her voice betrayed her.
“Yes, you do,” I pressed, keeping my tone firm but not accusatory. “You notarized a Declaration of Incapacity and a new will for my sister, Serena Holt, just last week. Both documents were fraudulent. My father is alive, and he is lucid. He knows exactly what’s happening.”
Carla wrung her hands. Her composure was crumbling fast. She looked on the verge of tears.
“Please, Elara,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “You don’t understand. Serena, she… she had leverage.”
This was it. The reveal. Twist 4.
“What kind of leverage, Carla?” I asked, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me.”
She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening. “A few months ago, I had a big problem. A zoning fine for the salon. Hundreds of dollars. I couldn’t pay it. I was going to lose my business.”
She paused, taking a shaky breath. “Serena found out. She has connections, you know? She helped me. Made a few calls, pulled some strings. The fine just… disappeared.”
I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. Serena, with her web of influence. It wasn’t just greed; it was carefully calculated manipulation.
“So you owed her,” I finished, the realization hitting me with a sharp sting. “And when she asked you to notarize those papers, you felt you had no choice.”
Carla nodded, tears streaming down her face now. “She made it sound so official. Like it was all just a formality for her terminally ill father. She said he was practically gone. I believed her. And I… I couldn’t say no. I was so grateful.”
She looked up at me, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I just stamped them. I didn’t verify anything properly. I usually do, I swear. But she was so insistent, and I owed her so much.”
“Did she ever mention anything else, Carla?” I asked, pressing the advantage gently. “Anything about past situations, or anyone else she might have… ‘helped’?”
Carla bit her lip, thinking hard through her tears. “She did mention something, once. Just a passing comment. About ‘getting rid of loose ends’ with a former associate years ago. She said it with a laugh, like it was a private joke. I didn’t think anything of it then.”
“A former associate?” I repeated, my mind racing. “Did she say who?”
“No,” Carla shook her head. “Just ‘some guy from an old business deal.’ I never gave it another thought. Until now.”
The pieces were starting to fit. Serena wasn’t just acting on a whim. This was a pattern.
I pulled a tissue from a dispenser on her counter and handed it to her. “Thank you, Carla,” I said, my voice softer now. “You did the right thing by telling me.”
She looked at the tissue, then at me. “Are… are you going to tell the police?”
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted honestly. “But what you’ve told me is incredibly important. It connects Serena directly to the fraud, and it gives me a new lead. A former associate. Someone she felt the need to ‘get rid of.'”
I left Carla’s Clips & Notary Services with a mixture of anger and a strange sense of vindication. The scent of hairspray lingered on my clothes.
Serena’s ruthlessness was deeper than I’d imagined. This wasn’t just about my father’s estate; it was about a history of manipulation.
A former associate. Someone she deemed a “loose end.” It sounded ominous.
Who was this person? And what could they tell me about Serena’s true nature?
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