My husband tried to financially ruin me while I was in the hospital, but he forgot who owned the entire medical group.
The next morning, Dr. Aris Patel walked into my room, his expression more somber than usual. He carried a small clipboard, his pen poised.
“Elara,” he began, his voice softer than his professional tone, “David called me this morning. He expressed some… concerns about your well-being.”
I felt a cold prickle. This was it. Twist 6. David was making his move to psychologically undermine me.
“Concerns?” I asked, feigning an innocent confusion. “What kind of concerns?”
Dr. Patel sighed, glancing at his clipboard. “He mentioned your ‘erratic behavior.’ He said you’ve been making ‘delusional financial accusations’ against him and Eleanor. He implied your injury and the recent loss of your father might be affecting your mental state, leading to paranoia.”
My jaw tightened, but I kept my face carefully neutral. David was using my pain, my grief, as a weapon. He was trying to plant the idea that I was unfit to manage my affairs, that my inquiries were symptoms of distress, not evidence of his wrongdoing.
“He suggested you might be suffering from post-trauma stress, perhaps even a depressive episode,” Dr. Patel continued, his gaze searching mine. “He emphasized your history of compartmentalizing stress and suggested a psychiatric evaluation might be in order.”
I met his gaze, allowing a touch of vulnerability to show, but mostly a steady, unyielding clarity. I knew David’s game.
“And what do you think, Dr. Patel?” I asked, my voice calm. “Do I seem delusional to you?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “To be frank, Elara, no. You’ve been remarkably composed and coherent throughout your recovery. Your questions about your finances were entirely rational given the circumstances.”
“But you’re professionally obligated to document his concerns, aren’t you?” I pressed, already knowing the answer.
He nodded reluctantly. “As a family member, his input must be noted in your file. It’s standard procedure. I assured him I’d continue to monitor your emotional state, but I also told him I haven’t seen any red flags suggesting severe mental instability.”
“And did you recommend a psychiatric evaluation?” I asked, trying to gauge how far David’s manipulation had gone.
“I mentioned it as an option if *you* felt it was necessary,” Dr. Patel clarified. “But I made it clear it wasn’t a mandatory step based on my observations. I simply encouraged open communication with your family.”
David was clever. He wasn’t overtly pushing for an evaluation himself; he was using Dr. Patel as an unwitting tool to plant the seed. If I reacted strongly, it would only fuel his narrative of instability.
“I appreciate your honesty, Dr. Patel,” I said, a faint, weary smile on my face. “It’s been a lot to process, losing my father, then this injury. David is probably just worried, in his own way.”
I allowed David to believe his ploy was working. I made myself seem just slightly subdued, perhaps a little overwhelmed, but not angry or defensive. I needed him to be overconfident.
Dr. Patel seemed relieved by my measured response. “I truly hope you both can resolve things, Elara. Family matters are never easy, especially during times of stress.”
“No, they’re not,” I agreed, letting the comment hang in the air. “But I’m a Jensen. We’re resilient. I’ll get through this.”
After Dr. Patel left, I lay back, my mind buzzing. David’s move was expected, but the brazenness of it still stung. He wasn’t just trying to seize control of my company; he was trying to seize control of my very sanity. He was attempting to gaslight me, to invalidate my perceptions, to make me doubt myself.
But his attempt had only strengthened my resolve. It confirmed his true colors, painting him as even more ruthless than I had initially imagined. I now knew his strategic playbook included psychological warfare.
I called Maya, filling her in on David’s conversation with Dr. Patel.
“He’s escalating,” she confirmed, her voice tight. “He’s trying to build a case that you’re mentally unfit to make corporate decisions, or even manage your personal finances.”
“He doesn’t know about my true position at Jensen Healthcare,” I reminded her. “He thinks he’s fighting a vulnerable wife and a grieving surgeon. Let him think that. Let him believe his ploy is working.”
“Are you sure, Elara?” Maya asked, a hint of concern in her voice. “This could backfire if he gets a professional opinion to support his claims.”
“He won’t,” I stated, my voice firm. “I’m not delusional. I’m just playing along. He needs to think he has the upper hand, that I’m distracted and easy to manipulate. The more confident he becomes, the more mistakes he’ll make.”
“So, we let him continue with his proxy gathering?” Maya clarified. “We let him think he’s gaining ground?”
“Exactly,” I affirmed. “We let him gather his proxies, make his grand pronouncements. Let him step into the spotlight. That’s when we strike.”
“And the media?” Maya probed. “The journalist you mentioned?”
“I’ve been in contact with him,” I confirmed. “I’ve been slowly feeding him anonymous tips about questionable transactions related to ‘maintenance contracts’ and ‘new vendors’ at Jensen Healthcare. I haven’t mentioned David by name yet, but I’ve provided enough breadcrumbs to pique his interest.”
“Excellent,” Maya said, her voice betraying a rare note of satisfaction. “He’ll have to do his own due diligence, of course, but if he finds what we already know, it will be damning.”
“He’s a reputable investigative journalist,” I said. “He won’t publish anything without verifying it. That’s what we want. Independent confirmation. The truth from an unbiased source.”
“When do we tell him to pull the trigger?” Maya asked.
“When David makes his move,” I replied, picturing David’s smug, arrogant face. “He’s going to want a public stage for his corporate takeover. A grand announcement of his vision for Jensen Healthcare’s future. That’s when we turn his spotlight into a crucible.”
“Very well, Elara,” Maya said. “I’ll coordinate with our contact. But we need to make sure all our evidence is watertight. The shell corporations, the fraudulent invoices, the negligence regarding your accident. Everything.”
“It will be,” I promised. “And in the meantime, I’ll continue to be the ‘concerned patient.’ Letting David believe he’s winning. He thinks he’s playing chess, but he doesn’t realize I’m playing a different game entirely. And I always play to win.”
The thought of David’s shocked face when his elaborate plans came crashing down gave me a grim satisfaction. He thought he could break me. He thought he could steal my father’s legacy. He was about to learn that some wounds, though painful, only make you stronger. My leg was healing, and my resolve was absolute.
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