Chapter 24

Ethan told her everything: Maya, the pill, the warning, the standing exercise behind the church, Samuel's findings—every detail. When he finished, Patricia remained silent for a long moment. Then she asked a question Ethan hadn't considered:"What documents have you signed since the accident?"His stomach tightened immediately. A memory surfaced: hospital forms, insurance papers, medical releases, temporary authority agreements, recovery authorizations—dozens, maybe hundreds. At the time, he barely read them: he was exhausted, medicines made him groggy, pain made concentration difficult. And Claire had always been there: helping, explaining, guiding, protecting.Or so he thought.Patricia opened her laptop. "Let's find out."For the next three hours, they reviewed records. The process felt endless: pages, signatures, dates, legal language, authorization forms. Then Patricia stopped scrolling. Her face changed; Ethan immediately noticed."What?"She turned the screen. A document appeared; his signature sat neatly at the bottom. The date was four months earlier, a month after the accident."What is it?"Patricia frowned. "This grants temporary medical decision authority."Ethan stared. "So?""So Claire can make healthcare decisions if you're deemed unable."He felt uneasy. "But that's normal, right?""Maybe." Patricia continued reading, then stopped again. A second document. Another signature. Another date. Her expression darkened further."What now?""This grants temporary financial authority."The room suddenly felt colder. Ethan stared. Patricia clicked another file, then another, then another. The pattern emerged quickly: medical authority, financial authority, corporate voting authority, board communication authority, temporary oversight powers—all connected, all signed during the same period, all justified as emergency precautions, all benefiting the same person: Claire.The silence stretched. Patricia finally spoke. "Ethan..."He looked up."Do you remember signing these?"His mouth opened, then closed. Because the honest answer was no. Not clearly: fragments, vague memories, hospital rooms, medication, pain, voices, clipboards... but not certainty. Never certainty.Patricia leaned back slowly. "This isn't good."

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