Chapter 3 - Three Affidavits
Allison’s affidavit was dated two days before the party.
I read it from my hospital bed.
I wish I hadn’t.
Rachel has become increasingly paranoid since her injury.
Rachel accuses Brent of controlling her without basis.
Rachel frequently screams and refuses assistance.
Rachel has attempted unsafe transfers and endangered herself.
I stared.
Some statements contained pieces of truth.
That is what made them dangerous.
I did accuse Brent of controlling me.
Because he did.
I had screamed.
Usually after he took something from me.
My wallet.
Phone.
Wheelchair charger.
I had attempted transfers without him because he sometimes made me wait an hour to use the bathroom.
Context changes everything.
Scott’s affidavit described me as “emotionally volatile.”
Kevin’s said Brent “provides nearly all care” and I “resent dependence.”
Maya asked:
“Did they observe the things described?”
“Some.”
“Were they in the house often?”
“Scott maybe once a month. Kevin sometimes for work. Allison more.”
“Why Allison?”
“She runs Brent’s office. She brought paperwork.”
I looked at the first affidavit again.
“She signed this.”
“Yes.”
“And then gave me the camera key.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Ask Detective Hall after interview.”
We did.
Allison had confessed more.
Brent asked her to sign the affidavit.
She refused initially.
He threatened to fire her and tell her landlord she had stolen money from his company.
Had she?
No.
But she had made bookkeeping errors and feared he could manipulate records.
She signed.
Then Brent paid her five hundred dollars to remove my powered wheelchair from the house and lock it in the garage before the party.
“He said Rachel needed to learn she couldn’t always run away,” Allison told police.
That phrase.
Run away.
I could not run anywhere.
Allison agreed because she believed Brent planned to embarrass me verbally.
Then she saw the tow strap in his SUV.
She panicked.
Instead of calling police immediately, she found me alone inside and slipped the utility cabinet key beneath my cushion.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” I asked.
“She says she was scared you would confront Brent.”
“She still let him take my chair.”
“Yes.”
“Did she know he would drag me?”
“She says no.”
I believed that part.
Not because I trusted Allison.
Because her terror in the yard had looked real.
Maya said:
“Cooperation doesn’t erase her conduct.”
“Good.”
The prosecutor would decide if charges were appropriate.
I did not need to.
Scott’s explanation was uglier in a different way.
He signed because Brent told him the guardianship would make caregiving easier.
Scott believed I was “having trouble accepting reality.”
He did not ask me.
Kevin signed because Brent was his boss.
He claimed he did not understand the document would be filed in court.
He saw the word affidavit.
He signed before a notary.
Adults know signatures matter.
I was done giving everyone childhood excuses.
Then Detective Hall asked if Brent had access to my money.
“Joint account.”
“Settlement?”
My stomach tightened.
I had received $1.36 million after the accident.
Not from Brent.
An insurance settlement from a structural defect claim related to the barn renovation where I fell.
The contractor’s insurer settled because a railing component was alleged to have failed.
That had reinforced everyone’s belief that I slipped.
My money went into a protected account initially.
Six months ago Brent persuaded me to add him as authorized manager for household expenses.
Not owner.
Authorized signer.
“He says I can’t manage money?” I whispered.
Maya nodded.
“While using your settlement to pay bills.”
“How much is left?”
“I requested records today.”
I had been avoiding them.
That admission humiliated me.
Before the injury, I managed budgets for engineering projects worth millions.
After injury, every bank website made me feel tired.
Brent offered to handle it.
At first, relief.
Then dependence.
At 11:05, Maya’s paralegal emailed account statements.
We found transfers.
$18,000.
$32,000.
$45,000.
Multiple.
To B.C. Development Group.
Brent’s company.
Total over six months:
$287,400.
No authorization I remembered.
Some labeled reimbursement.
Some loan.
One:
Cedar Hollow improvements.
No improvements worth that existed.
My mouth went dry.
“Maya.”
“I see.”
“He’s been taking the settlement.”
“Potentially. We need confirm account authority and documentation.”
“What about guardianship?”
“If he became conservator, he could seek broader control. Court oversight would exist, but he apparently believes it would strengthen his access.”
“So today…”
“We don’t know.”
But we both thought it.
The party.
Affidavits.
Humiliation.
A public outburst.
He wanted me to look unstable.
Brent had filed the petition before dragging me because he intended whatever happened in the yard to become supporting evidence afterward.
He wanted witnesses to say I screamed.
He forgot to mention why.
Then Detective Hall returned.
“We recovered several phones from guests voluntarily.”
“Anything?”
“One video begins before the dragging.”
“Whose?”
Scott’s.
He had been filming a joke by the grill.
The microphone caught Brent speaking to Kevin near the SUV.
Detective Hall did not quote until evidence was preserved.
Later she let Maya summarize.
Brent’s voice:
“By tomorrow, she won’t be making decisions anymore.”
Kevin:
“What if judge says no?”
Brent laughed.
“After today? Trust me.”
The guardianship petition was no longer just background.
May you like
The yard had been a performance.
And I was supposed to play the crazy wife.
