“What?” Her voice is high-pitched, unbelieving. “Who said that?”
“The tabloids, for one. Which, yes, I know. But Dr. Rothbart’s statement also said it was an attempt at self-harm,” I say. “Haven’t you seen the medical report? The one submitted to the court?”
“No, of course not. My last attorney handled all of that.”
“Why would the doctor say that?”
“Why would I try and kill myself by driving my car into two feet of water?” She laughs, but her eyes are glassy. “Do you know how ridiculous that looks? If I were going to hurt myself, I’d find a less dramatic way of doing so. Believe me. I would never go out that way.”
“So you weren’t trying to hurt yourself?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why did you stay in a private mental health facility after the accident?”
“A what?”
“The doctor’s report said you were hospitalized in a private institution in upstate New York.”
Serena’s mouth hangs, and she stares through my window, her body angled toward me. “I hit my head on the steering wheel and suffered a light concussion. I was examined by our family doctor—at Belcourt—and assigned a home nurse for a week. I haven’t spent a night away from that goddamned prison since my father forced me to move there.”
“This isn’t adding up.” I drag my hand through my hair and press my back into the black leather seat. My left hand grips the wheel tight. “Why would Dr. Rothbart risk his license and reputation by lying like that? Why would he give false evidence and risk jail time?”
Serena leans her head against the headrest, her eyes focused on the radio. “Money.”
“Your stepmother?”
“It has to be her. She has access to my father’s accounts. You can put a price on anything these days.”
“She wants your inheritance.”
“Yes, counselor. However did you figure that out?”
“So she’s trying to prove you’re not well, trying to establish that you need some sort of managed care or trust fund, and that you shouldn’t receive your full cut.”
“Exactly. My trust fund is a percentage of my father’s entire estate. Ninety-seven percent. He’s in his late eighties. His days are numbered. Once he’s gone, I’ll inherit hundreds of millions, and she’ll be left with a small pittance in comparison. Less than half of a percent, if I recall. Definitely not enough to maintain her current lifestyle.”
“So how does it help her to prove you’re crazy?”
“She’s been after my father to change the will since they got married. He wants to know that the money he and his father worked their entire lives for will live on and not be spent carelessly or foolishly. She’s spent the last few years trying to convince him of how irresponsible I am, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Veronica’s the one with the spending problem. I couldn’t care less about the money. It’s more of a burden than anything else. I just don’t want her to have it. She doesn’t love him. She only loves his wealth.”
“All right. Let me get this straight.” I clear my throat. “If she can convince your father that you’re not of sound mind, he’ll change the will and leave her with more money than God.”
“Yes.” Serena drags her fingers through a long, red wave. “I’m assuming she wouldn’t get everything, but she’d certainly get more than her fair share. I’m sure I’d be given a small trust of some sort, but it’s the principle of the thing.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“I can’t let this happen.” Serena places her hand on my arm.
“It won’t.”
Serena’s expression fades. “I just want my life back. I want my good name back. I want the truth known. And I want Veronica exposed before it’s too late.”
“It’s a long order, but I can do this.”
“What do you mean, you can do this? Hello.” She points to herself. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.”
“But you kind of are.” I can’t help but admire her determination. The fact that she doesn’t want to rely on me is fucking adorable.
“No, no. I hate that.” Her head shakes, her hair feathering her face.
“All right. I get it. You’re a strong, independent woman. Regardless, you need me. You need me whether you like it or not. You can’t do this alone.”
She releases a dramatic exhalation, her elbow resting against her door.
“Don’t screw me over.” She turns back and points a finger at me. “I mean it, Derek. I have to know that I can trust you. That you’re not in this for yourself. That you’re not here to milk what’s left of my trust fund.”
“Slightly insulted by your insinuation, but you have my word.” I draw an ‘X’ across my chest and lift my palm. “Estate law happens to be a pet passion of mine. Believe it or not, cases like yours aren’t entirely uncommon.”
“So this will be easy, then?” Serena’s tone is lighter, hopeful. “We just have to prove that Dr. Rothbart is on her payroll and that he lied. Find some unbiased doctor to evaluate me and prove I’m not in a state of self-harm, and that I don’t need a conservator or psychiatric medications. And then we need to prove that Veronica’s been scheming.”