The officers took statements.
They asked about medications.
They asked who had legal authority.
They asked if Arthur had ever been evaluated independently after admission.
Director Voss kept trying to answer questions that weren’t asked.
That’s always how it starts when somebody has been getting away with something too long.
They stop hearing the room.
They start performing for the lie.
By the time the police left, no one was talking about an abduction anymore.
Now they were talking about a civil dispute.
An emergency petition.
A family conflict.
Which meant Arthur’s children had bought themselves time.
And time, I was learning, was the favorite weapon of people who had already taken too much.
I went to my locker to get my bag.
Half the staff avoided my eyes.
The other half looked at me like I’d lit a match in a room full of fumes and they still weren’t sure whether to thank me or blame me for the fire.
Tamika, one of the night aides, caught up to me by the service hallway.
She grabbed my wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough.
Her eyes were wet.
“You really did it,” she whispered.
I shook my head.
“No. Arthur did.”
She looked over her shoulder before leaning closer.
“They’re shredding things in the admin office.”
My whole body went cold.
“What?”
“Not records. At least I don’t think so. Printouts. Notes. Whatever the director kept in that locked drawer.”
“Did you see it?”
She nodded.
