Chapter 2: The Hospital
I drove straight to the emergency department at Marion General.
My father sat silent beside me, one hand pressed against his ribs, the other resting on the door handle as if he still expected someone to pull him back. When we arrived I helped him inside, showed my credentials at the triage desk, and requested a private exam room along with a full forensic-style documentation of his injuries.
The nurse who took his vitals glanced at the bruises on his arm and then at me.
“We’ll take good care of him,” she said quietly.
They found more than the arm.
A large contusion across his left ribcage, consistent with a hard, linear impact. Tender swelling on the back of one shoulder. Older bruises in various stages of healing along both forearms—defensive marks. The attending physician ordered X-rays and noted everything with the careful language of someone who understood the difference between an accident and a pattern.
My father tried to downplay it.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
I sat beside the bed and kept my voice low.
“Dad. No more minimizing. Not with me.”
He looked at the ceiling for a long time before he spoke.
“She came over after dinner. Said she needed to talk about the will again. When I told her I wasn’t changing anything, she got angry. Derek just stood in the doorway. Didn’t say a word when she picked up the bat from the garage.”
I felt the familiar cold settle behind my ribs—the same cold that used to arrive right before a difficult interview.
“Has this happened before?”
He hesitated, then nodded once.
“Not with the bat. But the pushing. The yelling. The way she talks to me like I’m already gone. Derek always finds somewhere else to be when it starts.”
The doctor returned with preliminary findings. No fractures, but significant soft-tissue damage. He recommended overnight observation and a formal report to adult protective services.
I agreed to both.
While they moved my father to a monitored room, I stepped into the hallway and made two calls. The first was to a colleague in the U.S. Attorney’s Office who handled elder exploitation cases. The second was to a private investigator I trusted with sensitive family matters. By the time I returned to the room, the first pieces of a real response were already in motion.
May you like
Priscilla and Derek had staged a performance at the police station.
They were about to learn the difference between a local disturbance call and a federal agent’s father.
