Chapter 3
Her father, the man who once carried her on his shoulders through the garden, was being trained to feel helpless in his own home.
Catherine said, “We can call the police now.”
Isabella stared at the frozen frame.
“No.”
Catherine frowned.
“Isabella.”
“I want them caught with the watch, the documents, and Dad in the house.”
“That is risky.”
“I know.”
“Your father could be hurt.”
Isabella’s voice broke.
“He already is.”
But she did not walk in blind.
The legal folder was prepared.
The emergency injunction drafted.
The police notified and waiting nearby.
The medical team on standby.
The phone trigger connected to Catherine, security, and the officers outside the gate.
Isabella was supposed to arrive the next morning.
She came early because something in her body would not wait.
That instinct saved Richard from another night on the floor.
Now Vivian stood in the foyer, staring at Catherine’s legal folder, trying to rebuild her face into control.
“You have no right to enter my home,” Vivian said.
Isabella looked at her father, still breathing hard on the marble.
“My father never signed the transfer.”
Vivian’s eyes sharpened.
“He did.”
Catherine opened the folder.
“The signature was taken after heavy medication, and your own messages show you discussing timing with Marcus.”
Marcus stepped back.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Isabella turned to him.
“You’re holding my father’s stolen watch.”
Marcus looked down, as if surprised to find it in his hand.
Then he shoved it into his pocket.
Too late.
Catherine lifted a tablet.
“Already photographed.”
Vivian’s lips thinned.
“You ungrateful little girl. I cared for him when you were gone.”
Isabella’s voice dropped.
“You isolated him when I trusted you.”
Richard shifted behind her.
“Bella,” he whispered.
She turned immediately and knelt beside him.
“I’m here.”
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” Her voice cracked. “No, Dad. You do not apologize from the floor.”
That line broke him.
His shoulders shook once.
Isabella looked up at Catherine.
“Now.”
The front doors opened.
Two uniformed officers entered with estate security.
Vivian’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Panic.
“There has been a misunderstanding.”
One officer looked at Richard on the floor.
Then at the broken cup.
Then at Vivian’s heel.
“That’s one word for it.”
Marcus tried to move toward the side hall.
A security man blocked him.
The gold watch was recovered from his pocket before he reached the stairs.
The police took statements.
The medical team lifted Richard carefully onto a stretcher chair.
He kept trying to look away from Isabella, ashamed of being seen like that.
She would not let him disappear into shame.
She held his hand in front of everyone.
“You are coming with me.”
Vivian laughed once, sharp and desperate.
“He needs me.”
Richard looked at her.
For the first time that night, his voice held.
“No.”
It was one word.
Small.
Hoarse.
But it landed harder than the broken cup.
Vivian stared at him.
Richard swallowed.
Then said it again.
“No.”
That was the beginning of her losing him.
Not the police.
Not the folder.
May you like
Not the cameras.
Richard’s no.
