Chapter 3 - The Doctor's Switch
The drive to the Oakridge Psychiatric Institute was quiet. Abigail sat in the passenger seat, tapping her manicured nails impatiently against the dashboard, while Samuel drove. Elena sat in the back, staring out the window, occasionally muttering to herself about fictional rainy days.
Oakridge was a sprawling, imposing brick facility situated on the outskirts of the city. It catered to wealthy families looking to quietly house relatives who had become "inconvenient."
As they walked into the pristine reception area, Abigail took charge immediately. "Hi, I'm Abigail Vance. We have an 8:45 AM emergency evaluation appointment with Dr. Mercer for Elena Vance."
The receptionist checked her computer and nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Vance. Dr. Mercer is expecting you. Please take a seat, and the nurse will call you back shortly."
While Abigail was busy filling out the standard intake forms at the counter, Samuel stood near the water cooler with his mother. He leaned down, pretending to help her adjust her coat.
"You're doing great, Mom," Samuel whispered under his breath. "The doctor we are seeing is on her payroll—I checked his background last night. He has three malpractice lawsuits pending for fast-tracking forced institutionalization. But we aren't going to let him touch you."
Elena didn't look at him, but she gave his pinky finger a firm, reassuring squeeze. "Get her, Samuel," she murmured under her breath, her voice steady and clear for just a fraction of a second before she returned to her dazed expression.
"Samuel, honey," Abigail called out, holding up the manila folder. "The nurse is ready for us. Let's go."
They were led down a sterile corridor into a large, sunlit office. Dr. Christopher Mercer sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He looked distinguished, with silver hair and a tailored suit, but his eyes were cold and transactional.
"Ah, Mrs. Vance, Captain Vance," Dr. Mercer said, standing up to shake their hands. "Please, sit. And this must be Elena."
Elena sat in the chair, immediately slumping forward and playing with the buttons on her blouse.
Abigail stepped forward, placing her manila folder on the desk. "Dr. Mercer, thank you for seeing us on such short notice. As I mentioned on the phone, Elena’s condition has deteriorated rapidly over the last three months. She has become aggressive, she self-harms—as you can see from the severe bruising on her wrists—and she is completely unmanageable at home. My husband just got back from deployment, and we both agree that full-time residential care here at Oakridge is the best option."
Dr. Mercer picked up the folder, flipping through Abigail's fabricated logs. He nodded solemnly. "Yes, these symptoms are quite definitive of advanced onset senile dementia. Based on your extensive notes, Mrs. Vance, it appears the patient requires immediate stabilization."
Samuel stood up, stepping toward the desk. "Dr. Mercer, before you make a final determination, I brought a secondary medical file. My mother had a comprehensive neurological screening done at the military base medical center just four months ago, right before my final deployment phase. I think it’s vital you review it."
Abigail frowned, her eyebrows knitting together. "Sam, what are you talking about? Your mother never went to a military base. I've been her sole medical provider."
"You were busy, Abby. I took her myself during my pre-deployment leave," Samuel said smoothly. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an identical manila folder.
Except this folder didn't contain medical records.
Samuel slid the file across the desk. Dr. Mercer opened it, expecting to see brain scans. Instead, the first page was a high-resolution printout of a bank wire transfer log showing a twenty-thousand-dollar payment from Abigail Vance’s personal account directly into Dr. Mercer’s private offshore account in Belize, dated five days ago.
The second page was a certified forensic audit from the State Attorney General’s Financial Crimes Division, detailing three years of systemic asset stripping from Elena Vance's estate, totaling over four hundred thousand dollars, all routed through a shell company registered to Abigail’s maiden name.
Dr. Mercer’s face turned from professional calm to a ghostly, chalky white. The paper shook violently in his hands. He looked up at Samuel, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"What... what is the meaning of this?" Dr. Mercer stammered, his voice dropping an octave.
Abigail looked between the two men, sensing the immediate shift in the room's atmosphere. "Dr. Mercer? Is there a problem with the scans?" She reached out to grab the file, but Samuel placed his hand firmly over it.
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"There are no scans, Abigail," Samuel said, his voice dropping its friendly husband persona, replaced by the lethal chill of a military interrogator. "What Dr. Mercer is looking at is a federal indictment blueprint for bank fraud, bribery, and conspiracy to commit unlawful confinement."
Abigail froze, her eyes widening in sheer terror as the trap snapped shut around her.
