Chapter 13 - WENDY SAID THE UNIFORM WAS FOR HER OWN GOOD.
Wendy did not speak directly to Jessi for six days.
Then she called at 7:40 on a Sunday morning.
Jessi answered because her mother was asleep.
"Can we talk without lawyers?"
Jessi looked out the hotel window.
"That depends on what you want to say."
Wendy exhaled.
"This has gotten insane."
"You keep using that word."
"Because it has."
"What part?"
"Your mother is being paraded through banks and attorneys while you convince her she's a victim."
Jessi's grip tightened.
"She was kneeling in wine wearing a maid's uniform."
"She put that on."
"Mrs. Alvarez says you gave it to her."
Silence.
Jessi waited.
Wendy's voice changed.
"Of course Maria is talking."
"Is she lying?"
"I didn't say that."
"So you gave Mom the uniform."
"It was a joke at first."
Jessi went cold.
"What was funny?"
"She kept following the staff around."
"So?"
"She wouldn't stop cleaning."
"Why would that require a uniform?"
"It didn't require anything."
"Then why give it to her?"
Wendy made an impatient sound.
"Because she was confused and stubborn and sometimes humor worked better than arguing."
"Was she laughing?"
No answer.
"Did you tell guests she was staff?"
"What?"
"Did you?"
"Absolutely not."
That was clear.
Direct.
Either true or a lie.
Jessi wrote it down after the call.
"Did you tell her the dining room was for family and guests?"
Wendy paused.
"I may have told her we had guests coming and needed space."
"That isn't the same sentence."
"You weren't here."
There it was again.
The most powerful defense in the family.
You weren't here.
Jessi didn't dodge it.
"No. I wasn't."
Wendy seemed thrown by the admission.
Jessi continued.
"That doesn't make what happened okay."
"You have no idea what she was like."
"Tell me."
"She'd move things. Accuse people. Forget food. Wander downstairs at night. Hide receipts."
"Why did she hide receipts?"
"Because she was paranoid."
"Or because you threw away her notebooks."
Silence.
"Did you?"
"They were everywhere."
"Did you throw them away?"
"Some."
"Did you lock the pantry?"
"We installed a keypad."
"Did Mom know the code?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because she wasn't supposed to be eating whenever she wanted."
"Doctor's order?"
"Nutrition plan."
"From a doctor?"
Wendy didn't answer.
Jessi let the silence sit.
Then Wendy said, "You have no idea what it's like to manage someone who is declining."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"I'm willing to hear what was difficult."
"Finally."
"But difficulty doesn't explain humiliation."
Wendy's voice hardened.
"Everything looks like humiliation when you show up at the end."
That sentence was better than Jessi wanted it to be.
Because there was truth inside it.
Caregiving could be ugly.
Memory problems could create risk.
Families could make imperfect decisions.
But truth did not erase other truth.
Mother had been denied food access.
Her calls had been filtered.
Her money had been controlled.
Her mail had been opened.
Her clothes had been boxed.
Her identity documents had been kept by Luca.
And a disputed authorization had expanded his financial authority while she was in a hospital room with both Luca and Wendy present.
Jessi asked one last question.
"Did you bring papers to the hospital?"
Wendy hung up.
Later that morning Mother woke and asked for scrambled eggs.
She made them herself.
Jessi watched without hovering.
Mother burned the first batch.
"Damn it."
Jessi smiled.
"Want help?"
"No."
Second batch was better.
Mother ate standing at the counter.
Halfway through, she said, "Wendy wasn't wrong about everything."
Jessi looked up.
"What do you mean?"
"I did forget things."
"I know."
"I got angry."
"Okay."
"I accused Maria of stealing my blue coat."
"Did she?"
"No."
Mother winced.
"I found it in the guest closet."
Jessi thought of the coat Mother later claimed Wendy had donated.
"Same coat?"
"Yes."
"So maybe Wendy thought you lost it again."
"Maybe."
That mattered.
Not every grievance was proof.
Not every memory was perfect.
Jessi wanted the whole truth, not a story where one side was flawless.
Mother continued.
"I scared myself sometimes."
"How?"
"I'd walk into a room and forget why."
"I do that."
"You're thirty-three."
"Still counts."
Mother smiled.
"Sometimes I'd wake up and not know what day it was."
"That would scare me too."
"It scared Luca."
Jessi looked at her.
"You think so?"
"At first."
That was important.
Before power became control, perhaps there had been concern.
"What changed?"
Mother thought.
"He stopped asking what I wanted."
That was the cleanest description Jessi had heard.
Not a dramatic turning point.
A habit.
Decision by decision, Mother had become a problem to manage.
Luca had access.
Money.
Staff.
The family office.
The house.
Then Mother's occasional confusion became justification for everything else.
The attorney called with results from the hospital records.
A nurse's note documented that Mother was alert and oriented on the afternoon of the disputed signing.
That didn't prove she hadn't signed.
It did weaken the idea that she had been incapable of understanding anything.
More important, there was a note from the same day.
Patient requested family leave room for private conversation. Family declined initially; visitor became argumentative; nurse repeated request.
Jessi read it twice.
"Which visitor?"
The note didn't specify.
Could have been Luca.
Could have been Wendy.
Could have been both.
Then the attorney said they had located the staff member who prepared the disputed authorization at the family office.
A former administrative assistant named Kelly.
She no longer worked there.
"Will she talk?"
"She already did."
Jessi sat down.
"What did she say?"
"She prepared the document at Luca's request."
Mother stopped stirring her coffee.
"Did Luca tell her I wanted it?"
"According to her, yes."
"Did she speak to me?"
"No."
"Did she witness me sign?"
"No."
"Did she submit it?"
"Yes."
Jessi asked the next question.
"Where did she get the signed copy?"
The attorney paused.
"From Wendy."
Mother's face went pale.
Jessi felt the same cold calculation that had started in the mansion foyer settle over her again.
"Did Kelly say how Wendy got it?"
"No."
"Did she authenticate the signature?"
"No."
"Did anyone?"
"Not before submission."
Still not proof of forgery.
But the route was narrowing.
Prepared at Luca's instruction.
Carried through the hospital period.
Returned by Wendy.
Submitted under Luca's administrator account.
Mother denied signing.
The attorney then added one more detail.
"Kelly kept an email."
"From who?"
"Luca."
"What does it say?"
The attorney read the sentence aloud.
"Get this processed before Jessi sees the bank notice."
Jessi stopped moving.
The missing first envelope finally had a shadow.
Not its contents.
Not yet.
May you like
But Luca had known a bank notice was coming.
And he had specifically said Jessi should not see it.
