The older officer, a man with graying temples and a worn badge, looked at me. He frowned, recognizing my name. "Elias Thorne? The founder of Oakwood?"
"Former founder," David corrected quickly. "He hasn't been involved in years due to his... mental decline. We are just trying to keep him safe until his medical transport arrives."
The officer stepped toward me. "Mr. Thorne? Are you aware of where you are, sir?"
I looked at the officer. I didn't yell. I didn't accuse David of theft. I knew a street cop couldn't arrest a bank manager for white-collar embezzlement based on the word of a man legally declared insane. I needed someone with internal authority.
"Officer," I said, my voice calm and perfectly articulate. "I am entirely aware of where I am. I am also aware that I am the largest individual shareholder of this institution. I will not speak to this branch manager, and I will not leave this room until you bring Sarah Higgins to me."
David flinched. "Sarah Higgins is the Regional Director, she doesn't have time to—"
"Bring me Sarah Higgins," I repeated, my eyes locked on the officer. "Her office is on the top floor of this building. If she tells me to leave, I will leave peacefully. If you try to force me into a medical transport before she arrives, my personal attorneys will file a wrongful detainment lawsuit against the city of Chicago before the sun sets."
The older officer studied my face. He didn't see a raving, delusional old man. He saw clarity.
"Wait here," the officer said, turning to his partner. "Keep an eye on them. I'll go to the executive suites."
David paced furiously in the corner, chewing on his lower lip.
Ten minutes later, the door swung open again.
Sarah Higgins walked in. She was a sharp, brilliant woman in her late forties. Thirty years ago, Clara and I had hired her as a teller straight out of community college. We paid for her night classes. We mentored her. When Clara got sick, Sarah sat by her hospital bed and read to her. I loved Sarah like a daughter. I expected her to walk into the room, take one look at the situation, and immediately fire David.
But when Sarah walked through the door, my heart sank.
She didn't look angry. She looked utterly devastated.
"Oh, Elias," Sarah whispered, her voice breaking. She rushed to my side, kneeling on the dirty carpet next to my plastic chair. She reached out and gently took my weathered hands in hers. There were tears in her eyes.
"Sarah," I said, confused. "Sarah, you need to look at the ledger. Marcus and David have been—"
"Shhh. It's okay, Elias. It's okay," Sarah interrupted softly, speaking to me with the gentle, soothing tone one uses with a frightened child. "You don't need to worry about the bank anymore. Clara is in heaven, Elias. She’s safe."
The room spun. I stared at her, horrified.
"Sarah, I know Clara is dead," I said, my voice tightening with panic. "Listen to me. Marcus is stealing the money."
Sarah let out a tragic sigh, a tear spilling down her cheek. She reached into her leather briefcase and pulled out a thick manila envelope. She opened it and handed a document to the police officer.
"Officer, here is the court-ordered conservatorship," Sarah said quietly. "Signed by a Superior Court judge. Marcus Vance is his legal guardian. Elias was diagnosed with advanced Alzheimer's six months ago. Marcus showed me the brain scans himself. He showed me the videos of Elias wandering the farm at night, talking to people who aren't there."
My breath hitched. The pieces violently slammed into place.
Marcus hadn't just fooled the courts. He had fooled Sarah. He had fabricated medical records, manipulated home security footage from the farm, and built a flawless, airtight narrative that I was losing my mind. He had convinced the one person who would have defended me that I was a tragic shell of my former self.