Her reported death was being investigated as possible fraud.
The charity's accounts were examined.
Several disputed property transfers were challenged.
And the women who had been isolated or relocated were receiving independent assistance.
For the first time, the investigation was reaching beyond Alex.
He had been the charming face at Mrs. Wilson's door.
But he hadn't invented the plan.
Someone older, wealthier, and far more familiar with the women's lives had been directing it.
That afternoon, Mrs. Wilson returned home.
Before her arrival, the locks had been changed, the unauthorized access secured, and a safety plan arranged with police and social services.
I stood beside her front door as she stepped out of the car.
She wore a pale blue cardigan and carried a small overnight bag.
For a moment, she stared at the house.
Her eyes filled.
“Margaret?” I asked gently.
She nodded.
“I know it's silly.”
“What?”
“Being afraid of my own home.”
