“I called for help,” I say clearly, my voice not wavering. “What happened yesterday was assault. What’s been happening for six months is financial exploitation. I won’t accept it anymore.”
Marcus steps inside without waiting for permission, setting his briefcase on the entry table and opening it with practiced efficiency.
“These are preliminary documents,” he says, pulling out a folder. “Formal notice that we’re initiating an investigation into financial and emotional abuse. Also preliminary paperwork for a protective order we’ll be filing this afternoon.”
Sloan rushes into the hallway, her hair messy, her makeup smudged, looking less polished than I’ve ever seen her.
“This is insane,” she says. “We took her in. We’ve been supporting her.”
Marcus pulls out another document with deliberate calm. “These are bank records showing Mrs. Denison has been paying you four hundred to five hundred fifty dollars per month from an eleven-hundred-dollar disability check. That leaves her with barely five hundred dollars for medications, clothing, personal needs, and all other expenses.”
