Ana sat on the edge of my bed, her face pale.

“On paper, yes,” she said. “The law is designed to protect people who are genuinely incompetent, but in the hands of a corrupt doctor, it is a weapon.”

“We can fight it,” I said. “We can call the police.”

“The police won’t get involved in a medical dispute over a psychiatric hold,” Ana said. “They will defer to the doctor’s signature.”

She rubbed her temples, looking older than she had an hour ago.

“Mark has been planning this for a long time.”

“He knew Abigail was dying, and he knew he was cut out of the will.”

I looked down at my hands, which were still trembling.

“Why does he hate me so much?” I whispered. “Why does he want to destroy everything Abigail built?”

Ana was silent for a moment.

She reached for her leather briefcase, which was sitting on the floor by her chair.

“There is something I didn’t show you earlier,” Ana said.

She opened the brass latch and pulled out a thick, faded ledger with a cracked leather spine.