Abigail did not sleep at all that night. At seven in the morning, she arranged to meet Naomi at a quiet diner across from Fairview Park. She expected to find an opportunist, but the young woman arrived with a blue folder and visibly trembling hands.
“I was Spencer’s business manager,” Naomi explained as she sat down. “I was also the one who spoke with him yesterday on the phone, and I asked him if he did not feel guilty because I have been seeing things for months that I can no longer keep quiet about.”
Inside the folder were official bank statements and loan applications written in Abigail’s name. Two legal documents listed her as jointly liable for loans totaling six hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
The signature looked like hers, but it was completely forged.
“Spencer used copies of your personal documents,” Naomi said quietly. “When the suppliers charged him, he assured everyone that you would end up paying the bills.”
“Why are you telling me all this now?” Abigail asked, holding her cup.
“Because yesterday he started asking if you had received any money,” Naomi replied. “I was truly afraid he was going to try to get you to sign something dangerous.”
At five in the afternoon, Abigail met with Lawson Ray, a specialized asset attorney. She showed him the winning lottery ticket and the forged credit forms.
“I want to pay for my son’s medical treatment,” Abigail said firmly. “However, I do not want him to be able to withdraw cash under any circumstances.”
Lawson proposed creating a medical trust immediately. The fund would directly pay for the hospital, specialists, medications, and rehabilitation, meaning Spencer would receive comprehensive care while his other debts would be excluded.
Abigail accepted the offer and began the legal process to disavow the loans.
That night she wrote a short message to Spencer: “Your treatment will be covered, and I will explain everything tomorrow.”
Spencer replied right away: “Just the treatment?”
The next morning, Abigail entered room 12 holding a bag of sweet bread.
“Did you get a loan?” Spencer asked from his bed.
“No, I set up a fund to cover your health,” Abigail answered calmly.
“Why do you not just give me the money so I can get organized?” Spencer demanded.
“Because you have not organized yourself with what you already have,” Abigail said.
Spencer’s expression changed instantly. “I also owe rent, credit cards, and employee salaries, so if there is money, we can save the printing business.”
“Your health will be protected,” Abigail told him. “You will have to sort out your debts yourself from now on.”
“Are you punishing me for being sick?” Spencer asked angrily.
“Setting boundaries is not abandoning you,” Abigail replied softly.
“Who filled your head with these crazy ideas?” Spencer shouted.
