…not a doctor at this practice. He lost his medical license four years ago. And he’s your daughter-in-law’s cousin.”
I put the phone down and sat very still. Then I called the police.
A detective named Ellen Price came to my house within the hour. She listened to everything, looked at the screenshots and the funeral receipt, and her face became very serious. “Mrs. Bennett,” she said, “I want you to stay with someone you trust tonight. And I don’t want you to go to that appointment.”
I stayed with my sister. Detective Price and her team did the rest.
The investigation took three weeks. My son, Kevin, and his wife, Laura, owed more than $300,000 to people they should never have borrowed from. They’d taken out a large life insurance policy on me months earlier, using my forged signature. The “special procedure” had been arranged with Laura’s cousin, a former doctor, at a private clinic.
I won’t describe the rest. The detective explained enough for me to understand that my annual checkup might have been the last day of my life.
Kevin, Laura and her cousin were arrested before the appointment date. They were charged with insurance fraud and conspiracy. The insurance policy was cancelled. The funeral company refunded every penny to the bank that had issued Laura’s credit card.
I don’t talk about my son much anymore. I’m seventy-two. I went back to Italy in the spring with my sister. We sat in a café in Florence, and she raised her glass and said, “To your very long life.” I intend to make it a long one.
