And so he began, coldly and methodically, to prepare the instrument that had worked on her for ten years and that he had every reason to believe would work again: the machinery of declaring her mad.

It had always been his cleverest weapon.

A daughter who accused you of theft could be answered.

A daughter whom respected physicians had certified as delusional could not — her accusations became symptoms, her evidence became paranoia, her truth became one more entry in a medical file that grew thicker every year she refused to be quiet.

He had built that file carefully, over a decade, and it had held.

He saw no reason it would not hold one more time.