Mr. Davis was the unpleasant man who lived across the street, who had always complained when my friends parked near his property. Mr. Green was indeed my pharmacist, but I couldn’t imagine why he would testify against me.
“I need to speak with Mr. Green,” I told Mr. Weber. “Something isn’t right here.”
We went to the pharmacy together that afternoon. Mr. Green looked surprised and nervous to see me. “Mrs. Richter! It’s good to see you. How have you been?”
“I’ve been well, Mr. Green. But I’ve been told you provided a statement saying I exhibit erratic behavior regarding my medications.”
His face flushed a deep, blotchy red. “Mrs. Richter, your daughter-in-law came in a few weeks ago. She said she was worried about you, that you were acting strangely. She asked about your prescription history.”
“And what did you tell her?” I asked.
“I explained that you only buy over-the-counter vitamins and the occasional aspirin, that you don’t have any regular prescriptions. But she insisted that this was proof you weren’t taking proper care of your health…”
Mr. Weber interjected. “Mr. Green, did you sign a document for her?”
“She… she had a paper. It said I was confirming that your medication purchases were irregular. I thought it was for health insurance or something similar. I had no idea it was for a lawsuit!”
My own pharmacist had been duped into providing false evidence. Lena’s manipulation knew no bounds. “Mr. Green,” I said, “I need you to write a new statement, explaining exactly what happened and clarifying that I have no problems with my medications.”
“Of course, Mrs. Richter! I am so terribly, terribly sorry for this misunderstanding.”
After the pharmacy, we went to see Mr. Davis. He answered his door with open hostility. “What do you want?”
“Mr. Davis,” Mr. Weber began, “I understand you provided a statement about my client’s behavior.”
“You’re darn right I did,” he snapped. “That woman is crazy. Acting strange for weeks. Putting up cameras like she’s in a war zone, having all sorts of strangers coming and going, yelling at her own family in the street…”
I realized he had taken everything out of context and twisted it with malice. The cameras were for protection. The “strangers” were my new friends. The “yelling” was me defending my home from an invasion.
“Mr. Davis,” I said, “do you know why I installed those cameras? To protect myself from my son and daughter-in-law, who broke into my house.”
“That’s just what a crazy person would say,” he retorted cruelly. There was no reasoning with him. His mind was made up.
That evening, Mr. Weber and I planned our defense. “Renate, we need our own psychiatric evaluation. I have a colleague, Dr. Moore, an expert in assessing mental capacity in these situations. She can provide an official report confirming your competence.”
“What if they’ve bribed someone?” I asked, my fear rising. “What if the judge is already on their side?”
“The system isn’t perfect, Renate, but it’s not entirely corrupt, either. We have the truth on our side.”
The next day, I had my appointment with Dr. Moore. She was a woman in her fifties with intelligent, kind eyes. For two hours, she put me through a series of tests and interviews, evaluating my memory, reasoning, financial understanding, and emotional state.
“Mrs. Richter,” she said at the end of the session, “your cognitive function is excellent, well above average for your age. You are not only competent, you are sharp.”..
