My Sister Drugged Our Healthy Father To Steal Our $5 Million Vineyard. I Caught Her On Tape And Called The Cops Three Days Before Christmas. Am I The Jerk For Sending My Own Sister To Prison?

I flushed every pill down the toilet. Then, I made soup—chicken noodle from scratch, the way Mom used to make it.

The smell filled the house. Around 6:00 p.m., I heard movement from Dad’s room.

He emerged looking confused and unsteady. The drugs were still in his system.

“Robert? What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I came early to help with Christmas prep.” I lied.

“Come on, I made soup.” I added.

We sat at the kitchen table. He ate slowly and mechanically, but after about 20 minutes, I saw clarity start returning to his eyes.

“This is good soup.” He said.

“Mom’s recipe. She’d be proud you remembered.” He noted.

He set down his spoon.

“Robert, what’s really going on?” He asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You never come early. You always arrive exactly when you say you will. 22 years of Christmases, you’ve never been early once. So, what happened?” He questioned.

I could lie to protect him, but Dad had always taught me to face hard things directly.

“Catherine tried to steal the vineyard.” I said quietly.

“She forged power of attorney documents. She’s been drugging you to make you seem like you have dementia. She was going to have you declared incompetent, sell this place, and lock you in a memory care facility.” I told him.

I expected shock, anger, or denial. Instead, Dad just nodded slowly.

“I was afraid of that.” He said.

“You knew?” I asked.

“I suspected about three months ago. She started visiting more often, bringing food, and insisting I see a new doctor. I went once to Dr. Harrison. He asked me all these questions about my memory and seemed surprised when I answered everything correctly. Then, Catherine was very upset with me. Said I wasn’t trying hard enough.” He explained.

“Trying hard enough to fail the test?” I asked.

“I think so, yes. After that, the visits got stranger. She’d bring me tea. I’d drink it and feel very sleepy. I’d wake up hours later, confused. She’d be there asking me questions I couldn’t answer, telling me I’d been forgetting things, doing dangerous things. But I couldn’t remember any of it.” He said.

“Dad, why didn’t you call me?” I asked.

He looked down at his hands.

“Because she’s my daughter. I kept thinking maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was getting old, getting paranoid. Your mother always said I thought the worst of people. I didn’t want to believe my own child would hurt me.” He replied.

The pain in his voice broke my heart.

“I believe you.” I said.

“And Marcus does, too. We have evidence. She’s not going to get away with this.” I added.

“Marcus knows?” He asked.

“He’s the one who figured it out. Been investigating her for weeks.” I told him.

Dad’s eyes filled with tears.

“That boy. That wonderful boy. His grandmother would be so proud.” He whispered.

We sat there in the quiet kitchen. Outside, the sun was setting over the vines.

“Dad, those medications she had you on—how long until they’re out of your system?” I asked.

“A few days, probably. Why?” He asked.

“Because when Adult Protective Services and the DA’s office get here tomorrow, I want you clear-headed. I want you to tell them everything. I want them to see the real James Chen, not the drugged version Catherine was creating.” I explained.

He nodded.

“Okay. I can do that.” He said.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I stayed up watching over Dad, making sure he was safe.

Every few hours, I’d check on him. He slept restlessly, probably withdrawal from the medications, but his breathing stayed steady.

Around 3:00 a.m., I saw car headlights on the road. My whole body tensed.

Was Catherine coming back? But the car didn’t turn in; it just passed by.

At 7:00 a.m., I made coffee, strong. Dad emerged from his room looking better already, more alert.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck, but clearer. My head doesn’t feel stuffed with cotton anymore.” He answered.

“Good. We have visitors coming today. Officials. They’ll want to talk to you about what Catherine did.” I told him.

“I’m ready.” He said.