“You believed you were sick.”

“Of course. Why else would he be repeating tests?”

“You were frightened?”

“Terrified.”

Watching the questioning, Alex thought, It’s too bad we don’t have pictures. Her father appeared vigorous and hearty. She remembered when he had been frail, gray, and weak. His clothes had hung on his frame; he looked like a dying man. Now he looked strong, like the construction worker he had been all his life. He didn’t look like a man who became frightened easily. Alex knew these questions were essential to establish a basis for fraud, and a basis for mental distress. But it had to be done carefully. And their lead lawyer, she knew, had a bad habit of ignoring his own notes once the testimony was rolling.

The lawyer said, “What happened next, Mr. Burnet?”

“I went in for tests. Dr. Gross repeated everything. He even did another liver biopsy.”

“With what result?”

“He told me to come back in six months.”

“Why?”

“He just said, ‘Come back in six months.’”

“How did you feel at this time?”

“I felt healthy. But I figured I’d had a relapse.”

“Dr. Gross told you that?”

“No. He never told me anything. Nobody at the hospital ever told me anything. They just said, ‘Come back in six months.’”

Naturally enough, her father believed he was still sick. He met a woman he might have married, but didn’t because he thought he did not have long to live. He sold his house and moved into a small apartment, so he wouldn’t have a mortgage.

“It sounds like you were waiting to die,” the attorney said.

“Objection!”

“I’ll withdraw the question. But let’s move on. Mr. Burnet, how long did you continue going to UCLA for testing?”

“Four years.”

“Four years. And when did you first suspect you were not being told the truth about your condition?”