I had been meticulous about my finances since David’s death, checking balances regularly, keeping careful records.
I had to be careful.
My savings were all I had left.
The bank felt different when I arrived that afternoon.
Or maybe I was the one who was different.
3 days ago, I had walked into this building as a woman who existed primarily to solve other people’s problems.
Today, I felt like someone who might actually have rights worth protecting.
Janet led me to a small conference room and closed the door behind us.
She had a thick file folder in her hands, and her expression was grim.
“Patty,” she said, using my first name for the first time in 20 years. “I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”
I nodded, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Have you given anyone access to your accounts? Power of attorney, joint ownership, anything like that?”
“No,” I said immediately. “David and I had joint accounts when he was alive, but since his death, everything has been solely in my name.”
Janet opened the file and pulled out a stack of papers.
“Someone has been attempting to access your accounts. We have records of multiple calls over the past 6 months. Someone claiming to be calling on your behalf, asking about balances, transfer procedures, beneficiary information.”
My hands began to tremble.
“Who?”
She slid a document across the table.
It was a phone log, and I recognized the number immediately.
“Trent, your son has called 17 times in the past 6 months,” Janet said quietly. “Initially, our representatives told him they couldn’t discuss your accounts without your authorization. But then this arrived.”
She handed me another document, and my blood turned to ice.
It was a forged power of attorney form supposedly signed by me, granting Trent full access to my financial accounts.
“This isn’t my signature,” I whispered, staring at the crude imitation of my handwriting.
“We suspected as much,” Janet said. “That’s why I called you in, Patty. Someone has been planning to gain control of your finances. If this had been processed, they would have had the legal right to move your money wherever they wanted.”
The room seemed to spin around me.
My own son had tried to steal from me.
Not just the money for the house, not just the loans that were never repaid, but everything.
My life savings, my security, my independence.
“There’s more,” Janet said gently. “We’ve also discovered that someone has been making inquiries about your life insurance policy, your property deeds, and your existing will.”
I felt like I was drowning.
“My will?”
“Do you have a copy of your current will at home?”
I nodded numbly.
David and I had updated it after his death, leaving everything to Trent because he was our only child.
It had seemed like the natural thing to do at the time.
“I think you should check it when you get home,” Janet said. “And Patty, I think you should consider whether it still reflects your wishes.”
The drive home was a blur.
I kept thinking about all the times Trent had casually asked about my paperwork.
All the occasions when he had volunteered to help me get organized.
I had thought he was being thoughtful.
Now I realized he had been conducting reconnaissance.
My will was exactly where I had left it, in the fireproof safe David had insisted we buy.
But as I read through it, I saw things I had missed before.
The language was oddly specific about when Trent would gain control of my assets, not just after my death, but if I were ever declared mentally incompetent or unable to manage my own affairs.
Had I been stupid enough to sign something like that?
I thought back to the day after David’s funeral when Trent had arrived with a lawyer friend of his, saying they needed to update some paperwork to reflect my new status as a widow.
I had been so overwhelmed with grief, so grateful that someone was taking care of the details that I had signed whatever they put in front of me.
The lawyer’s name was printed at the bottom of the document.
Marcus Webb, attorney at law.
I had never met him before that day, and I had never seen him since.
I called the law office listed on the letterhead.
“Webb and associates,” a receptionist answered.
“I’d like to speak with Marcus Webb, please. This is regarding some documents he prepared for me.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Webb is no longer with our firm. He was terminated last year for professional misconduct. Could someone else assist you?”
Professional misconduct.
I hung up without answering.
My hands were shaking as I dialed the number for my old friend Ellaner, the only lawyer I knew personally.
We had been neighbors when our children were small, and she had helped me with some simple legal matters over the years.
“Ellaner,” I said when she answered, “I need help. I think my son has been trying to steal from me, and I don’t know who to trust.”
An hour later, Eleanor was sitting in my living room, reading through my will with the focused intensity of someone who knew exactly what to look for.