Chapter 7: Patricia
Patricia Howe's office was on the fourth floor of a building twelve minutes from Westfield Commons.
She had fit Megan in at four-thirty, between two other appointments, and when Megan walked in, Patricia was already standing, not sitting, like she'd been waiting near the door.
"Sit down," Patricia said.
"Water?"
"No.
Thank you."
Patricia sat across from her.
No desk between them — just two chairs and a low table.
She had a legal pad and a pen.
She didn't open a laptop.
"Start from the beginning," she said.
"Not today.
The beginning."
Megan started with the power of attorney.
Her mother's hospitalization, eight months ago.
Grant offering to help.
The form he'd placed in front of her at the kitchen table, already filled out, a pen beside it.
She'd been exhausted.
She'd signed without reading.
Patricia wrote without looking up.
Then the funeral.
Grant's absence that morning.
The notary office on Clement Street.
The separation agreement she had never seen until Diane pulled it from her handbag in the middle of a shopping mall.
The property transfer.
The wire from her mother's estate.
Lily's witness signature on something she hadn't understood.
When Megan finished, Patricia set down her pen.
"The forged signature on the separation agreement — do you still have the document?"
Megan placed it on the table.
Patricia studied it.
"This was notarized.
That means someone at that office either didn't verify identity properly, or they were presented with fraudulent identification." She looked up.
"Either way, that's a problem for Grant, not for you."
"Can it be undone?"
"The separation agreement has no legal effect because it was never filed with the court.
He may have shown it to Diane, but it has no standing." Patricia tapped the document.
"The property transfer is more serious.
If it was filed, it's on record.
We'll need to move quickly to challenge it."
"He said he had legal authority."
"He had power of attorney for your mother's estate.
That does not give him authority to transfer your jointly held marital property into a third-party holding company." Patricia's voice was precise and unhurried.
"That transfer was not legal.
It was fraudulent."
Megan sat with that word for a moment.
"What about my mother's money?"
"The wire transfer from the estate, authorized using the power of attorney — that will be the core of a separate action.
Misuse of power of attorney is a civil matter, but depending on the amount and the intent, it can also be criminal."
"Forty-four thousand dollars."
Patricia wrote the number down.
"Do you have the accountant's email?"
Megan forwarded it from her phone.
Patricia's own phone buzzed on the table.
She glanced at it, then back at Megan.
"I want to be honest with you," Patricia said.
"This is going to take time.
He will fight it.
He will make it expensive and slow and unpleasant, and at some point he will probably offer you a settlement that feels like relief but isn't."
"He already threatened to tie me up in court for years."
"Of course he did." Patricia didn't look surprised.
"That threat only works if you don't have the right documentation.
And you—" she looked at the forwarded email on her phone, at the document on the table, at the photos Carol had sent "—you have more documentation than most people walk in here with."
Megan looked at her hands.
"He told me to talk to my daughter before I did anything.
Like he thought she would talk me out of it."
"Did she?"
"She told me he'd asked her to sign something she didn't understand.
And that he'd been telling her I was mentally unstable."
Patricia's pen moved again.
"He was building a defense in advance.
Establishing a narrative that would undermine your credibility." She looked up.
"That tells me he knew this day was coming.
He was preparing for it."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"Patricia," Megan said.
"The bracelet.
My mother's bracelet.
He gave it to another woman."
"That's marital property — or inheritance property, depending on how it was acquired.
We can address that."
"I don't care about the legal category." Megan's voice was steady.
"My mother wore it for thirty-two years.
She was buried two months ago.
And he put it on another woman's wrist."
Patricia set down her pen.
"I know," she said.
Not as a legal statement.
Just as two words from one person to another.
Megan nodded once.
"What do I do first?" she asked.
"First," Patricia said, "we freeze everything we can."
She reached for her phone — and it rang before she touched it.
She glanced at the screen.
Her expression shifted, just slightly.
"It's my paralegal." She answered.
Listened for ten seconds.
Then she looked at Megan.
May you like
"Grant Blake just filed an emergency motion," she said.
"He's claiming you are mentally unfit to manage your own financial affairs and requesting temporary conservatorship."
