Chapter 9: The Meeting
Scott arrived at Patricia's office twelve minutes late.
He came alone, which surprised me.
I'd expected him to bring Megan, or at minimum an attorney of his own.
Instead he walked in with his jacket buttoned and his hands in his pockets, and when he saw Mom sitting beside me at the conference table he stopped for just a moment before he sat down.
Patricia opened without preamble.
"Thank you for coming, Scott.
I've asked you here because we've completed our review of the codicil and I want to give you the opportunity to hear our findings directly before we proceed."
Scott looked at me.
"Proceed with what?"
"We're filing a formal challenge," I said.
"To the codicil."
His jaw tightened.
"On what grounds?"
"Undue influence and lack of testamentary capacity," Patricia said.
She opened the folder in front of her.
"Your father's medical records document cognitive concerns beginning fourteen months before his death — four months before the codicil was signed.
His physician, Dr.
Ellison, has provided a written statement indicating he communicated those concerns to the accompanying family member at the time."
Scott's eyes moved to the folder.
"That accompanying family member," Patricia continued, "was you.
On three of the four relevant visits."
"Dad was fine," Scott said.
"He knew what he wanted."
"He may have believed he did.
But the standard for executing a major legal document requires more than belief.
It requires verified capacity, independent counsel, and the absence of undue influence from a beneficiary." She looked at him over her glasses.
"None of those conditions were met."
"I drove him there because he asked me to."
"You drove him there, sat in the room, and became the named trustee of a document that gives you controlling authority over a property worth over half a million dollars." Her voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
"I think you understand how that looks."
Scott's hands came onto the table.
"I spent two years managing Dad's care," he said.
"Two years of appointments and medications and phone calls and nights I don't want to talk about.
I was there.
I did the work.
I'm not going to sit here and be made to feel like a crjminal for—"
"No one is calling you a crjminal," Patricia said.
"She is." He looked at me.
"That's what this is.
You think I forged something.
You think I manipulated a sick old man."
"I think," I said carefully, "that you saw an opportunity and you took it.
And I think you've been working toward selling that house for a long time."
"The house is an asset—"
"It's Mom's home."
"It's a financial liability—"
"Scott." Mom's voice was quiet.
But it stopped him.
He looked at her.
"Did your father ever tell you," she said, "that he wanted me out of that house?"
Scott said nothing.
"Did he ever say to you, in any conversation, that he wanted me moved to a care facility?"
Still nothing.
"Because he said the opposite to me.
Many times.
In that house.
At that table." Her voice didn't shake.
"He told me that house was mine for as long as I wanted it.
He told me that was the one thing he was certain of."
Scott looked at the table.
"I know you were there," Mom said.
"I know it was hard.
I know I wasn't there the way you were and I know that wasn't fair to you." She paused.
"But what you did with that wasn't right.
And you know it."
The room was very still.
Scott's hands were flat on the table now.
He didn't pick up the folder.
He didn't look at Patricia.
"What do you want?" he said finally.
His voice had gone flat.
"We want the codicil withdrawn," Patricia said.
"Voluntarily.
In exchange, we don't pursue the question of how it came to be signed in the first place."
Scott looked up sharply.
"That's the offer," I said.
"Withdraw it.
Walk away from the trustee designation.
Mom keeps her house, outright, the way Dad intended."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we file the challenge, submit Dr.
Ellison's statement, and let the court decide." Patricia closed the folder.
"I'll be honest with you, Scott.
Given the documentation we have, I like our chances."
Scott sat very still for a long moment.
Then he said: "I need a few days."
"You have until Friday," Patricia said.
"Five o'clock."
He stood.
He buttoned his jacket.
He looked at Mom one more time.
"I did love him," he said.
"I want you to know that."
Mom looked back at him.
"I know you did," she said.
"That's what makes this so sad."
He walked out.
The door closed.
Patricia looked at us.
May you like
"Friday," she said.
"We'll know by Friday."
