Chapter 3: The Locksmith's Van
The clerk's name was Patricia.
She had reading glasses on a beaded chain and a coffee mug that said WORLD'S OKAYEST BUREAUCRAT.
She did not look like someone who moved fast.
But Grandma Eleanor had a way of making people understand what was at stake without raising her voice.
"I need to file a revocation of power of attorney," Grandma said.
"Today.
Before five o'clock."
Patricia looked at the document Grandma had slid across the counter.
Then she looked at Grandma.
Then at me.
"You have the original signed POA with you?"
"I have a certified copy.
The original is in a safety deposit box at First Federal on Maple.
I have the box number and the key."
Patricia set down her coffee.
"Give me a moment."
I stepped back and called Diane.
"Are they still there?"
"The locksmith van left about ten minutes ago," Diane said.
"But your parents' car is still in the driveway.
Ivan, there are lights on inside.
Every room."
"Don't go near the house."
"I'm parked down the street.
Should I call the police?"
I looked at Grandma, still standing at the counter, watching Patricia type.
Calm.
Deliberate.
Like she'd rehearsed this day.
"Not yet," I said.
"We're almost done here."
I hung up.
My father had called twice more.
My mother once.
I turned the phone over in my hand and put it back in my pocket without answering.
Patricia returned with a form and a notary stamp.
"She'll need to sign in front of me," Patricia said.
"And I'll need to see a photo ID."
Grandma already had her driver's license on the counter.
Patricia blinked.
"You came prepared."
"I've been prepared for three months," Grandma said.
That stopped me.
Three months.
She had known something was wrong for three months and had said nothing.
Not to me.
Not to anyone.
I waited until Patricia stepped away to make a copy.
"Three months?" I said quietly.
Grandma didn't look at me.
"I wasn't certain.
I needed to be certain before I said a word."
"Grandma—"
"Ivan." She turned then.
"If I had told you in March what I suspected, what would you have done?"
I opened my mouth.
"You would have called your father," she said.
"You would have tried to talk to him.
And he would have moved faster."
She was right.
I knew she was right.
"So I waited," she said.
"I gathered.
And then I hid the deed, put on my church coat, and let them take me to lunch."
Patricia came back with the copied documents and a second form.
The signing took four minutes.
The notarization took two more.
Patricia stamped everything with the quiet authority of someone who understood that paperwork, done correctly, was its own kind of power.
"The revocation is effective immediately," Patricia said.
"I'd recommend filing a copy with the county recorder's office as well.
That window is down the hall, third door on the left."
"Thank you," Grandma said.
"Ma'am." Patricia hesitated.
"Is there anything else I can help with today?"
Grandma picked up her certified copies and tucked them into her purse.
"Not here," she said.
"But thank you, Patricia."
We filed with the recorder's office.
It took eleven minutes.
Then we walked back to the car.
I started the engine.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
"Bank next," Grandma said.
"And then the house."
"Yes."
My phone buzzed again.
Not my father this time.
It was a number I didn't recognize.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
Something made me answer.
"Is this Ivan Sterling?" A man's voice.
Measured.
Professional.
"It is."
"My name is Gerald Foss.
I'm an attorney.
I've been retained by your father, Arthur Sterling.
I'm calling to let you know that any interference with the current care arrangement for Eleanor Sterling may constitute a legal obstruction of—"
"She's sitting next to me," I said.
"She just revoked his power of attorney at the county courthouse.
Twenty minutes ago.
Notarized and filed."
Silence.
"Mr.
Foss," I said.
"Is there anything else?"
He hung up.
Grandma was watching me.
"Dad hired a lawyer," I said.
She nodded slowly, as if this confirmed something she had already expected.
"Then we don't have as much time as I thought," she said.
"Drive to the bank first.
And Ivan—" Her hand found my arm.
May you like
"Don't speed.
We do this right."
