Chapter 8: The Day It All Came Apart
The formal review of my father's finances took eleven days.
I know because I counted them.
I went to work.
I ate.
I slept badly.
I did not contact Karen or Mia.
I answered my dad's calls and kept them short and factual.
I did not tell him how angry I was.
He was frightened enough already.
On the twelfth day, Sandra called me at noon.
"The review is complete," she said.
"Are you somewhere you can talk?"
I was at my desk.
I stood up and walked to the hallway.
"Go ahead."
"The documents your father signed included a limited power of attorney that was broader than he understood.
It gave Karen authority over specific financial decisions without requiring his signature each time." A pause.
"She used it.
Fourteen months of transfers, as your father found.
Total amount is significant enough that his lawyer is recommending they pursue formal recovery."
"Can they get it back?"
"Some of it, likely.
The power of attorney itself may be challengeable on the grounds that your father wasn't given adequate explanation of its scope.
His lawyer is preparing that argument."
"And Karen?"
"That depends on what she does next.
If she cooperates and returns the funds, it may stay civil.
If she doesn't—" Sandra let that sit for a moment.
"Her lawyer contacted us this morning.
She's been advised of the situation."
"What did her lawyer say?"
"That she disputes the characterization of the transfers and believes she acted within the scope of the agreement." A brief pause.
"She also, through her lawyer, withdrew the offer to return your furniture."
I almost laughed.
"She withdrew it."
"She's hoping the financial case will make you back down on the property case.
She thinks you'll trade one for the other."
"She's wrong."
"I know," Sandra said.
"Which is why I've already filed."
That evening, my dad came to my apartment.
He stood in my empty living room and looked around at the bare walls, the bare floor, the absence of everything that used to be there.
He didn't say anything for a long moment.
Then: "She did all of this."
"Mia took the furniture.
But Karen planned the rest of it."
He sat down on the floor.
There was nowhere else to sit.
I sat down next to him.
"I trusted her," he said.
"I know."
"I thought she was—" He stopped.
"I thought she genuinely cared about this family."
"Maybe she did, at the start.
I don't know."
He looked at his hands.
"I should have seen it."
"She was careful," I said.
"And she knew how to use the people around you.
That's not your failure, Dad."
He was quiet for a long time.
"I'm sorry," he said finally.
"For the group chat message.
For believing her version.
For not calling you."
"You called me."
"Not soon enough."
I looked at the bare wall across from us.
"You're here now," I said.
He nodded slowly.
We sat there on the floor of my empty living room for another twenty minutes.
Not saying much.
May you like
Just sitting.
It was the closest we had been in years.
