Chapter 4
I drove straight to an attorney's office.
Not home.
Not to Denise.
Straight to someone who could help protect my mother.
Her name was Patricia Greene, and she'd spent more than twenty years handling elder abuse and financial exploitation cases.
I knew her through a colleague at my construction company.
When I explained what had happened, she cleared her afternoon schedule.
Mom sat beside me, clutching her handbag.
Patricia listened without interrupting.
I told her about the dishes.
The missing belongings.
The bank transfers.
The documents.
And the threatening message.
When I finished, Patricia looked directly at my mother.
"Mrs. Evelyn, I need you to understand something."
Mom nodded nervously.
"You are not in trouble."
My mother's lips began trembling.
Patricia continued.
"Someone may have abused your trust. That's not the same as you doing something wrong."
Mom started crying.
"I thought I was helping my son."
I squeezed her hand.
"You were trying to protect me."
Patricia asked several careful questions.
Had Mom signed a power of attorney?
Had she agreed to sell her house?
Had she authorized Denise to access her accounts?
Mom could only remember signing papers because Denise said I wanted them signed.
Patricia took notes.
Then she made several calls.
She contacted the bank's fraud department with Mom's permission.
She arranged a formal review of the property records.
And she helped us prepare a report for the authorities.
I watched my mother grow quieter with every question.
When Patricia stepped out, Mom turned to me.
"Marcus, what if Denise goes to jail?"
I looked at her.
"That depends on what she did."
"But she's your wife."
I swallowed.
"Mom, being married doesn't give someone permission to steal."
She wiped her face.
"I never wanted this."
"I know."
An hour later, Patricia returned.
Her expression was grim.
"I found something concerning."
She placed a printed document on the desk.
It was a deed-related filing involving my mother's property.
Her home on Maple Street.
The place where she'd raised me.
The place where my father had planted the oak tree in the front yard.
"What is this?" I asked.
"A document that appears to authorize a transfer of an ownership interest."
I stared at the page.
My mother's name was printed near the bottom.
Beside it was a signature.
I recognized the shape of her handwriting.
But something looked wrong.
The final letters were uneven.
Like someone had guided her hand.
Mom leaned closer.
"That's not what Denise told me I was signing."
Patricia nodded.
"That's why we need the original documents and all supporting records."
I turned the page.
A company name appeared.
Horizon Property Holdings LLC.
I'd never heard of it.
"Who owns this company?"
Patricia looked at me.
"According to the public registration, Denise is listed as the managing member."
I stared at her.
My wife had created a company.
Then apparently used my mother's signature in an attempt to move ownership of her house into it.
I felt a wave of anger so strong I had to stand.
Patricia raised one hand.
"Marcus, don't confront her alone."
"She's in my house."
"Then we need to handle that carefully."
I took a breath.
"What do we do?"
"We protect your mother first. Then preserve evidence."
I nodded.
We requested copies of the records.
We documented the bank withdrawals.
Patricia advised us not to delete any messages or communicate threats.
She also explained that the deed's legal effect would require investigation.
Nothing would be decided just because Denise had submitted paperwork.
That was the first moment I felt a little hope.
Mom's house might still be safe.
But the woman I'd married had crossed a line I could never ignore.
When we returned home, two suitcases stood near the front door.
Denise sat on the sofa.
Her arms were folded.
She looked at Patricia's business card in my hand.
"Well," she said. "You really did it."
I stepped inside.
"Where's Robert Collins?"
She smiled.
"Why would I know?"
"Because you were with him when I called."
Her smile disappeared.
Mom stayed close behind me.
Denise noticed.
"Oh, Evelyn. Still playing victim?"
"Don't," I warned.
Denise stood.
"She's trying to destroy our marriage."
"No. You did that."
I placed the bank statement on the coffee table.
Then the property filing.
Denise stared at them.
For the first time, I saw genuine fear cross her face.
"Where did you get those?"
"From the bank and public records."
"You had no right—"
"My mother has every right to know what's happening to her property."
Denise reached for the documents.
I moved them away.
"Don't touch anything."
She looked at Mom.
"You told him?"
My mother shrank back.
I stepped forward.
"Look at me, Denise."
She glared.
"Did you steal her money?"
"I borrowed it."
"Without permission?"
"She signed the forms."
"Because you lied to her."
Denise clenched her jaw.
"You think you understand everything?"
"Then explain it."
She hesitated.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Robert Collins.
I saw his name before she turned the phone over.
"Answer it," I said.
"No."
"Put it on speaker."
"Absolutely not."
I took one step back.
"Then leave."
Denise picked up her purse.
"You'll regret humiliating me."
She dragged her suitcases toward the door.
Before leaving, she looked at my mother.
"This isn't finished, Evelyn."
Mom grabbed my arm.
I pulled her gently behind me.
"It is for tonight."
Denise slammed the door.
The house fell silent.
I turned the lock.
Then Mom whispered something I wasn't prepared to hear.
"Marcus?"
"Yes?"
"There's another thing."
I turned around.
She looked terrified.
"Denise took me to a doctor last month."
My stomach tightened.
"What doctor?"
"She told him I couldn't remember things anymore."
I stared at her.
"And she told me if I didn't cooperate, they'd say I wasn't capable of making my own decisions."
I felt the floor shift beneath me.
May you like
Denise wasn't only after my mother's money.
She had been trying to take away her independence.
