Chapter 3 - Robert’s Box
I took photographs of every page in the box.
The next morning, I called Helen Price, the attorney who had helped Robert and me prepare our estate documents. She was still in the same office, still answered her own phone, and still remembered how Robert took sugar in his coffee.
“Come in at ten,” she said after I told her what I had heard. “Bring the originals.”
Helen read the sticky note twice.
“Has Stuart attempted to use the power of attorney?”
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll find out. You’re able to revoke it, and we can notify the institutions that have a copy. I want you to sign while you’re here.”
I did.
Helen also gave me a list of people to call: my bank, my investment firm, my doctor, and Cedar Grove. I asked her to send written notice wherever Stuart might have presented himself as my agent.
Then we went through Robert’s accounts.
Stuart knew about my teacher’s pension. He had no idea Robert’s careful investments had grown to nearly a million dollars. Robert had loved old houses and cheap coffee. Wealth, to him, meant that neither of us would have to ask our son for help.
Helen set down her pen.
“You can stay in that house as long as you like, Ines.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you ask about selling it?”
I looked at the photograph on her desk of her grown daughters.
“Because I can’t feel at home there anymore.”
By Thursday, Martha Reynolds had agreed to show the house privately. She had known Robert for twenty years and understood why I wanted discretion.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’m sure.”
That evening, Dr. Campbell’s office called to confirm an appointment.
“I canceled it,” I said.
The nurse sounded puzzled. “Your daughter-in-law confirmed it this morning.”
“Jennifer has no authority to do that.”
Another pause.
“Mrs. Mercer, she told us she was bringing a signed consent form.”
I asked the nurse to scan and send me a copy.
May you like
The signature at the bottom looked like mine.
It wasn’t.
