Walter knew that if Denise planned to challenge anything, she would focus on the document read after his death.
What she didn’t know was that the real protection had been created long before Walter became ill.
The letter instructed me to return to Bennett only if Denise made a move against me.
I folded the letter.
I didn’t yet understand exactly what Walter had done.
But I understood the warning.
The next morning, Denise arrived at my house carrying a folder.
She placed it on the kitchen table.
“I know this is overwhelming, Eleanor.”
“I’m managing.”
“Of course. But we should get a power of attorney signed.”
I looked at her.
“A power of attorney?”
“Just so someone can help with banking and paperwork. You don’t want anyone taking advantage of you.”
The irony almost made me laugh.
I picked up the first page.
I pretended to struggle with the small print.
Then I noticed something.
The notary section was already stamped.
Already dated.
The date was from one week before Walter’s funeral.
A week when I had spent almost every hour beside my dying husband.
I had certainly never appeared before any notary.
Denise tapped another page.
“I also brought a little financial summary so we know what we’re dealing with.”
I kept my expression calm.
“Very helpful.”
Then her phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
The folder remained open on the kitchen table.
I took out my phone.
My granddaughter had taught me how to use the camera.
I photographed every page.
The power of attorney.
The suspicious notary stamp.
Then I reached the last document.
A brokerage statement.
My account number was printed at the top.
Balance:
$482,316.
I had never told Denise that number.
Then I remembered Roman’s phone call.
“I’ll drop Mom’s statements off.”
My own son had been giving her information.
I took more photographs.
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