Then I returned the papers exactly as I had found them.
Denise came back.
“I’ll return tomorrow. We really should get this signed quickly.”
I smiled.
“Of course.”
That afternoon, Roman came to see me.
He barely took off his coat.
“Aunt Denise called. She’s worried about you.”
“Are you?”
“Mom, you’re ninety. You shouldn’t be handling all this by yourself.”
“And you’ve been giving Denise my bank statements?”
His face changed.
“Only so she could help.”
“You gave her my brokerage information?”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
I studied my son carefully.
Then I realized something.
Roman wasn’t part of the scheme.
He had been careless.
Naive.
But he genuinely believed Denise was trying to help me.
That night, I looked through the photographs again.
The forged-looking notary date.
The power of attorney.
The brokerage balance.
Walter’s warning echoed in my head.
If Denise makes her move, go back to Bennett.
She had made her move.
The next morning, I returned to the lawyer’s office.
Bennett was expecting me.
Without asking many questions, he opened his desk drawer and removed a second envelope.
Inside was a recorded living trust.
I read the first page.
Then the second.
I was named the sole trustee.
I was also the sole beneficiary.
The trust had been created and funded months before Walter became ill.
Attached to it was a physician’s written statement confirming that Walter had been mentally competent when he signed everything.
The will my family had heard was practically irrelevant.
Walter had transferred the assets that mattered into the trust long before his death.
Denise could challenge the will if she wanted.
There was almost nothing important in it to win.
Then Bennett handed me a smaller envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of an old document.
Very old.
I recognized Walter’s father’s signature.
And Denise’s.
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