The bank’s fraud department has opened an investigation.”
Officer Reyes wrote steadily.
“Do you know where your son is right now?”
“He told my grandson he was at home.”
Reyes looked at me.
“Address?”
I gave it to her.
She stepped outside to make a call.
Through the kitchen window I watched her standing in the driveway, speaking into her radio.
My phone rang.
Arthur again.
I answered.
“Ivan, I need you to stop whatever you think you’re doing.” His voice had changed.
The careful, managed tone was gone.
“You don’t understand the full picture here.
Your grandmother is not well.
She hasn’t been well for months.
I’ve been trying to protect her.”
“From what?”
“From herself.
From bad decisions.
From — ” He stopped.
“There are things I haven’t told you because I was trying to handle this quietly, as a family.”
“You transferred her house to yourself, Arthur.”
“That was a protective measure.
Temporary.
To prevent her from being taken advantage of.”
“By who?”
Silence.
“By who?” I repeated.
“Ivan, just come and talk to me.
Bring her if you want.
We can sit down and sort this out like adults.”
“The police are at her house right now,” I said.
“If you want to sort it out, you can talk to them.”
The line went dead.
Officer Reyes came back inside.
She looked at Grandma, then at me.
“We’ve made contact with the county prosecutor’s office,” she said.
“Given the bank fraud component and the property transfer, this is going to move above the patrol level.
Someone from the financial crimes unit will be in touch by tomorrow morning.” She paused.
“Mrs.
Sterling, is there somewhere safe you can stay tonight?
I’d recommend not being here alone.”
“She’s staying with me,” I said.
Grandma didn’t argue.
Patricia squeezed her hand at the door.
“I’ll keep an eye on the house,” she said.
“Same as always.”
We carried the lockbox to my car.
Grandma took one last look at the front porch — at the single remaining green chair — before she got in.
I slept on the couch that night and gave Grandma my bedroom.
She didn’t protest, which told me more than anything she’d said all day.
At six forty-five in the morning, someone knocked on my apartment door.
I knew before I opened it.
Arthur was standing in the hallway in a pressed shirt and a jacket, as though he’d come to a meeting.
Wendy was a step behind him, her arms crossed, her expression arranged into something meant to look like concern.
“Ivan.” Arthur’s voice was steady.
“We need to talk.”
“You should have called.”
“You weren’t answering.”
I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door mostly closed behind me.
“She’s sleeping,” I said.
“Then we’ll talk quietly.” He looked at me directly.
“I know how this looks.
I understand that.
But you’re operating on incomplete information, and before this goes any further, I need to explain some things.”
“Go ahead.”
He glanced at Wendy.
She gave a small nod.
“Your grandmother has been showing signs of cognitive decline for over a year,” he said.
“Forgetting appointments.
Leaving the stove on.
Getting confused about dates.
We’ve been managing it quietly because she didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Did she ask you to manage it?”
“She didn’t have to.
She’s my mother.”
“She revoked your power of attorney,” I said.
“Three days before you used it to transfer her house.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened.
“The revocation wasn’t valid.
She wasn’t in a competent state when she signed it.
I have a physician’s statement.”
“From which physician?”
Another glance at Wendy.
“Dr.
Raymond Coyle.
He evaluated her in March.”
“I’ve never heard her mention him.”
“She doesn’t remember the appointment,” Arthur said.
“That’s the point.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
He held my gaze.
He was good at that.
“The fifty-five thousand dollars,” I said.
“Where is it?”
“In a trust account.
For her care.”
“Whose name is on the trust?”
“Mine, as trustee.
That’s how a trust works, Ivan.”
“I’d like to see the trust documents.”
“I’ll have Gerald send them over.”
“Gerald Holt,” I said.
“The man who was at her house yesterday morning with a briefcase.”
Arthur didn’t answer immediately.
“Gerald handles my legal affairs.
