“The evaluating physician is listed as Dr.
Raymond Coyle.
We ran his license number this morning.” She paused.
“Dr.
Coyle’s medical license was suspended fourteen months ago for irregularities in documentation.
He is not currently authorized to practice in this state.”
Grandma set her hands flat on her knees.
“So the evaluation is worthless,” I said.
“It’s worse than worthless.
If it was prepared after the suspension, it may constitute a fraudulent document.” Okafor looked at Grandma.
“Mrs.
Sterling, did you ever meet a Dr.
Coyle?
Did anyone take you to a medical appointment in the past year that you didn’t arrange yourself?”
Grandma thought for a moment.
“In February, Arthur told me I had a routine insurance physical.
He drove me.
The doctor asked me questions — what year it was, who the president was, to count backward from one hundred.
I thought it was unusual for an insurance physical.”
“Do you remember the office location?”
“A medical building on Hargrove Street.
Third floor.”
Okafor wrote it down.
“That’s consistent with an address associated with Coyle’s former practice.” She put her pen down.
“Mrs.
Sterling, I want to be direct with you.
What we’re looking at includes unauthorized access to financial accounts, fraudulent property transfer, and now potentially a fabricated medical evaluation used to support a legal claim.
This is serious.”
“I know it’s serious,” Grandma said.
“My son did it.”
Okafor nodded once.
“The external account that received the wire transfers — the one the bank flagged in connection with two prior fraud cases — is registered to a holding company.
The registered agent for that company is Gerald Holt.”
I heard Grandma exhale slowly beside me.
“Gerald Holt is Arthur’s attorney,” I said.
“He was,” Okafor said.
“As of this morning, Mr.
Holt has retained his own defense counsel.”
She let that land.
“We executed a search warrant on Mr.
Holt’s office at eight this morning,” she continued.
“Among the documents recovered was a folder containing power of attorney paperwork for three other elderly clients, all of whom had property transfers filed in this county in the past two years.” She looked at Grandma steadily.
“You are not the first, Mrs.
Sterling.
But you may be the reason the others get justice.”
Grandma sat very still.
“The moving truck,” I said.
“The furniture.”
“We have the truck company’s records.
Delivery address is a storage facility registered to the same holding company.” Okafor made a note.
“We’ll be executing a second warrant this afternoon.”
“Can the property transfer be reversed?” I asked.
“Given that the underlying power of attorney had been validly revoked prior to the transfer, and that the revocation was properly witnessed and dated, yes.
The county recorder’s office has already been notified to flag the title pending the investigation.” She paused.
“Your grandmother’s house is not going anywhere.”
Grandma looked at me.
I looked at her.
Neither of us said anything.
“Mrs.
Sterling,” Okafor said, “I need to ask you one more thing.
Your son — Arthur Sterling — is he aware of this investigation?”
“He came to my grandson’s apartment this morning,” Grandma said.
“He told us to resolve it quietly within the family.”
“What time was that?”
“Before seven.”
Okafor picked up her phone and made a call.
She turned slightly away and spoke in a low voice.
When she turned back, her expression was the same — composed, unhurried — but something behind her eyes had sharpened.
“Thank you both,” she said.
“I’ll be in touch before end of day.
Mrs.
Sterling, I want you to know — what you did, keeping that revocation, keeping the deed, documenting the bank statements — that preparation is the reason this case is as strong as it is.”
Grandma picked up her purse from the floor.
“My husband kept paper copies of everything,” she said.
“I learned from him.”
She stood.
Shook Okafor’s hand.
Walked to the door.
