The moment he stepped inside, he studied my face carefully.
“You don’t look confused,” he said quietly.
“I never was.”
I managed the smallest smile.
“But apparently my daughter believes otherwise.”
We settled in the living room with fresh coffee, and I repeated everything Alice had overheard the night before.
Luka listened without interrupting.
When I finally finished, he folded his hands together.
“If Rebecca and Philip truly intend to seize control of your estate, they’re probably preparing to petition for a conservatorship.”
“I’ve heard that word before,” I admitted.
“But what exactly does it mean?”
“It means asking a judge to declare you incapable of managing your own affairs.”
“They would gain authority over your finances, your investments, even decisions about where you live.”
The words settled over me like ice.
“They can’t possibly believe I’d lose a case like that.”
“They don’t have to believe it.”
“They only need enough manufactured evidence to convince the court there’s uncertainty.”
My stomach tightened.
Suddenly every recent interaction with Rebecca made sense.
She had insisted on helping organize my financial files.
She convinced me to let her accountant prepare my taxes.
She constantly encouraged me to “simplify” my life.
Luka asked quietly,
“Did you personally review every document before signing?”
I hesitated.
“No.”
“I trusted her.”
His expression darkened.
“We need to see every financial record she’s touched.”
For nearly two hours we examined tax returns, investment statements, insurance paperwork, and banking documents.
With every file Luka uncovered something new.
Accounts I had never opened.
Transfers I didn’t recognize.
Signatures that looked almost identical to mine—but weren’t.
He carefully placed each suspicious document into a separate folder.
“They’ve been preparing this for months.”
“Maybe longer.”
