“I never signed a power of attorney.”
“That’s what concerned me,” Walter replied. “Would you be able to come to the bank today to review the document?”
An hour later, I sat in Walter’s office, staring at a power of attorney form that bore what appeared to be my signature.
A reasonable faximile, but not my own distinctive hand.
“This is forged,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady considering the earthquake happening inside me. “I never signed this.”
Walter nodded, his expression grave.
“I suspect it as much. Mrs. Walsh, I recommend you take immediate steps to protect your assets. If they’re attempting this, there may be other vulnerabilities we should address.”
I thought of the small inheritance from Henry, carefully preserved in that safety deposit box.
The municipal bonds, the few pieces of jewelry with more sentimental than monetary value, my mother’s pearls, Henry’s pocket watch.
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
Before Walter could respond, his office phone rang.
He answered, listened, then covered the receiver.
“It’s your son. He’s in the lobby, insisting on speaking with me.”
I felt something shift inside me.
Something final and irrevocable.
“Tell him I’m here,” I said. “It’s time we had an honest conversation.”
James’s face pald when he saw me sitting in Walter Drummond’s office.
He froze in the doorway, his confident stride faltering.
“Mom,” he managed, his voice tight. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Have you?” I asked mildly. “Or have you been looking for access to my safety deposit box?”
Walter stood, his presence commanding despite his advanced years.
“Mr. Walsh, I’ve explained that the document you presented appears to have irregularities. In fact, your mother has just confirmed she never signed it.”
James’s gaze darted between us, calculation visible behind his eyes.
I knew that look.
I’d seen it when he was seven and broke my favorite vase.
When he was 16 and took the car without permission.
When he was 24 and needed money for his first business venture.
“There’s clearly been a misunderstanding,” he said, smoothly shifting to damage control. “Mom, we discussed this a few months ago. Remember after you had that fall?”
I hadn’t fallen, not once.
“You suggested it would be easier if I could handle certain matters for you,” he continued, fabricating a conversation that had never occurred. “You were worried about managing your affairs as you get older.”
Walter’s expression hardened.
“Mr. Walsh, falsifying a power of attorney is a serious legal matter.”
James’ professional mask slipped for just a moment, revealing a flash of panic.
“I would never. This is ridiculous. Mom, tell him there’s been a mistake.”
I looked at my son.
Really looked at him.
The expensive suit that couldn’t quite hide his spreading middle.
The carefully maintained hair hiding the first signs of recession.
The manicured nails and designer watch.
When had he become this person, this stranger who would forge my signature to gain access to my modest assets?
“The only mistake,” I said quietly, “was believing you still had any respect for me.”
James’s face flushed.
“That’s not fair. I’ve always—”
“Always what?” I interrupted. “Always remembered my birthday? Always included me in family gatherings? Always been honest about where the money from my house went?”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Mrs. Walsh,” Walter said gently. “Would you like me to call security?”
I shook my head.
“No, but I would like to make some changes to my accounts.”
James took a step forward.
“Mom, you’re overreacting. Let’s discuss this at home.”
“My home?” I corrected him. “My very small home that I live in because I sold my house to help Elsie. Except the money apparently went toward a condo for her and Franklin instead.”
Walter cleared his throat.
“Mr. Walsh, I need to speak with your mother privately. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“She’s confused,” James protested. “She’s getting on in years and sometimes—”
“I’m 70, not scenile,” I said sharply. “And I’ve never been clearer about anything in my life. Leave now, James, or Mr. Drummond will call security.”
After a tense moment, James straightened his jacket and headed for the door.
“This isn’t over,” he said, an echo of Sandra’s earlier threat.