Some were marked household expenses.
Others had no notation.
There were ATM withdrawals made on days when Mom had been too sick to leave her bed.
The total on Louis’s handwritten page was $46,730.
Beneath the bank records were three certified letters addressed to my mother.
Each envelope had been opened.
Each contained a letter from Louis asking for the chance to speak with her.
The delivery dates went back eight months.
“I mailed the first one after a DNA match led me to a cousin on Margaret’s side,” Louis said.
“No one replied.
I sent two more.
Then I came to the house.
Brenda told me Margaret had dementia and wanted nothing to do with me.”
“She does not have dementia,” I said.
“I know.
Your neighbor knew too.
Mrs.
Patel saw me sitting in my truck across the street after Brenda threatened to call the police.
She asked who I was.
When I showed her the photograph, she helped me speak to Margaret while Brenda was at the pharmacy.”
Brenda snatched for the envelope, but I pulled it away.
“Those checks were authorized,” she said.
“Your mother was generous.
She knew how much I sacrificed for her.”
“Then why did you hide his letters?”
“Because men like him appear whenever an elderly woman has property.
Look at him.”
Her words echoed through the lobby.
Look at him.
That was exactly what I had done from the moment I saw Louis beside Mom’s bed.
I had looked at his beard, his leather vest, and the dark ink covering his hands.
I had seen danger because Brenda had taught me where to look.
I had not looked at the patience with which he waited for Mom to swallow.
I had not looked at the careful notes he made for her nurses.
I had not noticed that every time she woke frightened, his voice brought her back.
The elevator doors opened.
A silver-haired man in a charcoal suit stepped out carrying a red folder.
I recognized him as Daniel Hanley, the attorney who had handled my father’s estate.
He approached Brenda without greeting her.
“Mrs.
Ellis revoked your power of attorney at nine fifteen this morning,” he said.
“The hospital has already received the notice.”
Brenda’s face lost its color.
“Margaret is not competent to revoke anything.”
“Her physician completed a capacity assessment two days ago.
She is competent, alert, and fully aware of her decisions.”
The security officer moved closer.
Mr.
Hanley opened the folder and handed me a signed revocation.
Attached was a request for a formal accounting of every transaction Brenda had made while acting on Mom’s behalf.
“There is more,” he said quietly.
“Your mother wanted both of you present before I showed it.”
We returned to Mom’s room with a nurse and the hospital social worker.
Brenda followed until the security officer stopped her at the door.
“I am her legal representative,” she protested.
