Chapter 6: The Power of Attorney
The sentence at the bottom of the document seemed to pulse on the page.
*This authority shall remain in effect until revoked in writing.*
I read it again.
Then a third time.
My father stood behind Brent, watching me.
“You said I signed this when I was nineteen.””
Dad nodded.
“I don't remember.””
“You were young.””
“I remember signing Grandpa's estate papers.””
“This was part of it.””
“No.””
I looked closer.
The signature at the bottom was supposed to be mine.
It looked close enough to fool someone who didn't know me.
But I knew my signature.
The looping C.
The sharp angle in the M.
The way my last name ended with a long downward stroke.
This one was different.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“I didn't sign this.””
Dad's face hardened.
“Cassidy, you did.””
“I didn't.””
Brent shifted uneasily.
“Maybe you don't remember.””
I looked at him.
“Would you remember signing a document giving someone control over your inheritance?””
“I was nineteen too.””
“No, you weren't. You were twenty-two.””
He looked away.
Dad took the paper from my hand.
“You were overwhelmed after Grandpa died.””
“And that gave you permission to sign things for me?””
“I was your father.””
“That wasn't my question.””
He folded the paper.
“You don't understand how complicated the estate was.””
“Then explain it.””
Dad's jaw tightened.
“Your grandfather had debts.””
“Grandpa?””
“Yes.””
“But you told me he died with everything settled.””
“We thought it was settled.””
“You thought.””
Dad said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“So this power of attorney let you manage my inheritance.””
“Yes.””
“And you used it to move my money.””
“Some of it.””
“Eighty thousand dollars.””
“Yes.””
“Into Brent's company.””
Dad looked at Brent.
Brent stared at the floor.
I felt my anger changing.
It wasn't hot anymore.
It was cold.
Precise.
“Who else has money from me?””
Neither of them answered.
I looked at Mom.
“Mom?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know everything.””
“But you know something.””
Her eyes filled again.
“I knew about the house.””
“And the account?””
“Yes.””
“The second account?””
“Yes.””
“The $80,000 transfer?””
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.””
I nodded slowly.
“Okay.””
Dad frowned.
“Okay?””
“Yes.””
I put the document on the table.
“Now I know what kind of conversation we're having.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means I'm done asking you to tell me the truth.””
Brent stepped toward me.
“Cassidy, you're angry.””
“I should be.””
“I can fix this.””
“You lost eighty thousand dollars.””
“I can pay you back.””
“With what?””
“My company.””
“You said you lost the money.””
“I did.””
“Then what's the company worth?””
Silence.
I studied him.
“Nothing?””
He rubbed his face.
“Not nothing.””
“How much?””
“I don't know.””
“Then why did you hand me that loan document?””
“Because I thought you deserved to know.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You handed it to me because you were scared I'd find it myself.””
Brent didn't deny it.
Dad walked toward the kitchen.
“This isn't getting us anywhere.””
I followed him.
“Where were you planning to get with the refinance?””
He stopped.
“What?””
“With me gone.””
He slowly turned.
“You were going to transfer my ownership to Brent, weren't you?””
Dad's silence confirmed it.
“And then what?””
“Nothing.””
“Don't lie.””
He looked exhausted.
“We were going to consolidate everything.””
“Everything.””
“Yes.””
“The mortgage.””
“Yes.””
“The judgment.””
“Yes.””
“Brent's debt.””
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.””
“And my inheritance?””
Dad didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“My inheritance was going to be used as collateral.””
He finally looked at me.
“You had no idea what you were signing.””
“Because you never showed me.””
“We were trying to protect the house.””
“You were trying to protect the house from me.””
“No.””
“Then why did you tell me to move out?””
He had no answer.
I walked back to the table.
The power of attorney lay where I'd left it.
I picked it up.
“Where is the original?””
Dad's face changed.
“What?””
“The original power of attorney.””
“I don't know.””
“Then I'm finding it.””
“You can't just take family documents.””
I stared at him.
“Watch me.””
I went to the hallway closet.
I had cleaned that closet every few months for years.
Holiday decorations.
Old coats.
Boxes of tax records.
Dad's medical files.
I pulled down the cardboard box labeled *ESTATE — 2006*.
Dust spilled across the floor.
Mom came behind me.
“Please don't.””
I opened it.
Inside were folders, envelopes, and photocopies.
I found Grandpa's will first.
Then the estate inventory.
Then the original deed.
Then another document.
I unfolded it.
*Durable Power of Attorney.*
The original.
My name.
My father's name.
The signature.
I held it under the light.
My stomach tightened.
The original signature wasn't the one on the copy.
It was real.
My signature at nineteen.
I remembered suddenly.
The closing office.
Grandpa's funeral only weeks earlier.
Dad putting a stack of papers in front of me.
“Just sign these, sweetheart. They're estate forms.””
I had been crying.
I hadn't read every page.
I trusted him.
The memory came back in fragments.
The smell of stale coffee.
A buzzing fluorescent light.
Dad's hand on my shoulder.
“Don't worry. I'll handle everything.””
I stared at the page.
I had signed it.
But I remembered something else.
“You said this was temporary.””
Dad froze.
I looked at him.
“You told me it was temporary.””
He didn't respond.
“You said you'd handle everything until I got settled.””
“I never said that.””
“You did.””
“You were confused.””
“I remember.””
Mom whispered, “Richard…”
Dad's face hardened.
“Not now.””
I looked at the document.
The language was far broader than I had remembered.
My father had authority over my financial accounts.
Property.
Investments.
Loans.
Taxes.
He could sign on my behalf.
He could transfer assets.
He could even pledge property as collateral.
My hands began to shake.
“How long have you had this?””
Dad said nothing.
“Dad.””
“Since you signed it.””
“You never revoked it.””
“No.””
“You used it.””
“Yes.””
“How many times?””
Silence.
I turned to Mom.
“How many times?””
She whispered, “I don't know.””
I looked at the document again.
Then something caught my eye.
A handwritten amendment was stapled to the back.
I read it.
My father wasn't the only authorized agent.
There was a second name.
*Brent Michael Mercer.*
I looked at my brother.
“You had power of attorney too?””
Brent's face went pale.
“Only recently.””
“When?””
“Three years ago.””
“Why?””
Dad answered.
“Because my health was getting worse.””
“So Brent could access my accounts.””
“Yes.””
“And you never told me.””
“No.””
I stared at both of them.
Three years.
That meant Brent had access to my money while I was paying the family bills.
He could see my income.
My savings.
My accounts.
Everything.
I looked at him.
“Did you ever use it?””
He hesitated.
That was enough.
“Brent.””
“I made one transfer.””
“How much?””
“Ten thousand.””
My vision blurred.
“Where?””
“Into my business.””
“You stole ten thousand dollars.””
“I borrowed it.””
“Without asking me.””
“I was going to put it back.””
“When?””
“When things turned around.””
“You had no right.””
“I know.””
I took out my phone.
“I'm calling the bank.””
Dad grabbed my wrist.
“Don't.””
I yanked my hand away.
“Don't touch me.””
He stepped back immediately.
For the first time in my life, my father looked afraid of me.
I called Ms. Harper.
She answered after two rings.
“Ms. Mercer?””
“I found the original power of attorney.””
“Do not sign anything,” she said immediately.
“I wasn't going to.””
“Has anyone else accessed your accounts?””
“My father and brother.””
There was a pause.
“Did you authorize that?””
“No.””
“Do you still possess the original document?””
“Yes.””
“Keep it somewhere secure.””
“I have it.””
“There's something else you need to know.””
My heartbeat quickened.
“What?””
“The bank reviewed the refinance file again.””
“And?””
“The signatures submitted for the property transfer don't match your signature on the original power of attorney.””
I looked at Dad.
He was watching me.
“So what does that mean?””
“It means we have a problem.””
“What kind?””
“A potentially serious one.””
I lowered my voice.
“How serious?””
“We found another authorization submitted with the refinance package.””
“What authorization?””
“A newer power of attorney.””
My blood went cold.
“I never signed a newer power of attorney.””
“I know.””
“How do you know?””
“Because the date on it is from six months ago.””
My eyes went to Dad.
Then Brent.
Six months.
That was when the ceiling fan had broken.
When I'd paid for the repair.
When I'd started noticing unexpected withdrawals from my checking account.
When Brent had suddenly become interested in “helping with paperwork.””
Ms. Harper continued.
“There's something else.””
“What?””
“The newer document gives your father and brother joint authority over the house.””
I couldn't speak.
“And the signature?””
“What about it?””
Ms. Harper's voice became careful.
“It's a copy of the signature from the original power of attorney.””
I stared at the paper in my hand.
Someone had copied my signature.
“Can you send me a copy?””
“Yes.””
“Send everything.””
“I can do that.””
I ended the call.
The kitchen was silent.
Dad looked at me.
“What did she say?””
I held up the original power of attorney.
“They copied my signature.””
Nobody spoke.
Then Brent whispered, “Dad…”
Dad turned toward him.
“What?””
“The six-month document.””
My father closed his eyes.
“Don't.””
“She's going to find out.””
“I said don't.””
I looked between them.
“What six-month document?””
Brent said nothing.
Dad moved toward the staircase.
I stepped in front of him.
“You're not going anywhere.””
“Cassidy.””
“What happened six months ago?””
He stared at me.
I could see the answer forming before he spoke.
“We needed to make one final payment.””
“To who?””
He swallowed.
“The mortgage lender.””
“With what money?””
He didn't answer.
I raised the original power of attorney.
“Whose money?””
Dad looked at the floor.
“Yours.””
My stomach dropped.
“How much?””
Dad's voice was barely a whisper.
“One hundred and twenty thousand dollars.””
The room seemed to disappear.
One hundred and twenty thousand.
Then Brent's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His face drained of color.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He didn't answer.
I took the phone from his hand.
The message was from an unknown number.
*WE KNOW CASSIDY DIDN'T SIGN THE NEW POWER OF ATTORNEY.*
May you like
A second message appeared.
*TELL HER WHERE THE $120,000 WENT BEFORE THE POLICE DO.*
