“The most direct would be seeking guardianship or conservatorship, claiming you are no longer capable of managing your affairs.”
“On what grounds?” I demanded, anger rising in my chest. “I am perfectly competent.”
“You and I know that,” he said gently. “But a determined petitioner with financial resources can find experts willing to testify otherwise, especially if they can point to any behaviors that seem unusual or concerning.”
I searched back through the past few months. Had I handed them anything they could use, any moment of forgetfulness or confused conversation they could twist into evidence against me?
“They have been encouraging me to simplify my life,” I remembered. “Rebecca keeps suggesting I sell the house. Says it is too much for me to manage, and Philip offered to organize my financial records last month.”
Luka’s expression grew darker. “Creating a paper trail, making it seem like you have been asking for help, displaying uncertainty.”
“But I have not,” I protested. “I never…”
Then I stopped, a memory suddenly rising. “Except I did let Rebecca help me file my taxes this year. She said their accountant offered to do mine as a favor.”
“Who signed the return?” he asked.
“I did, of course.”
“Did you review it carefully first?”
I paused, then admitted the truth. “No, I trusted her.”
Luka placed his coffee down with careful precision. “Nevaeh, I need to see that return. And any other financial documents Rebecca or Philip have helped you with recently.”
For the next hour, we searched through my files together. Luka’s face became more serious with each discrepancy we found, things I had never noticed before.
There were investment accounts listed on my tax return that I did not recognize. There were signatures on documents that looked similar to mine but not exactly right.
There were statements addressed to me that I had never actually received. “They have been laying groundwork,” Luka finally said, sorting the suspicious papers into their own pile.
“Creating a paper trail of financial confusion, possibly even fabricating evidence of poor decision-making.” My hands trembled slightly as I reached for my coffee.
“How long do you think they have been planning this?”
“Based on these documents, at least eight months,” he met my eyes directly. “Nevaeh, I have to ask, have you updated your will since James died?”
“No,” I admitted. “I meant to, but…”
“But Rebecca was your only child, your natural heir, so it did not seem urgent,” he finished for me. “That is what they are counting on.”
A wave of nausea swept through me. My own daughter, my only child, planning to have me declared incompetent, to seize control of my assets, all while smiling to my face and leaving their child in my care.
“What do we do?” I asked, hating the tremor in my voice. Luka straightened his tie, a gesture I recognized from his courtroom days.
“First, we document everything. Create a clear record of your current cognitive state and financial acumen. I will arrange for evaluations with independent medical and psychological experts.”
“And then we prepare a counter-strategy if they want to play hardball. Nevaeh, we need to be ready.”
His confidence steadied me. “What about my will? Should we update it now?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I brought the paperwork with me,” he patted his briefcase. “I had a feeling you might want to make some changes.”
After Luka left, armed with copies of the suspicious documents and a plan to return the following day with a doctor and a financial examiner, I stood in my kitchen feeling strangely energized. The initial shock and hurt were giving way to something more productive.
Determination. I picked up my phone and made two more calls.
First to my bank to place holds on all my accounts, requiring in-person verification for any transactions over one thousand dollars. Second, I called a private investigator Luka had recommended.
“Sullivan Investigations,” a brisk female voice answered.
“This is Nevaeh. Luka Daniels suggested I call. I need someone to track my daughter and son-in-law’s activities in Reno.”
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