Trevor laughed and grabbed his own pen, the gold-plated one Megan bought him for their anniversary. “Mine writes smoother, honey. Sign on the yellow tab.” I nodded like a good little spinster and slid the deed back toward him. “Actually, Trevor, before I sign, I need you to initial here. And here. And here.” He rolled his eyes and scribbled without reading. Megan finally looked up. “What is he initialing?”
I opened my tote bag and pulled out a second folder. Thicker. Tabbed in blue. “That deed Trevor just initialed isn’t a quitclaim. It’s an acknowledgment that the eighty-six thousand dollars he wired out of Mom’s reverse mortgage account last March was an unauthorized transfer, not a gift.” The breadstick basket might as well have exploded. Mom’s head snapped up. “What money?”
I kept my voice gentle, the way I talk to clients during an audit. “I’m Mom’s power of attorney, Trevor. Have been since Dad’s funeral. I noticed the withdrawal the day it happened. I’ve been waiting to see if you’d put it back.” I slid the bank statements across the table, highlighter-yellow lines glowing like landing strips. “The lake house was never yours to ask for. It was the bait.”
Trevor went the color of marinara. “You set me up.”
“I gave you ninety days,” I said. “You spent it buying a bass boat.”
Megan stood up so fast her chair tipped. “You took Mom’s money for a BOAT?” Mom was already crying, but it wasn’t the soft crying Trevor was used to weaponizing. It was the furious kind, the kind I hadn’t heard since Dad got sick.
I tucked the signed acknowledgment into my folder and laid two twenties on the table for my half of the check. “My attorney will be in touch Monday. You can pay it back, or you can explain it to the DA. Either way, Trevor, Mom’s eating prime rib this Christmas. At the lake house. You’re not invited.”
I walked out into the parking lot, cardigan and all, and finally let myself smile.
