I had prosecuted people who used the same tactics on vulnerable adults. Isolation came first. Then confusion. Then dependency. By the time the victim realized what was happening, every outsider had already been convinced that the victim could not be trusted.
“Did they take you to a lawyer?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Julian said we were updating my estate plan. The lawyer asked me questions, but Chloe kept squeezing my shoulder whenever I answered incorrectly.”
“Do you remember the lawyer’s name?”
“Mr. Porter. His office was above a pharmacy.”
My pulse quickened.
“Martin Porter?”
“Yes.”
Martin Porter had surrendered his license two years earlier after allegations that he prepared fraudulent property transfers for vulnerable clients.
He was not supposed to be practicing law at all.
“What did you sign?”
“A new will. A power of attorney. Something about the house. Julian covered parts of the pages with his hand.”
“Did anyone witness your signature?”
“Two men I didn’t know.”
“What happened afterward?”
“They took me to the bank.”
Her breathing became shallow.
I stopped the questions and helped her put on a soft nightgown from the cabinet. The fabric brushed against her bruises, and she flinched.
“Take your time,” I said.
“I don’t have time.”
The fear in her voice made me look up.
“What do you mean?”
“They’re sending me away tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Chloe said a van is coming at nine.”
I felt something inside me harden.
“Did she name the facility?”
“She called it Willow something.”
“Willow Haven?”
Mother nodded.
I knew the name.
Willow Haven was a private memory-care facility nearly three hours away. It was expensive, isolated, and notorious among elder-law attorneys for making family visits difficult. Two years earlier, the state had investigated complaints that residents were being heavily sedated without adequate medical justification.
“Why are they sending you there?”
“Because I refused to sign another paper.”
“What paper?”
“They want to sell this house.”
The house had belonged to my parents for forty-six years. My father had restored every room himself. The oak staircase still carried a small dent where Julian and I had crashed a wooden wagon when we were children.
