My first stop was a high-end residential hotel five miles away. I checked my mother into a luxury suite, ordered her a hot gourmet meal from room service, the first real meal she’d probably had in longer than she’d admit, and hired a private home care nurse to attend to her bruised knees and exhaustion.
I sat with her while the nurse checked her over, holding her hand, watching color slowly return to her face as she realized, bit by bit, that this really was happening, that she really was safe now.
Once my mother was settled, comfortable, fed, and finally resting against a mountain of clean pillows with the television playing something soft in the background, I went to work.
During my six years abroad, I had retained a top-tier Austin corporate and real estate attorney, Harrison Vance, to manage my domestic assets, precisely for situations I never imagined I’d actually need him for. I called Harrison on his direct line from the hotel hallway, my voice tight as I explained the exact situation, laying it out the way I’d laid out complex logistics problems for years, methodically, without letting the emotion bleed through into the facts.
