According to the folder, it was now worth one million, one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
“David’s practice is in trouble,” Malcolm said, reading from a page. “Serious trouble. He owes the IRS about a hundred and forty thousand dollars in unpaid payroll taxes. They’ve filed a lien. If he doesn’t pay, he could lose his CPA license.”
“He never told me,” I said.
“Sarah owes about sixty thousand on credit cards,” Malcolm went on. “Even with what you’ve been paying. And Michael’s truck is about to be repossessed. Which would hit your credit too, since you co-signed.”
I closed my eyes.
“So they need money,” I said.
“They need a lot of money,” Malcolm said. “And you’re sitting on a million-dollar house with no mortgage.”
He turned to another page. A draft of the petition, attached to Voss’s letter.
It asked the court to appoint David as my guardian and conservator. If the judge agreed, David would have legal authority over my medical care, where I lived, and all of my money and property.
