Linda’s face paled.
“Leonard… if someone forged your—”

“I need the full scope before we act,” I interrupted gently.

Back home, I spread every document over the dining table.

A beneficiary change on my insurance.
A forged power of attorney.
Medical reports stating cognitive decline—signed by a doctor I’d never met.
Dates aligned perfectly with their move into my home.

Then, in Mark’s old room, I found a shoebox.

Inside:
unopened letters, overdue notices, and messages from people demanding repayment for late-night routines and high-stakes habits he had been hiding.

More than eighty thousand dollars owed.

Pieces of a puzzle began falling into place with a clarity that hurt.

A Plan with the Law

On Saturday morning, I sat in the office of Daniel Price, an attorney specializing in elder exploitation. He flipped through the documents slowly, methodically.

“Mr. Hayes,” he said at last, “this is one of the clearest cases I’ve ever seen. You are in immediate danger of being pushed out of this world under the guise of natural circumstances.”

Hearing it confirmed by someone else felt like a second betrayal. I exhaled shakily.

“What should I do?”

“We move fast,” Daniel said. “We freeze your accounts. Revoke every forged authority. Draft a new will that leaves everything to charity. And then… we involve the police.”

He slid a card toward me.

“Detective Raul Ortiz. Call him for anything urgent. We’re going to protect you, Leonard, but we need evidence of their next steps.”

By Sunday night, tiny cameras disguised as smoke detectors and vents were installed in my house.
A panic button rested on my bedside table—linked directly to Detective Ortiz.

I had spent my life auditing other people’s books.
Now I was auditing my own son.