Chapter 8: What the Task Force Found in the Delaware Account
Patricia Odom's mother was eighty-one.
Her name was Vera.
She had lived in the same house for forty-four years before a knee replacement surgery left her in a rehabilitation facility for six weeks.
During those six weeks, her house — assessed at $380,000 — had been sold for $210,000 to a limited liability company registered in Delaware.
The same LLC that had purchased Mom's house.
Grace added Vera's case to the civil filing within twenty-four hours.
Roy Cafferty's task force contact confirmed that the Delaware LLC was the central vehicle — eleven properties purchased below market value, proceeds moved through three layered accounts before landing in two personal accounts, one belonging to Curtis Preel and one belonging to a man named Gary Solt, who turned out to be the administrator of the hospital discharge database Preel had been accessing illegally.
Daniel read the task force summary Grace forwarded to us.
He read it twice, slowly, at the kitchen table.
"Solt was selling the lists," he said.
"Preel paid him per name.
Every name on that list was a recently hospitalized senior homeowner, flagged as living alone or with limited family contact."
"They were chosen," I said.
"Specifically chosen." He set the summary down.
"Solt has been doing this for at least two years.
The task force thinks the total across all eleven properties is somewhere between three and four million dollars."
I thought about the eleven names Roy had circled on that first night.
Seven sellers who had since died.
Three with no family looking.
Mom, who had me.
And now Vera, who had Patricia.
"How many of them will get anything back?" I asked.
"The civil case can pursue restitution from the proceeds that are still traceable," Daniel said.
"Some of the money is already gone — spent, moved offshore, converted.
Grace thinks the recoverable amount is probably sixty to seventy cents on the dollar for the properties where the LLC still holds the asset.
For the ones already resold—" He paused.
"It gets harder."
"Mom's house," I said.
"Has it been resold?"
"No.
The LLC still holds it.
Grace filed a lis pendens on it the same day she filed the civil complaint.
That freezes any further sale." He looked at me.
"It's still there, Lauren.
It hasn't gone anywhere."
I hadn't let myself think too hard about the house.
The tomato garden Mom used to keep along the back fence.
The kitchen where she'd made Sunday dinners for thirty years.
The bedroom where she'd slept in the same bed for forty years, first with Dad and then alone after he died.
"When?" I asked.
"Grace thinks the civil case moves faster than the criminal.
If the capacity evidence holds — and the document examiner's report is strong — she believes we can get the sale voided within six to eight months.
The house reverts to Mom."
Six to eight months.
Mom in our guest room, watching birds at the feeder, asking about tomatoes.
"She can stay here," I said.
"For as long as it takes."
Daniel nodded.
He didn't say anything else.
He didn't need to.
Two days later, Curtis Preel was arrested at his office.
The task force executed the warrant at nine in the morning.
His attorney issued a statement saying Preel denied all wrongdoing and would vigorously contest the charges.
Grace called me when it happened.
"He's been charged with wire fraud, elder financial exploitation, conspiracy, and unauthorized access to protected health information," she said.
"Eleven counts total, one per property.
Gary Solt was arrested at his home simultaneously."
"And Evan?" I asked.
"Evan's cooperation agreement is still being finalized.
He'll face state charges — elder financial exploitation as an accessory, and one count of filing a false statement related to the Medicare claim he made to you.
His attorney is pushing for probation and restitution.
The prosecutor hasn't agreed yet."
"What do you think they'll agree to?"
Grace was quiet for a moment.
"I think Evan will serve some time," she said.
"Not as much as Preel.
But some." Another pause.
"Is that hard to hear?"
I thought about it honestly.
"No," I said.
"He was in that room.
He watched them stamp a document his mother didn't sign.
And then he told me she was fine."
"Yes," Grace said simply.
"He did."
After I hung up, I went to find Mom.
She was in the backyard, standing at the back fence in her cardigan, looking at the soil along the base of the fence line.
I stood at the back door and watched her for a moment.
She bent down and pressed two fingers into the dirt, testing it.
Then she straightened up and looked at the sky, checking the light.
She didn't know yet about the arrest.
I would tell her tonight, gently, with Daniel there.
But standing at the door watching her test the soil, I thought: she already knows the most important thing.
She knows she's home.
Not in her house yet — but home, in the way that matters most.
Safe.
With someone looking.
I pushed open the back door and walked out to stand beside her.
"Good dirt?" I asked.
She looked up.
"It'll need some compost," she said.
May you like
"But yes.
It could work."
