Chapter 6: What Patricia Owens Already Knew
Patricia Owens had short gray hair and a yellow legal pad and the particular stillness of someone who had heard many difficult things and was prepared to hear more.
We sat in Diane's office.
Patricia across from me, Diane beside me, a recorder on the table between us.
"Thank you for coming in," Patricia said.
"I want to be upfront with you.
Raymond Collier is not unknown to us.
We've had two prior complaints involving his name — both property-related, both involving elderly or vulnerable individuals.
Neither resulted in charges because the complaining parties withdrew." She looked at me steadily.
"You are the third."
"He called me yesterday," I said.
"I have the recording."
Patricia's expression didn't change, but she wrote something on her pad.
"Tell me what he said."
I told her.
All of it.
The suggestion that the document could be withdrawn.
The mention of my mother's records.
The word *parenting*.
The specific phrase: *those girls are really being cared for the way they should be.*
Patricia set her pen down.
"He referenced your children by number."
"He said 'those girls.' He knew I had two daughters."
"That level of detail suggests your mother provided him with a significant amount of personal information about you and your household." She picked up her pen again.
"How long has your mother had access to your financial accounts?"
"She didn't have access.
I sent her money directly.
Wire transfers."
"Did she ever have a power of attorney over any of your accounts or assets?"
I stopped.
"I gave her a limited power of attorney three years ago," I said slowly.
"When I had a minor surgery.
It was supposed to be temporary.
For emergencies only."
Diane looked at me.
"Was it ever formally revoked?"
I already knew the answer.
I had never revoked it.
I had recovered from the surgery, gone back to work, and assumed it had simply lapsed.
"No," I said.
Patricia wrote for a long moment.
"That changes the picture somewhat.
A valid power of attorney, even a limited one, gives her legal standing to act on your behalf in certain situations.
Whether the property transfer falls within that scope is something Diane will need to assess.
But it also means the fraud case becomes more complex." She looked up.
"It doesn't disappear.
It becomes more layered."
"She used it to steal from me."
"If the scope of the POA did not include property transfers, and if the signature on the transfer document is proven to be forged rather than signed under POA authority, then yes — that is fraud." Patricia's voice was precise and unhurried.
"But I want you to understand what you are walking into.
Your mother will argue she was acting within her authority.
Collier will argue the same.
They will make this about your history, your finances, your fitness as a parent.
They will use everything she told people about you."
"What did she tell people?"
Patricia glanced at Diane.
Diane put a folder on the table and slid it toward me.
Inside were printed emails.
Seven of them.
Sent from my mother's address to various family members over the past eighteen months.
I recognized the names — aunts, cousins, my mother's closest friend from church.
I read the first three sentences of the first email and put it face-down on the table.
"She told them I was unstable," I said.
"She told them you were financially irresponsible, emotionally volatile, and that she was concerned for your daughters' welfare." Patricia's voice was careful.
"She was building a record.
In the event that you ever challenged her, she wanted people who would speak on her behalf and question your credibility."
The room was very quiet.
"She planned this for at least eighteen months," I said.
"At minimum."
I looked at the folder on the table.
Seven emails.
Eighteen months.
My mother, sitting across from me at holidays, holding Bree on her lap, telling me she was proud of me.
"What do I do?" I asked.
"You give us the recording," Patricia said.
"You give us the document.
You give us the receipts.
And you let your daughter make a voluntary statement about what she saw and heard." She paused.
"And then you let us do our jobs."
I nodded.
Diane walked me to my car afterward.
We stood in the parking lot for a moment in the cold.
"She was thorough," Diane said quietly.
"Yes."
"That's actually useful.
Thorough people leave more evidence." She looked at me.
"You're doing the right thing."
I got in the car.
Sat for a moment before starting the engine.
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number — not Collier's.
May you like
A number I didn't recognize at all.
*You should ask your mother about the will.*
