Chapter 3 - The Power of Attorney
The police treated the break-in as a burglary until Rachel showed them the forged guarantee.
Then the questions changed.
Peter gave a statement.
I gave a statement.
Rachel gave them copies of everything we had preserved.
By noon, Daniel had called me six times.
I did not answer.
His seventh call came from Martin Kessler's office.
Rachel answered for me.
"This is Rachel Kim."
Daniel's voice came through the speaker.
"Put my mother on."
"No."
"This is a family emergency."
"Your definition of emergency has become legally interesting."
Martin took the phone.
"Counsel, there is no basis for implying my clients are involved in a burglary."
Rachel looked at me.
"I did not imply that."
"You know what I mean."
"Then say what you mean."
Martin went quiet.
He was too experienced to accuse us of accusing his clients when we had not.
"We want to resolve the guardianship matter immediately," he said.
"Withdraw the petition and consent to dismissal with findings."
"Findings of what?"
"That Eleanor is competent and that your clients have no authority over her property."
Daniel spoke in the background.
"Absolutely not."
Rachel smiled without humor.
"Then we will see you in court."
She ended the call.
I looked at the carbon receipt again.
A certified copy of a power of attorney that did not exist meant one of two things.
Either someone had created a false instrument.
Or someone had altered a real instrument into something Thomas never intended.
Both possibilities required access to his signature.
Daniel had access.
Vanessa had access.
But the person who worried me most was someone I had not yet considered.
Thomas's estate attorney.
His name was Samuel Price.
Sam had drafted our trust twenty years earlier.
He had updated it after Daniel married Vanessa.
He had sat beside me at Thomas's funeral.
When I called his office, the receptionist told me he was unavailable.
"When will he be available?"
"I am not sure."
"Is he in court?"
"No."
"On vacation?"
"No."
The hesitation was answer enough.
"Please tell Mr. Price that Eleanor Vance is coming to his office."
"Mrs. Vance, he has asked that all communication go through your son."
I felt something cold settle inside me.
"My son is not my attorney."
"I understand."
"Apparently you do not."
Rachel and I drove there immediately.
Sam's office was on the tenth floor of a glass building overlooking the river.
The receptionist stood when we entered.
"Mrs. Vance, I am sorry, but Mr. Price cannot see you."
Rachel placed her business card on the desk.
"Then please tell him counsel for Mrs. Vance is here regarding a disputed power of attorney bearing the signature of his deceased client."
A door opened down the hall.
Sam appeared before the receptionist could answer.
He looked twenty years older than he had at the funeral.
"Eleanor."
"Sam."
His eyes moved to Rachel.
"Come in."
We sat across from his desk.
I placed the carbon receipt in front of him.
He did not touch it.
"Did Thomas sign a power of attorney naming Daniel?"
Sam stared at the paper.
"There were several drafts."
"That was not my question."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Thomas considered it."
"Did he sign one?"
"Not in my presence."
Rachel spoke.
"Did your office retain an executed copy?"
Sam looked at her.
"No."
"Did your office retain a draft?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
Sam did not answer.
I leaned forward.
"Where is it, Sam?"
"Daniel requested the file after Thomas died."
For one second, I could not speak.
"You gave my husband's estate file to Daniel?"
"He said you authorized it."
"Did you call me?"
"No."
"Did you ask for written authorization?"
"He had a letter."
The same phrase again.
He had a letter.
I had spent my career watching people lose fortunes because someone had a letter.
"Show it to me."
Sam opened a drawer.
Then another.
His face changed.
"It is not here."
Rachel exhaled slowly.
"Who has access to your client files?"
"My staff."
"And Daniel?"
"No."
"Vanessa?"
Sam looked away.
That was the answer.
"Why would Vanessa have access to your files?" I asked.
He stood and walked to the window.
"She did temporary work here years ago."
I remembered Vanessa telling me she had worked at a law office before meeting Daniel.
I had never asked which one.
"How many years ago?"
"Nine."
Daniel and Vanessa had been married eight.
Rachel wrote something on her legal pad.
"Did they meet through this office?"
Sam turned around.
"Yes."
That fact itself meant little.
The expression on his face meant more.
"What are you not telling me?"
He sat down again.
"Thomas came here the week before he died."
My hands went still.
"Why?"
"He wanted to revoke every draft authority document that mentioned Daniel."
"Why?"
Sam looked at me with something close to pity.
"Because he believed Daniel had used one of the drafts to obtain financing."
I already knew about the guarantee.
I did not know Thomas knew.
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him a draft should not be enough to obtain legitimate financing."
"Should not be is not the same as could not be."
"I know."
"What else?"
Sam swallowed.
"He asked me to prepare a new trust amendment."
My throat tightened.
"What amendment?"
"He wanted Daniel removed as successor trustee."
Rachel stopped writing.
"Who did he name instead?"
Sam looked at me.
"You first, as always."
"After me?"
He hesitated.
"Your former partner, Helen Shaw."
Helen had retired from my firm five years earlier.
She was one of the few people Thomas trusted with money more than he trusted me.
"Was the amendment signed?"
Sam nodded.
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
He looked at the locked cabinet behind him.
Then he stood.
The cabinet was empty.
Every original estate document was gone.
Sam gripped the cabinet door.
"I saw them Friday."
"Who was here over the weekend?"
"No one should have been."
Rachel asked for building security footage.
Sam called the property manager.
The manager promised to send it.
Ten minutes later, an email arrived.
The video showed the elevator lobby outside Sam's office at eleven forty-two Saturday night.
A woman stepped off the elevator wearing a dark coat and baseball cap.
Her face was hidden for three seconds.
Then she looked directly toward the camera.
Vanessa.
She carried a key card in one hand.
She entered Sam's office and came out eighteen minutes later with a flat archival box.
Sam looked sick.
"Her old access card should have been disabled years ago."
Rachel paused the video.
"Was it?"
He did not answer.
I looked at the timestamp.
Saturday night.
That was two days before our guardianship hearing.
They had not only been preparing to control me.
They had been cleaning up Thomas's paper trail.
Then another figure appeared on the video.
A man stepped off the elevator just as Vanessa was leaving.
He wore a hooded jacket and kept his back to the camera.
Vanessa handed him the archival box.
He took it without speaking.
The man turned toward the stairwell.
For half a second, the camera caught the side of his face.
I knew him.
His name was Greg Dalton.
May you like
He had been Daniel's business partner in North Valley Capital.
And according to Daniel, Greg had died eight months earlier.
