After My Wife Passed, I Gave My Son Power Of Attorney Because I Trusted Him With Everything. I Just Found Out He’s Been Draining Tens Of Thousands Every Month For His Secret Gambling Debts. Tonight, I Caught Him Sneaking Into My Office To Photograph My Final Will.

The Departure

I drove home, packed a bag, and found Marcus in the kitchen again. Always in my kitchen. Eating my food. Drinking my coffee. Stealing my life.

“I’m going to visit Tom for a few days,” I told him. “Up in Seattle. Haven’t seen him since the funeral.”

Marcus barely looked up from his laptop.

“Cool. You taking the transfer papers with you? We really need to get that done.”

“I’ll handle it when I get back.”

“Dad, I told you this deal has a deadline. Friday.”

“Then I guess it’ll have to wait.”

Something in my voice made him finally look at me. Really look.

“You okay, Dad?”

“Just tired. Need a change of scenery.”

I left before he could ask anything else.

I was at Tom’s house in Seattle when Sarah called that evening.

“He’s been served. The accounts are frozen. Mr. Patterson, there’s something else. When the sheriff went to serve him, Marcus tried to access your accounts on his phone. Tried to make a wire transfer right then and there. The sheriff witnessed it. That helps our case significantly.”

“What did he… What did Marcus say?”

“According to the sheriff’s report, he became verbally aggressive. Claimed you were senile and being manipulated. Said he was protecting you from yourself.”

Senile. Manipulated. I designed guidance systems for commercial aircraft. I had three patents to my name. I’d been sharp as a tack until grief made me vulnerable.

“Sarah, I want to know exactly how much he took.”

There was a pause.

“Mr. Patterson, my investigator has been going through your records. Are you sitting down?”

“I was.”

“Tell me.”

“In addition to the 247,000 the bank caught, there were other accounts. Your IRA, your investment portfolio, some savings bonds. The preliminary estimate is around 430,000 total.”

$430,000. 40 years of work. Catherine’s life insurance. Our retirement. Gone.

“Where did it go?”

“Gambling debts, mostly. Your son has a severe gambling problem, Mr. Patterson. He owes money to several offshore betting sites. He’s also been living well beyond his means. The Tesla, expensive restaurants, a vacation to Monaco last month.”

“Monaco,” I repeated numbly.

“There’s more. He’s been telling people—including his creditors—that he’s about to inherit your house. He’s been using it as collateral for personal loans. We’ve found at least three private lenders who have documents Marcus signed promising them a share of the estate.”

“But I’m not dead.”

“No. Which is why I think Jennifer Chen at the bank may have saved your life. Not just your finances.”

The words hung in the air between us.

“You think he would have…”

“I think when someone is desperate enough, drowning in debt, and sees an elderly parent with substantial assets as their only way out… things can escalate. I’ve seen it before. The plan might have been to wait for natural causes, but given how aggressively he was moving on the finances, I think he was getting impatient.”

I felt sick.

“Mr. Patterson, the DA wants to interview you. Are you up for that?”

I was.

The Investigation

The interview happened two days later, after I’d flown back to Portland. Detective James Morrison was in his 50s. Kind eyes, patient voice. He recorded everything.

“Walk me through how your son obtained power of attorney,” he said.

I explained the grief. The paperwork. Marcus’s friend, the lawyer.

“Do you remember the lawyer’s name?”

“I didn’t. Marcus handled it.”

Morrison made a note.

“We’re going to need to verify that lawyer exists and is actually licensed. In cases like these, sometimes the POA documents are fabricated or notarized fraudulently.”

“You mean it might not even be legal?”

“It’s possible. We’ll find out.”

He leaned forward.

“Mr. Patterson, I need to ask you something difficult. In the past year, has your son ever suggested that you might be experiencing memory problems? Confusion? Has he ever discussed having you evaluated by a doctor for dementia?”

My blood ran cold.

“About six months ago,” he said. “I’d been repeating myself, forgetting conversations. He wanted me to see a neurologist. Said he was worried.”

“Did you go?”

“No. I didn’t think I was forgetting things. I thought he was mistaken.”

Morrison nodded slowly.

“He was setting groundwork. If he could get you diagnosed with dementia, the power of attorney would be virtually unchallengeable. He could make any financial decision and claim it was for your care.”

“But I don’t have dementia.”

“I know. But he was trying to create that narrative.”

Morrison closed his notebook.

“Mr. Patterson, I’m going to recommend the DA file criminal charges. Financial exploitation of an elderly person. Forgery if the POA is fake. Possibly attempted fraud. This is a slam dunk case.”

“What happens to Marcus if convicted?”

“Five to ten years. Maybe more depending on what else we find.”

My son in prison for a decade.

“Detective, what if… what if we could get the money back without pressing charges? What if there was a way to…”

“Mr. Patterson,” Morrison interrupted gently. “He stole almost half a million dollars from you. He was positioning himself to take your house. He was building a case to have you declared incompetent. This wasn’t a mistake. This was calculated, prolonged exploitation of your grief and trust. And sir… if we don’t prosecute, he’ll do this again. Maybe not to you, but to someone.”

He was right. I knew he was right. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.