I Noticed My Granddaughter’s Boyfriend Controlling Her Food At Easter Brunch. Then I Discovered He Stole Her Entire $32,000 Life Savings. Did I Go Too Far By Calling The Cops During His Last Power Trip?

“Sit down, sweetheart.” I said.

I ordered her a latte, the way she used to like it before Marcus decided she was drinking too much caffeine.

“I need to talk to you, and I need you to be honest with me.” I told her.

Her hands wrapped around the cup, but she didn’t drink.

“About what?” She asked.

“About Marcus. About your relationship.” I replied.

She looked away.

“Everything’s fine.” She said.

“Lily,” I reached across the table and took her hand.

“Yesterday, I heard him talking to you in my study. I heard what he said.”

Her eyes filled with tears immediately.

“He was just upset because I didn’t check with him before I agreed to help you with the photo albums. He likes to know my schedule.” She explained.

“That’s not healthy, honey.” I said.

“You don’t understand,” The tears were falling now.

“He loves me. He takes care of me. He’s helping me be better.” She insisted.

“Better at what?” I asked.

“At everything. I used to be so scattered, Grandma. I made bad decisions with my money, with my friends, with my time.”

“Marcus helps me stay organized. He manages our finances because he’s better at it than me. He checks my phone because he wants to make sure I’m safe.” She continued.

“Lily, do you have access to the account where your savings are?” I asked.

She hesitated.

“It’s our account.” She said.

“Can you log in and check the balance whenever you want?” I questioned.

Another pause.

“Marcus handles the login information. He sends me updates.” She answered.

“When was the last time you saw your money?” I pressed.

“I—” She stopped.

“He showed me the portfolio summary last month. We’ve made good returns.” She added.

“Did you see actual account statements from the bank?” I asked.

Lily’s face changed. It was subtle, but I saw it: doubt creeping in.

“He wouldn’t lie to me about money,” She said, but her voice wavered.

I pulled out my phone and opened up an article I had found that morning. I had spent three hours reading about financial abuse, about coercive control, and about the warning signs.,

“Will you read this?” I asked.

“Please, just read it.” I pleaded.

Lily looked at my phone for a long moment, then slowly, she took it. I watched her face as she read.

I saw the recognition dawn in her eyes. I saw her hands start to shake.

“This is—” She whispered.

“This is what he does. All of it. The money, the phone, the isolation from my friends.” She realized.

“He convinced me Emma was toxic, that my other friends were jealous. He said my pottery class was a waste of money.”

“He said my job didn’t pay enough, so I should let him manage everything financially.” She added.

“When did you last see Emma?” I asked.

“Four months ago. He was so angry after that lunch. He said she was poisoning me against him, so I stopped texting her back.”

“And your pottery class?” I inquired.

“I quit in January. Marcus needed me to be available for his work events.” She replied.

We sat there in that coffee shop while Lily scrolled through the article, while she saw her relationship laid out in black and white clinical terms: financial abuse, isolation, gaslighting, coercive control.

“I need to see my money,” She said finally.

“I need to log into that account. Do you know which bank?” I asked.

“He said it was Midwest Investments. Let me try to access it.” She said.

She pulled out her laptop from her bag. I watched as she tried to log in to various investment sites.

Nothing worked. The email address associated with the account wasn’t hers; the phone number wasn’t hers.

“Call the bank,” I said.

“Call and ask about your account.” I advised.

Her hands were shaking as she dialed. I heard her give her Social Security number, her name, her date of birth.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The voice on the other end was faint, but I could hear it.

“We don’t have any accounts under that name and Social Security number.” The bank representative said.

Lily’s face went white.

“But my boyfriend said—he said he opened a joint account for us.” She stammered.

“If you believe you’re a victim of financial fraud, I can transfer you to our fraud department.” The voice offered.

Lily hung up. She looked at me with eyes that were suddenly very aware, very present in a way they hadn’t been in months.

“He took my money,” She whispered.

“Thirty-two thousand dollars. I gave it to him to invest, and there’s no account. He took my money.”

I felt rage, pure and hot, flood through me, but I kept my voice calm.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. First, we’re going to call a lawyer. Then we’re going to call the police. But before that, I need you to tell me something: Do you feel safe going home?”

“He doesn’t hit me,” She said automatically.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you feel safe?” I repeated.

Lily was quiet for a long time. Then she said,