I Woke Up From A 3-month Coma Only To Find My Son Had Sold My Family Home Behind My Back. He Claimed It Was For Medical Bills, But Then I Saw His Photos From A Luxury Vacation In The Maldives. He Has No Idea I Revoked His Power Of Attorney Just Days Before My Accident.
The Contingency Plan
But beneath the rage was something else. A memory, sharp and clear despite everything else being foggy. Something about the power of attorney. Something I’d done before the accident.
I pressed the call button for the nurse.
“I need to make a phone call,”
I said.
“It’s urgent.”
She brought me the hospital phone, and I dialed a number I knew by heart: Gerald Matthews, my attorney and one of my closest friends for over 30 years. We had met when we were both young engineers working for Intel. He’d gone to law school at night while working, eventually making partner at one of Portland’s most respected firms.
“Thomas?”
Gerald’s voice was thick with emotion when he answered.
“My god, they told me you woke up. How are you feeling?”
“I need to ask you something, Gerald,”
I said, skipping the pleasantries.
“And I need you to be completely honest with me.”
“Of course.”
“The power of attorney I had with Brandon… Do you remember what I did with it?”
There was a pause. Then Gerald’s voice came back, careful and measured.
“Thomas, I remember very clearly. About 2 weeks before your accident, you came to my office. You were concerned about some things you’d noticed with Brandon’s finances.”
“You said you wanted to revoke his power of attorney and make me your attorney-in-fact instead.”
My heart pounded.
“Did we complete it?”
“Yes. We filed it with the county on March 15th, 3 days before your accident. Brandon’s power of attorney was officially revoked. I have all the documentation.”
I closed my eyes, and for the first time since waking up, I felt something other than pain and confusion. I felt a grim satisfaction because I remembered now.
I remembered going to Gerald’s office. I remembered my concerns about Brandon’s gambling, his mounting debts, his increasingly desperate requests for loans. And I remembered one more thing.
“Gerald,”
I said slowly.
“Who bought my house?”
There was a smile in his voice when he answered.
“I did, Thomas. You and I discussed this possibility before your accident.”
“You were worried Brandon might try something if you ever became incapacitated. So we set up a contingency. If anyone tried to sell your property while you were unable to consent, I had first right of refusal as your attorney.”
“In fact, when the listing appeared, I purchased it immediately through an LLC. Your house is in my name legally, but it’s held in trust for you. All Brandon knows is that it sold to a corporate buyer.”
Planning the Trap
I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
“So the sale isn’t valid?”
“The sale is valid, but it was made without proper authority. Brandon forged documents claiming he still had power of attorney. That’s fraud, Thomas. And since I’m the buyer and I was acting under your instructions, we can void the transaction and restore full ownership to you.”
“But more importantly, Brandon has committed multiple felonies.”
“What do I do?”
“First, you recover. Second, we document everything. Third, we decide how you want to handle this.”
But Thomas, Gerald’s voice turned serious.
“You need to know that if we pursue this legally, Brandon will likely face criminal charges. Wire fraud, forgery, elderly financial abuse… He could go to prison.”
I thought about that. About my only son behind bars. About the grandson I rarely saw because Amber didn’t think I was wealthy enough to be a proper grandfather. About Catherine and what she would want me to do.
“Document everything,”
I told Gerald.
“But I want to handle the confrontation my way.”
Over the next 3 weeks, as I went through physical therapy and regained my strength, Gerald worked behind the scenes. He hired a private investigator who documented Brandon’s spending.
The Maldives trip had cost $47,000. The Tesla was $98,000. There were shopping sprees, casino visits, bottle service at clubs. In total, Brandon had burned through over $250,000 of the money from selling my house.
The medical bills, as it turned out, had been largely covered by insurance. The out-of-pocket costs were about $75,000, not the $400,000 Brandon had claimed. He’d simply lied.
Gerald also discovered something else. Brandon had listed my house while I was still in the ICU, barely two weeks after my accident. He hadn’t even waited to see if I would survive.
The listing description called it an “estate sale” and mentioned that the owner had passed away, which was not only false but constituted fraud in the real estate transaction.
I requested to be discharged from the hospital against medical advice. I wanted to confront Brandon in person, and I wanted to do it at what he thought was his victory moment.
Gerald arranged for a small apartment for me near the hospital where I could continue outpatient therapy. Brandon didn’t know about it. As far as he was concerned, I was being moved directly to the assisted living facility in Beaverton.
The Confrontation
On the day of my official discharge, Brandon arrived with Amber. She was dressed in designer clothes I suspected I’d inadvertently paid for. Her hair freshly colored, her nails perfect. She had never liked me; I was too old-fashioned, too judgmental of their lifestyle.
“Ready to see your new place, Dad?”
Brandon asked with forced cheerfulness.
“Actually,”
I said.
“I’d like to see my house first. One last time. To say goodbye properly.”
I watched his face carefully. There was a flicker of panic, quickly suppressed.
“Dad, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The new owners might have already moved in.”
“Then we’ll call and ask permission. I need closure, Brandon. Surely you can understand that.”
He couldn’t refuse without seeming heartless.
“Okay, Dad. We’ll drive by.”
The three of us took Brandon’s Tesla, which felt obscene considering how he’d acquired it. The drive to Northwest 23rd took about 20 minutes. As we pulled up to the house, I saw that nothing had changed on the outside.
The garden Catherine had loved was overgrown, but the house itself looked exactly as I remembered.
“Looks like no one’s moved in yet,”
I observed.
“Let’s knock.”
“Dad,”
Brandon started, but I was already out of the car. I walked up the stone path Catherine and I had laid together, climbed the three steps to the porch, and knocked on my own door. A moment later, it opened.
Gerald stood there, smiling.
“Thomas, come in. Come in.”
Brandon’s face went white.
“What… what are you doing here?”
“I live here,”
Gerald said pleasantly.
“I bought this house 6 weeks ago.”
“Wonderful property. The previous owner must have loved it very much.”
I turned to look at Brandon. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish. Amber looked confused, glancing between her husband and Gerald.
“You bought it?”
Brandon finally managed.
“You’re the corporate buyer?”
“Actually, a trust I managed purchased it,”
Gerald said.
“But let’s not talk on the porch. Come in.”
We walked into my house. My furniture was still there, covered in sheets. My photos still on the walls. Everything exactly as I’d left it.
“I don’t understand,”
Amber said.
“Brandon, what’s going on?”
“Yes, Brandon,”
I said quietly.
“Why don’t you explain to your wife what’s going on?”
He looked at me with something between fear and defiance.
“Dad, I did what I had to do. The medical bills were…”
“$75,000, almost entirely covered by insurance,”
Gerald interrupted, pulling out a folder.
“Not $400,000. And you knew that, Brandon, because I have the insurance statements here. You received copies of all of them.”
Brandon’s face flushed red.
“I… There were other expenses…”
“Like the Maldives?”
I asked.
“Like the Tesla? Like the $37,000 you spent at various casinos?”
