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 Collapse of a Lie
Amber turned to her husband.
“You went to the Maldives? When you told me you had to work?”
She continued, her voice rising.
“You said you couldn’t take me anywhere because all your money was going to your dad’s medical bills!”
I almost felt sorry for Brandon then. Almost. But then I remembered waking up to find my home gone, to find my son had been lying to me while I fought for my life.
“There’s more, Brandon,”
Gerald said, his lawyer voice fully engaged now.
“You sold this property using a power of attorney that had been legally revoked 3 days before Thomas’s accident. I have the revocation documents filed with Multnomah County.”
“You forged documents claiming you still had authority. That’s fraud. You also listed the property as an estate sale and told the title company that Thomas had died, which is wire fraud.”
“And you misappropriated funds from someone over 65 who was medically incapacitated, which is elderly financial abuse under Oregon law.”
“I’ve compiled all the evidence, and the district attorney’s office is very interested.”
Brandon collapsed into the nearest chair, my reading chair where I used to sit with Catherine every evening.
“Dad, please. I made mistakes. But you don’t understand the pressure I was under. Amber wanted things. The business was struggling. I had debts.”
“So you stole from your own father?”
I finished.
“While he was in a coma?”
“I was going to pay you back,”
he protested.
“With what money? You spent over $250,000 in 6 weeks. At that rate, you would have burned through everything I had in less than a year.”
Amber was standing now, her designer purse clutched to her chest.
“I need to go,”
she said.
“Brandon, this is… I can’t be part of this.”
“Amber, wait!”
But she was already heading for the door.
“She’s going to divorce you,”
I said flatly.
“And honestly, I don’t blame her. You lied to everyone.”
Brandon put his head in his hands. For a moment, I saw my little boy again, the one who used to cry when he disappointed me. But that boy was gone, replaced by a man who’d stolen from his own father.
“What happens now?”
he asked, his voice muffled.
“That depends on you,”
Gerald said.
“Thomas has authorized me to offer you a choice. Option one: We prosecute to the fullest extent of the law. You’ll face multiple felony charges. You’ll lose your real estate license permanently. You’ll likely serve prison time, and Thomas will file a civil suit for the return of all misappropriated funds plus damages.”
Brandon looked up, hope flickering in his eyes.
“Or?”
The Terms of Redemption
“Or,”
I said, taking over.
“You surrender your real estate license voluntarily. You enter a diversion program for gambling addiction, which I know you have despite your denials. You pay restitution of every penny you spent from the house sale, which will likely take you years. You stay away from me, and I don’t press charges.”
“Dad, I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then you’ll work for it,”
I said firmly.
“You’ll get a job. You’ll make payments. You’ll prove that somewhere in there, you’re still the son I raised and not just a thief who happens to share my DNA.”
The silence stretched out. Brandon was crying now, and I felt my own eyes burn. This wasn’t how I’d imagined my later years.
Catherine and I had dreamed of a son who would take care of us, of grandchildren who would visit, of family dinners and holidays. Not this.
“I’ll do it,”
Brandon finally whispered.
“I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, Dad… don’t send me to prison.”
“One more condition,”
I added.
“I want to be part of my grandson’s life. Connor deserves to know his grandfather, and you’ve kept him from me. Amber won’t…”
“Amber’s going to have her own problems dealing with the divorce she’s about to file,”
I said.
“You make it happen, or the deal’s off.”
He nodded, defeated.
Over the next few months, things unfolded exactly as Gerald and I had predicted. Amber filed for divorce within a week, citing Brandon’s fraud and gambling addiction. She got primary custody of Connor but agreed to supervise visitation rights for Brandon, with the understanding that Connor could spend time with me.
Brandon entered the diversion program and began making restitution payments. He got a job as a project manager for a construction company—a significant step down from his real estate career, but honest work. Gerald helped him set up a payment plan that would take approximately 7 years to complete.
The Oregon Real Estate Board accepted Brandon’s voluntary surrender of his license in exchange for not pursuing additional disciplinary action.
I moved back into my house. Gerald had taken excellent care of it during my recovery. We joked that he’d been the world’s most expensive housesitter.
Connor started visiting me every other weekend. At 12 years old, he was old enough to understand that his father had made serious mistakes, but young enough to still believe people could change. We’d work in Catherine’s garden together, restoring it to its former glory.
I’d tell him stories about his grandmother, about the life she and I had built in this house. Sometimes Connor would ask why I hadn’t put his father in jail.
“Because jail wouldn’t fix anything,”
I’d tell him.
“Your dad needs to learn that actions have consequences, but he also needs a chance to become the man he should be. And you need a father, even a flawed one who’s trying to do better.”
