My Banker Called Me In Tears Five Minutes Before I Signed Over My Estate. She Discovered My Daughter-in-law Stole Thousands. Now I Know The Terrifying Truth About My Husband’s Death.
The Trap
Over the next week, I became an actress.
I smiled when Jessica came over. I accepted her casseroles and her concern. I pretended to consider the power of attorney documents.
“I just need a few more days to think about it,” I told her. “It’s a big step.”
Meanwhile, the police were working.
They’d tested Richard’s samples: positive for arsenic. Enough to cause a slow, agonizing death disguised as heart failure.
They traced Jessica’s movements, her bank accounts, her casino habits. She was $70,000 in debt to a loan shark. The money she’d stolen from us had barely made a dent.
They also discovered she’d taken out a life insurance policy on Richard without his knowledge, forging his signature. Another $300,000 she’d expected to collect.
“Why didn’t it pay out?” I asked Detective Morrison.
“Because she filed too soon,” he said. “The insurance company flagged it as suspicious and launched an investigation. That’s probably why she’s escalating now, pressuring you about the power of attorney. She needs access to your assets to cover her debts.”
On the eighth day, Jessica came over with Michael. She had the POA papers with her.
“Mom,” she said, her voice sweet as honey. “I really think we should finalize these today. You’ve been so forgetful lately, and we just want to make sure you’re protected.”
“Forgetful?” I said carefully.
“You left the stove on twice last week,” she said, looking at Michael for support. “And you couldn’t remember where you parked at the grocery store. These are warning signs, Mom. We love you. We just want to help.”
I’d never left the stove on. I’d never forgotten where I parked. But Michael was nodding, his face creased with worry.
“Jessica’s right, Mom,” he said. “We’re worried about you living alone in this big house, managing everything by yourself. Maybe it’s time to think about assisted living. Somewhere with people around, where you don’t have to worry about cooking or bills or any of that.”
Assisted living. Where I’d be isolated, dependent, easier to control. Where Jessica could sell my house, access my accounts, finish what she’d started.
“I need to use the restroom,” I said, standing up.
In the bathroom, I texted Detective Morrison: She’s here. It’s happening.
The Confrontation
When I came back, Jessica had the papers spread on the kitchen table.
“It’s really simple,” she was saying. “You just sign here, here, and here. Then Michael and I can take care of everything.”
“Before I sign,” I said slowly, “I have a question. Where’s the money?”
Jessica’s smile faltered.
“What money, Mom?”
“The $120,000 you stole from my savings account over the past 2 years.”
The color drained from her face. Michael looked between us, confused.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your wife forging signatures, stealing from your father and me, and then poisoning him when he found out.”
“That’s crazy,” Jessica said, but her voice was shaking. “Michael, your mother is confused. This is exactly what I was worried about. She’s having delusions.”
“I have bank statements,” I said. “I have Richard’s evidence. I have the arsenic he documented. I have everything, Jessica.”
She lunged for her purse, but Michael grabbed her arm.
“Jess? What is she talking about?”
“Let me go!” Jessica screamed. “You don’t understand! We needed that money! I was trying to help us!”
“By killing my father?” Michael’s voice broke.
The front door opened. Detective Morrison walked in with two uniformed officers.
“Jessica Chen, you’re under arrest for fraud, identity theft, and suspicion of murder.”
Jessica fought as they handcuffed her, screaming about how it wasn’t fair, how we had so much and she had nothing, how Richard was going to die anyway from his heart condition, so what did it matter.
Michael sank into a chair, his head in his hands, sobbing.
After they took Jessica away, I sat next to my son.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”
“Did you know?” he asked.
“Before today? Only for a week. The bank found the discrepancies.”
“Your father left evidence.” I showed him Richard’s letter.
Michael read it, tears streaming down his face.
“He knew. Dad knew and he was trying to protect us. And I married the woman who killed him.”
“You didn’t know,” I said firmly. “She fooled all of us.”
