My Daughter Told Everyone I Have Dementia To Steal My Fortune. Then I Found The Drugs She Was Putting In My Coffee. What Should My Next Move Be?

Partners in Truth

By Sunday morning, I’d made my decision. I couldn’t do this alone. Whatever Allison was planning, whatever she’d done seven years ago, Jacob deserved to know the truth. And I needed to know if my suspicions were right.

At 9:00, I pulled out the business card he’d given me at the restaurant and dialed. Before I could second-guess myself, he answered on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Jacob, it’s Philip Peton. From the other night.”

A pause. “Mr. Peton? Is everything all right?”

“No,” I said, and heard how rough my voice sounded. “No, it’s not. I need to ask you something about Clara’s mother.”

The silence on the other end stretched so long I thought the call had dropped. “Then can we meet in person?”

“Yes. Please. There’s a coffee shop downtown. Riverside Coffee on Third Street. 10:30.”

“I’ll be there.”

I arrived 15 minutes early, but Jacob was already waiting at a corner booth, hands wrapped around a mug he wasn’t drinking from. He looked like he hadn’t slept either. Dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight with tension. He stood when he saw me.

“Mr. Peton.”

“Philip, please.”

I slid into the seat across from him. A waitress came by; I ordered coffee I didn’t want, just to have something to do with my hands. When she left, Jacob leaned forward.

“Clara’s with a babysitter,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want her hearing this conversation.”

“Whatever this conversation is.”

I nodded. “Smart. You said you wanted to ask about her mother.”

I took a breath. “When did Elena leave?”

His jaw tightened. “February 2017. Two weeks after Clara was born.” He said it like he’d said it a thousand times before—to doctors and social workers and curious strangers. “Valentine’s Day, actually. Clara was born on Valentine’s Day. Elena left on the 28th. Two weeks. She’d stayed with her newborn daughter for exactly two weeks, then vanished.”

“Did she ever tell you her full name?”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “Elena Warner. At least that’s what she said. But I always suspected Warner wasn’t her real last name. She was cagey about her past. No family photos, no social media. Always paid cash. I thought maybe she was running from something. An abusive ex, maybe, or family trouble.” He paused. “Why are you asking instead of answering?”

I pulled out my phone and opened the photo gallery. I’d spent an hour last night selecting the right pictures: recent ones of Allison at company events, clear shots of her face. I turned the phone toward Jacob.

“Do you recognize this woman?”

He looked down at the screen. For a moment, nothing happened. Then his face went completely white. The mug in his hands trembled, coffee sloshing over the rim onto the table.

“That’s her,” he whispered. “That’s Elena.”

The words hung in the air between us. The coffee shop noise—the hiss of the espresso machine, the chatter of other customers, the clink of cups—faded to nothing. There was only Jacob’s stricken face and the photograph of my daughter on the screen between us.

“That’s my daughter,” I said. “Allison Peton.”

Jacob stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. Several people turned to look. He didn’t seem to notice. His hands were shaking, and his voice when he spoke was barely controlled.

“I… your daughter?” He wasn’t asking; he was processing the pieces falling into place. “Your daughter abandoned Clara? Your daughter is the woman who left my two-week-old baby in the middle of the night with a goddamn note?”

“I didn’t know,” I said quickly. “I swear to God, Jacob, I had no idea. Until Friday night, when I saw Clara. When I saw her smile. I thought she looked familiar, but I couldn’t…” I stopped, tried to collect myself. “Allison disappeared for eight months in 2016 and 2017. She said she was traveling, finding herself. She came back different. Colder. More focused on the business. I thought it was grief. My wife had died, and Allison and I weren’t handling it well.”

Jacob sat back down slowly, like his legs wouldn’t hold him anymore.

“She told me she was 22. A student at Portland Community College. We met at a coffee shop near campus. We dated for six months before…” He gestured vaguely. “Before Clara.”

“She was 30,” I said. “In 2016, Allison was 30 years old.”

“She lied about her age, her name, her whole life.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Jacob put his head in his hands. “I spent seven years trying to find her. Seven years of Clara asking why her mama didn’t love her. Seven years of wondering what I’d done wrong. What I could have said or done differently to make her stay.”

He looked up at me, and his eyes were blazing. “And she was just what? Playing house? Slumming it with the poor software developer before going back to her real life?”

“I don’t know what she was doing,” I said honestly. “But I’m going to find out.”

The waitress brought my coffee. Neither of us acknowledged her. When she left, Jacob spoke again, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

“Clara is your granddaughter.”

“Yes.”

“And Allison, your daughter, has been pretending for seven years that Clara doesn’t exist.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

It was the question I’d been asking myself all night. “I don’t know, but I think…” I stopped, considering how much to tell him. Then decided he deserved all of it. “I think she’s trying to make sure I never find out about Clara. She’s been building a case to have me declared mentally incompetent. Forged medical documents, drugged my food, stolen from me. If she can get conservatorship, she controls everything. My money, my company, my ability to ask questions.”

Jacob stared at me. “She’s trying to have you declared incompetent so you won’t discover you have a granddaughter?”

“I think so. Clara is evidence of a past Allison erased. If I started asking questions, if I connected the dots…” I met his eyes. “She needed to silence me first.”

We sat in silence, the weight of it crushing around us. The coffee shop continued its Sunday morning routine—people laughed, ordered pastries, made plans for the day. Normal life happening while our worlds crumbled. Finally, Jacob spoke. His voice was different now. Harder. Determined.

“If Clara is your granddaughter, then why is your daughter pretending she doesn’t exist?”

It was the question that changed everything. Because now we both knew: whatever Allison’s reasons for abandoning Clara, they were worth destroying her own father to keep hidden.

The Alliance

We left the coffee shop separately, but an hour later, Jacob was at my front door.

“I need to see it,” he said. “The evidence. Everything you found.”

I led him to my study, where documents from last night were still spread across my desk. Jacob stood in the doorway, taking it in: the open safe, scattered papers, the prescription bottle. Then he walked to the desk and started reading.

I watched him examine the bank statements with missing months, the Lorazepam bottle, the fake psychiatric evaluation. His jaw clenched tighter with each piece. Finally, he looked up.

“She’s building a case to prove you’re incompetent.”

“I know.”

“Humph. But why go to these lengths?” He gestured at the evidence. “If she wanted money, there are easier ways.”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. If she just needed money, I would have given it to her. This is scorched earth.”

Jacob was quiet, thinking. “Then how much is Peton Holdings worth?”

“Conservatively 15 million. With real estate and investments, closer to 20.”

He let out a low whistle. “And if you were declared incompetent, who gets conservatorship?”

“Probably Allison. She’s my only child. She already works there.”

“Control the company, control your assets, control your ability to ask questions.” He picked up the Lorazepam bottle. “And if you’re drugged and confused, no one would believe you if you tried to fight it. And Clara…”

“Clara is a loose end.” His voice was flat, fury underneath. “Proof of Allison’s past. If you discovered Clara exists…”

“She needed you silenced first.”

We stood in silence, the weight settling over us.

“Mom, we need proof,” I said finally. “Real proof Clara is my granddaughter. Something that would hold up legally. DNA test. Can you get a sample from Clara? Hair from her brush?”

“Yeah, I can do that. I’ll find a private lab. Somewhere discreet.”

“And if the test confirms it?” Jacob asked. “What then?”

“Then we figure out how to stop Allison and protect Clara.”

Jacob extended his hand. “Partners?”

I took it. “Partners.”

We stood there, two strangers 48 hours ago, now bound by a little girl with dark hair and a woman who’d betrayed us both. Then Jacob cleared his throat.

“There’s something else you should know.”

I waited.

“Uh, that night at the restaurant when I invited you to join us…” He paused. “That wasn’t a coincidence.”

My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been looking for Elena for seven years. About three months ago, I was doing another search. Found a business article about Peton Holdings. There was a photo of the leadership team. And you saw Allison?”

“I saw Elena. The article said Allison Peton, VP of Operations. So I started digging. Found more photos. The company website.” He gestured at me. “Found you. And Elena had a photo in her Portland apartment. An old picture from a company picnic. You and a teenage girl. I didn’t think much of it then. But when I saw you on the Peton Holdings website, I recognized you.”

I stared at him. “You’ve been watching me for three months?”

“Trying to figure out how to approach you without sounding crazy. What was I supposed to say? Your daughter might be my missing ex-girlfriend?” He laughed without humor. “Then I saw the scene at the restaurant. Saw them turn you away. And I thought maybe you needed to know the truth as much as I did.”

“You orchestrated this.”

“I took an opportunity. I didn’t plan for your daughter to humiliate you. But when it happened, I saw a chance to help you and get the answers I’ve been searching for.”

I should have been angry he’d manipulated me, used my pain as an opening. But all I felt was relief. Jacob had been looking for the truth as desperately as I was.

“You spent seven years searching,” I said. “For Clara. So she’d know her mother didn’t disappear for no reason.”

I looked at this man who’d become an ally in 48 hours and realized Allison had miscalculated badly. Because now there were two of us.

“We should get started on that DNA test,” I said.

Jacob nodded. “I’ll get Clara’s sample tonight. I’ll make the calls tomorrow.” He headed for the door, then stopped. “Philip. Whatever happens next, Clara comes first. No matter what we find out. Clara’s safety comes first.”

“Agreed.”

After he left, I stood in my study looking at the evidence: the fake evaluation, the drugged medication, the stolen money. My daughter had orchestrated all of this to protect a secret she’d buried seven years ago. But she’d made one mistake. She’d underestimated what a father—and a man who’d spent seven years loving the daughter she’d abandoned—would do to protect a little girl with dark hair and a dimpled smile.