My Daughter Tried To Convince Everyone I Had Dementia To Steal My Millions. She Forgot I’m A Retired Engineer Who Recorded Everything. Was My Revenge Too Cruel?
The Forensic Evidence
The next morning I made a decision. “I’m going to visit Margaret’s grave,” I told Karen at breakfast. “Might stop by the old office afterward, see some former colleagues.” She barely looked up from her phone. “Fine. Don’t forget to take your medication.” I didn’t have any medication, but she’d started saying things like that lately. Building a narrative. Establishing a pattern.
I drove straight to Richard’s office. “It’s worse than we thought.” The forensic accountant had arrived, a sharp-eyed woman named Patricia Okoy who spoke in clipped, precise sentences. “Over the past 18 months, approximately $185,000 has been diverted from your accounts through various methods.”
I stared at the spreadsheets she’d prepared. “The household account your daughter manages shows regular withdrawals for expenses that don’t match any actual bills. The investment transfers were unauthorized. And your son’s LLC, the one you’ve been investing in, doesn’t appear to have any legitimate business activity. It’s a shell company.”,
“Effectively, yes. The money goes in, small amounts go out to Tyler personally. The rest sits in an account he controls.” Richard leaned forward. “Walter, we have more than enough to pursue criminal charges. Forgery, fraud, elder financial abuse. These are felonies.”
I thought about my daughter’s face. My son’s voice on the phone. The grandchildren I’d never had. The family dinners that had become interrogations. The house that had become a prison. “Not yet,” I said slowly. “First I want my house back.”
The Eviction
The eviction notice was served on a Tuesday. I’d moved into a hotel the night before, told Karen I was visiting an old friend in Asheville. She didn’t question it.
The process server arrived at 10:00 a.m. I watched from my truck parked down the street. Watched Karen answer the door. Watched her face change as she read the documents. Watched Greg appear behind her, grabbing the papers, his face reddening.
My phone rang within minutes. “What the hell is this?” Karen’s voice, shrill. “An eviction notice? Dad, have you lost your mind?” I kept my voice calm. “You have 30 days to find other housing. The notice is legal.”,
“We’re your family! You can’t throw us out like we’re strangers.” “You’re occupants of my property without a lease agreement. Arizona law—actually North Carolina law—is very clear. I’ve consulted an attorney.” Silence, then quieter. “You’ve been planning this.”
“I’ve been paying attention. Something I should have done 18 months ago.” “Dad, Greg is flipping out. He’s talking about coming to find you. This is crazy. We gave up everything to move in and help you after Mom died. We sacrificed our lives!”
“You sacrificed nothing.” I cut her off. “You saw an opportunity. A grieving old man with a nice house and a good retirement account. You moved in like parasites and started feeding. How dare you.”
“I know about the forged signatures, Karen. I know about the investment transfers. I know about your conversations with Dr. Brennan about having me declared incompetent. I have it all documented. Video, audio, financial records. Everything.” Dead silence. “30 days,” I said. “If you’re not out by then, the sheriff will remove you. And Karen? Don’t call Tyler. I’m dealing with him separately.”,
The 30-Day Siege
I hung up. My phone exploded with calls and texts over the next hour. Karen, Greg, Tyler, numbers I didn’t recognize. I let them all go to voicemail. At noon, I checked into a different hotel, paid cash, gave a false name. Richard had suggested it. “They might get desperate,” he’d said. “Desperate people do stupid things.”
He was right. Day three: I returned to the house with a locksmith and a security guard Richard had arranged. Changed all the locks. Karen and Greg stood in the driveway, screaming. “This is illegal!” Greg stepped toward me. “You can’t just lock us out!”
The security guard, a large man named Marcus, stepped between us. “Sir, I’m going to need you to step back.” “Who the hell are you?” “I’m Mr. Morrison’s security consultant.”
“The eviction notice is legal. You have access to your personal belongings. You do not have access to the main house.” Karen was crying. Real tears, or performance? I couldn’t tell anymore. “Daddy please, this is insane. Whatever you think we did, we can explain.”,
I looked at my daughter. The woman who’d tried to steal my life’s work. Who’d called doctors about having me declared mentally unfit. Who’d laughed with her brother about how easy it was to manipulate the old man. “27 days,” I said. “I suggest you start packing.”
I walked inside my house—my house—and closed the door. The next three weeks became a siege.
Day seven: Karen showed up with a woman I didn’t recognize. Professional clothes, sympathetic expression. “Dad, this is Dr. Brennan. She’s a geriatric specialist. We thought it might help if you talked to someone.” I remained in the doorway, not letting them in.
“Dr. Brennan,” I said calmly. “I’m aware that my daughter has been consulting you about guardianship proceedings. I’m also aware that such proceedings require documented evidence of mental incapacity. I’ve been evaluated by three independent physicians in the past two weeks. All three have certified me as fully competent and capable of managing my own affairs. Their reports are on file with my attorney.”,
Dr. Brennan’s expression flickered. Confusion. Embarrassment. “I’ll also note,” I continued, “that participating in fraudulent guardianship proceedings is grounds for disciplinary action by the medical board. You might want to be more careful about which families you work with in the future.”
I closed the door. Through the window, I watched Karen arguing with the doctor. The doctor shaking her head, walking quickly to her car. Karen standing alone in my driveway, face twisted with fury.
