My Family Tried To Have Me Committed To Steal My Fortune. They Didn’t Know I’m A Retired Doctor Who Set A Trap For Them. Should I Give In To My Son’s Final Plea From Prison?

The Truth Behind the Concern

The next morning, I woke up to 87 missed calls. Most were from David. Some were from Melissa, a few from Diane, two from my mother. I blocked all their numbers.

Then I called my lawyer.

“Margaret,” he said when he answered.

“I was hoping you’d call. I got some interesting documents served to me yesterday. Your family is trying to petition for conservatorship.”

I had expected it, but hearing it still felt like a punch to the chest.

“On what grounds?”

“They have statements from three people saying you’re showing signs of cognitive decline. They have a letter from a Dr. Richard Pollson saying he evaluated you and recommends a full psychiatric assessment.”

“I’ve never met a Dr. Richard Pollson.”

“I know, I already looked him up,” he said.

“He’s a psychiatrist in San Jose. He’s also Melissa’s uncle.”

Of course he was.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“We fight. And Margaret, based on what you’ve sent me over the past three months, we’re going to win.”

The hearing was set for three weeks later. In those three weeks, I did not speak to my family. I did not answer their calls. I did not open the door when David showed up at my house.

I just kept living my life. Going to the gym, having lunch with friends, consulting on medical cases, giving a lecture at UCSF. I also met with a private investigator my lawyer recommended.

Within a week, he had found some very interesting information. David and Melissa had taken out a second mortgage on their house six months ago. They were $60,000 in credit card debt. Melissa’s boutique, the one I had given her $50,000 to start, was failing. They needed money, a lot of it.

Diane was in even worse shape. Her husband had left her for someone younger, and in the divorce, she had gotten the house but not much else. She had three kids in college and no job.

She had been borrowing money from our mother for months. And our mother, she had been donating large sums to Diane, money she didn’t really have. She was running out of savings. They weren’t worried about my health; they were worried about their bank accounts.

Justice in the Courtroom

The day of the hearing, I wore a navy suit and my pearls. I had my medical records, my financial records, everything organized in labeled folders. My lawyer had prepared a presentation with video evidence, documentation of the attempted financial access, and proof that Dr. Pollson’s evaluation was fabricated.

I also had something they didn’t expect. I had three doctors who had worked with me recently, all willing to testify that I was sharp, competent, and showed no signs of cognitive decline. I had my investment adviser, my accountant, and my property manager all ready to confirm that I managed my affairs perfectly well.

But the most important thing I had was the recordings. Every conversation where they discussed how to get control of my money. Every moment of their planning. Every lie they had told.

When the judge asked if I wanted to present evidence, I stood up.

“Your Honor,” I said.

“I’d like to show you something.”

I played the video from my dining room. The one where Melissa said, “We need to move quickly”. The one where David talked about getting access to the accounts before she changes everything.

The one where Diane said, “Once we have power of attorney, we can liquidate the properties”. The one where my own mother said, “She’s always been stubborn. We’ll have to force this”.

I watched their faces as the video played. David went pale. Melissa started crying. Diane just stared at the table. My mother closed her eyes.

When it was over, the judge took off his glasses.

“Mrs. Chen,” he said.

“I’m dismissing this petition. Furthermore, I’m referring this matter to the district attorney’s office for investigation of attempted fraud and elder abuse.”

The Aftermath and a New Beginning

I had thought that would be the end of it, but there was more. Two weeks later, David and Melissa were arrested. Attempted financial exploitation of an elder, conspiracy to commit fraud.

The DA was very interested in the fake psychiatric evaluation, especially when Dr. Pollson admitted under pressure that he had never examined me. He lost his medical license. Diane was charged as an accomplice.

My mother, because of her age and because she had been manipulated by Diane, was not charged. But I never spoke to her again. The media picked up the story: “Retired Cardiologist Fights Off Family’s Attempt to Steal Millions”.

I did three interviews, all focused on raising awareness about elder financial abuse. The story went viral. David called me from jail. I didn’t answer.

He left a voicemail.

“Mom, I’m sorry. I never meant for it to go this far. Melissa was the one who pushed for everything. Please, Mom, I’m your son.”

I deleted it without listening to the whole thing. Melissa sent me a letter. She said she was pregnant.

She said my grandchild deserved to know me. She said I was destroying our family over money. I sent the letter to my lawyer.

She was not pregnant. The private investigator confirmed it. It was another manipulation.

My mother called from Diane’s house. Diane had lost her house to foreclosure and had moved in with Mom.

“Margaret,” my mother said, her voice shaking.

“I’m 83 years old. I don’t have much time left. Do you really want me to die knowing you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” I said.

“But I don’t trust you, and I don’t forgive you. You chose money over your daughter. You chose Diane over me. You made your choice.”

I hung up. It was the last time we spoke.

Now, six months later, I’m sitting in my garden drinking tea. I have a new routine. I swim every morning.

I volunteer at a free clinic twice a week. I mentor young female doctors. I travel.

Last month I went to Italy. Next month I’m going to Japan. I also started a foundation, the Margaret Chen Foundation for Elder Rights.

We provide legal help for seniors facing financial abuse from family members. We’ve already helped 12 people fight back against their own children, their own siblings, people who saw them as ATMs instead of human beings. I sleep well at night, better than I have in years.

People ask me if I’m lonely. They ask if I miss my family. They look at me with pity, this 62-year-old woman with no children at her birthday dinners, no grandchildren visiting on holidays.

I’m not lonely. I have friends who actually care about me. I have colleagues who respect me.

I have a life that I built with my own hands, and no one can take that from me now. David got two years. He’ll be out in 14 months with good behavior.

Melissa got 18 months. Diane got probation and community service. Dr. Pollson is working at a warehouse.

I got my life back. I got my dignity back. I got proof that I was right about everything.

I was never the problem. I was never incompetent, never paranoid, never irrational. I was a woman with resources, and they saw me as a target.

They thought I was weak because I was older. They thought I would be easy to manipulate because I loved them. They were wrong.

I spent 37 years as a cardiologist. I held human hearts in my hands. I knew when they were damaged, when they were failing, when they could be saved, and when they couldn’t.

I should have known that some hearts can’t be fixed. Some people can’t be trusted. And sometimes the kindest thing you can do for yourself is to cut out the diseased tissue and let the healthy parts heal.

I’m healing now, and I’m whole.