My Sister Drugged Our Healthy Father To Steal Our $5 Million Vineyard. I Caught Her On Tape And Called The Cops Three Days Before Christmas. Am I The Jerk For Sending My Own Sister To Prison?

“Let’s all calm down. Robert, I understand this is shocking, but your sister has legal authority here. She has power of attorney for healthcare and finances that was signed by your father six months ago.” He claimed.

“I want to see that document.” I demanded.

“It’s in the file.” Gerald said.

Catherine pulled out a folder and handed me several papers. I scanned them.

They looked official, notarized, and dated June 15th, 2025. My father’s signature was at the bottom.

But something was wrong. The signature was close, but not quite right.

Dad had a very distinctive way of signing his name. The ‘J’ in James always had a long tail, but this one didn’t.

“I want to see my father.” I said.

“Right now.” I added.

“He’s sleeping.” Catherine said.

“I don’t care. Take me to him.” I demanded.

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Fine, but don’t upset him. He gets agitated easily.” She said.

We walked down the hall to Dad’s bedroom. Catherine opened the door quietly.

The room was dark with the curtains drawn. Dad was in bed, lying very still.

I crossed to him quickly.

“Dad?” I whispered.

He didn’t respond. I touched his shoulder and shook him gently.

His eyes opened slowly, unfocused. His pupils were dilated.

“Dad? It’s Robert. Can you hear me?” I asked.

He blinked at me.

“Robert? Yeah. Dad, it’s me. When did you get here?” He asked.

His words were slurred and slow.

“Just now. How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Tired. So tired.” He replied.

His eyes were already closing again. I turned to Catherine.

“What medications is he taking?” I asked.

“Just his usual prescriptions.” She answered.

“What prescriptions? He’s never been on medication except for blood pressure pills.” I stated.

“That’s what I mean. Blood pressure and something to help him sleep. Dr. Harrison prescribed it.” Catherine said.

I looked at Dad’s nightstand. There were three pill bottles.

I picked them up and read the labels. One was for blood pressure; that was normal.

But the other two were Lorazepam, 2 mg twice daily—that’s a sedative, a heavy one—and Quetiapine, 50 mg at night, an antipsychotic often used for dementia patients.

“Why is he on antipsychotics?” I demanded.

“For the agitation.” Catherine said.

“I told you he gets confused and upset. Dr. Harrison said these would help keep him calm.” She claimed.

“These would knock out a horse. Dad, how long have you been taking these?” I asked.

He mumbled something I couldn’t understand and his eyes closed again. I grabbed Catherine’s arm and pulled her out of the room.

Gerald followed.

“You’re drugging him.” I said flatly.

“We’re medicating him appropriately for his condition.” Gerald replied.

“He doesn’t have a condition! You’re sedating him so he seems confused, so you can claim he has dementia!” I shouted.

“That’s a serious accusation.” Gerald said coldly.

“And I’m making it!” I yelled.

I pulled out my phone again.

“I’m calling 911. I’m reporting elder abuse.” I said.

Catherine’s composure cracked.

“Robert, don’t! Please, just listen to me!” She begged.

“I’m done listening.” I replied.

“I’m in debt!” The words burst out of her.

“Okay? I’m in serious debt. Two million dollars. I made some bad investments. I took loans from the wrong people. They’re going to kill me if I don’t pay. This is the only way out.” Catherine admitted.