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?

There it was: the truth.

“So, you decided to drug our father, fake medical records, and steal his life’s work?” I asked.

“It’s not stealing! He’s old! He’s going to die soon anyway. What does he need with a vineyard? He should be in a care facility. This way, everyone wins.” She argued.

“Everyone except Dad.” I said.

“He won’t even remember!” Catherine shouted.

“Once he’s on the right medications, he’ll be happy, comfortable. He won’t know the difference!” She yelled.

I stared at my sister, at this stranger who looked like the girl I’d grown up with but had become something I didn’t recognize.

“Get out.” I said quietly.

“Robert—” She started.

“Get out of my father’s house right now before I have you arrested for elder abuse, fraud, and attempted theft!” I ordered.

Gerald stepped forward.

“You can’t do that. Your sister has power of attorney. The sale is already in progress.” He claimed.

“That power of attorney is fraudulent. The signature is forged. I can prove it.” I told him.

“With what evidence?” Gerald asked.

“With two decades of my father’s real signatures. With handwriting analysis. With the testimony of Dr. Patel, who will confirm Dad doesn’t have dementia. With medical testing that will show exactly what drugs you’ve been pumping into him. With my recording of you two discussing how to liquidate his assets and put him away so you can collect insurance money on his death.” I listed.

Gerald’s face went pale. I continued.

“And with my son’s testimony. You remember Marcus, my son? The private investigator who’s been tracking these transactions for the past month? Who has copies of every fraudulent document you filed? Who traced the forged medical records back to a clinic that doesn’t even exist?” I added.

That was a bluff. I didn’t know for sure what Marcus had found, but their faces told me I’d hit close to the mark.

Catherine was backing toward the door.

“Robert, please. They’ll kill me.” She whimpered.

“Then you should have thought of that before you tried to kill Dad.” I replied.

“I’m not killing him! I’m just—” She started.

“You’re stealing his life! His purpose! Everything he worked for! That is killing him, and you know it.” I said.

Tears ran down her face, but I felt nothing. No sympathy, no family loyalty.

She’d crossed a line you don’t come back from.

“Leave.” I said again.

“Both of you. Now.” I commanded.

Facing the Shadows of Forgery

They left. I heard the Mercedes start up, tires crunching on gravel as they drove away.

Then, I went back to Dad’s room. He was asleep again, breathing slow and steady.

I sat on the edge of his bed watching him, thinking about all the times he’d sat next to my bed when I was sick as a kid, or when I was in the hospital after a bad fire, burned and broken. He’d been there every single time.

Now, it was my turn. I called Marcus.

“Dad? Did you find him?” Marcus asked.

“I found him. You were right. It’s bad. Catherine’s been drugging him, forging power of attorney, and planning to sell the vineyard.” I told him.

“I knew it. I found the paper trail two weeks ago. Fake medical records, forged documents, everything. I’ve been building the case. Do you have evidence?” Marcus asked.

“I recorded their whole conversation. They admitted everything.” I said.

“Perfect. I’m calling APS and the DA’s office right now. Adult Protective Services will be there by morning. And Dad, don’t let Catherine near Grandpa again. Not for any reason.” Marcus said.

“Trust me, I won’t.” I replied.

After I hung up, I went through the house room by room. I found more evidence of what Catherine had been doing: bills she’d been intercepting and mail she’d hidden.

The thermostat had been turned down deliberately, I realized, to make Dad seem neglected. I found her pills, too.

The Lorazepam and Quetiapine bottles that should have been half empty after months of prescriptions were still nearly full. She hadn’t been giving them to Dad as prescribed; she’d been giving him double or triple doses to keep him sedated when she needed to, then showing the full bottles as proof he was on medication.