My Son Called My 1892 Patek Philippe Heirloom “Worthless Junk” And Demanded Cash Instead. So I Sold It At Auction For $87,000 And Cut Him Off. Now He’s Suing Me For “Mental Incompetence.” Am I The Jerk?
The Confrontation
My workshop, early morning, November light through the windows. I was cataloging inventory when I heard the front door open. They had a key, emergency purposes. I’d forgotten to ask for it back.
“Dad?” My son’s voice echoed through the house. Footsteps, two sets. “We let ourselves in.”
Meredith’s voice, cheerful, false. “We brought breakfast.”
I emerged from the workshop. They stood in my kitchen holding bags from that expensive brunch place downtown. Croissants, fresh fruit, coffee from beans that cost more per pound than my son’s sense of decency.
“This is unexpected.”
“We wanted to clear the air.” My son smiled that smile that doesn’t reach anywhere useful. “About the watch situation.”
“Situation?”
“Look, Dad,” Meredith set out plates. “We may have overreacted at the birthday party. That watch obviously meant something to you.”
“It meant something to our family.”
“Right. And we respect that.” My son poured coffee. “But selling it without telling us?”
“I told you I’d find it a better home. You agreed.”
“I didn’t think you meant auction.”
“What did you think I meant?”
He glanced at Meredith. Signal passed between them.
“Dad, we’re a little concerned.” She arranged croissants with surgical precision. “Making major financial decisions alone at your age.”
“My age? You’re 68 living alone, managing significant assets.”
“I’ve been managing significant assets since before you were born. That’s kind of the point.”
My son leaned forward. “Things change as we get older. Judgment can be affected.”
The coffee sat untouched. I’d made my own earlier—French press, superior.
“Are you suggesting I’m not competent to manage my own affairs?”
“We’re suggesting we should be more involved. For your protection.”
“I see.”
“It’s not personal, Dad.” Meredith’s voice dripped synthetic concern. “We love you. We just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m perfectly okay.”
“Then why sell a family heirloom for cash? That’s not like you.”
“How would you know what’s like me?”
Silence, uncomfortable. Good.
“I think you should leave now.”
“Dad, the croissants look delicious. Take them with you.”
They left. Finally. My son threw one last look around the living room, cataloging, calculating. His eyes stopped on the display case in the corner. The display case I’d never shown him properly. 12 watches carefully arranged, the collection of a lifetime.
“Nice display, Dad. Never noticed it before.”
“You never asked.”
Legal Preparations
After they left, I stood at the window, watched their car sit in the driveway for five minutes before pulling away. Then I called my attorney. Sandra Okonquo had been my lawyer for 20 years: trusts, estates, business matters. She answered on the second ring.
“Walter. Been a while. Everything okay?”
“I need to update my will. And I need to discuss my options regarding house guests who’ve overstayed their welcome.”
“House guests?”
“My son and daughter-in-law have developed an unhealthy interest in my assets. I want to understand my legal position.”
Silence. Then, “When can you come in?”
“Tomorrow. 10:00 a.m.”
“Bring documentation. Financial records, any communications that concern you. Everything.”
I ended the call. Walked to my display case. 12 watches, total value approximately $340,000 at current market. My son had walked past this case a hundred times, never once asked about it. Now he’d noticed.
I moved to my workshop, retrieved the small security camera I’d bought last year. Home security, the package said. Peace of mind. I installed it in the living room that afternoon, hidden behind a picture frame facing the display case. Some peace of mind requires preparation.
Sandra’s office smelled like old books and fresh coffee. Diplomas on the wall, family photos on the desk. Competence and warmth in equal measure.
“You’ve been documenting everything.” She looked up from my files.
“Professional habit. 40 years of provenance verification.”
“This is thorough, Walter. Very thorough.” I keep records.
She ran her finger down a spreadsheet. “Since retirement, you’ve given your son approximately $45,000 in direct financial support. Cash gifts, loan payments, that boat down payment.”
“I thought I was helping.”
“You were. The question is whether that generosity created expectations.”
“It created entitlement.”
She nodded slowly. “The watch sale clearly triggered something. They’re circling now. They mentioned my age? My judgment? Being more involved?”
“Classic opening moves.” She made notes. “If they escalate, they’ll likely pursue guardianship or conservatorship. Claim you’re not competent to manage your affairs.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on anything they can construct. Erratic behavior, impulsive decisions. The watch sale is their current evidence.”
“Selling my own property at fair market value is erratic?”
“To a judge who doesn’t know you? Possibly. They’ll frame it as emotional, impulsive, financially irresponsible.”
I sat with that, felt the anger build, controlled it. “What do I do?”
Sandra pulled out a legal pad. “First, we update your will. Make your intentions crystal clear. Second, we document your competency now, while no one’s challenged it. Psychological evaluation, cognitive testing. Create a baseline. Third,” she looked up, “if you want them out of your life, we establish boundaries. Legally. Change locks, revoke access, put everything in writing. And if they sue, then we fight. And we win. Because you’re not incompetent, Walter. You’re just done being used.”
“Done being used. Accurate.”
“There’s one more thing.” I pulled out another folder. “My daughter, Lydia. She lives in Boston. We’re not close, but we’re civil. And I want to transfer some assets to her. Not everything, but enough to reduce what my son might eventually contest.”
“Are you trying to disinherit him?”
“I’m trying to protect what I’ve built from people who see it as their birthright rather than my legacy.”
Sandra smiled slightly, first genuine smile of the meeting. “I can work with that.”
