My Son Claimed I Had Early Onset Dementia To Take Over My Assets. I Just Found Out He’s Been Swapping My Blood Pressure Meds To Make Me Confused. Should I File A Police Report Against My Own Child?

Exposing the Fraud

I turned on my computer and searched for Pacific Trust Lending. It was a legitimate company specializing in home equity loans and refinancing. I called the number on their website.

“I need to speak to Marcus Reeves,” I said when someone answered.

“May I ask what this is regarding?”

“A refinance on my property. I believe there’s been a mistake.”

After a moment on hold, a man’s voice came on the line. “This is Marcus Reeves.”

“Mr. Reeves, my name is Margaret Chen. I own the property at 847 Maple Street in Portland. I received some concerning information about a refinance application on my home.”

Silence. Then: “Mrs. Chen, I can’t discuss specific loan applications over the phone, but if you’re concerned about fraud, I’d suggest coming into our office.”

“Can you come in today?” I could. An hour later, I was sitting in Marcus Reeves’s office, watching his face grow more concerned as he pulled up my file.

“Mrs. Chen,” he said carefully. “According to our records, you signed the application two weeks ago. Your son, Brian Chen, is listed as your power of attorney, and he facilitated the transaction.”

“I never signed anything.”

He turned his computer screen toward me. There was my signature—my full name, Margaret Elizabeth Chen—in handwriting that looked exactly like mine. Below it, a date from two weeks ago.

“That’s not my signature,” I said.

“Ma’am, are you sure? It matches the signature we have on file from your driver’s license.”

“Show me.”

He pulled up another document: my driver’s license scanned into their system. And yes, the signature matched. But I looked at the license itself, at the photo, at the issue date.

“When did you receive this license?”

“It was provided as part of the application package by your son.”

“My license had been renewed just six months ago. But this license in their system showed an issue date from three years ago. It was my old license. The one I’d thought I lost.”

The one Brian had helped me search for before I went to the DMV to get a replacement. Brian hadn’t helped me search for it. Brian had taken it.

“Mr. Reeves,” I said slowly. “My son forged my signature using an old license I thought was lost.”

His expression shifted. “If that’s true, Mrs. Chen, we need to stop this loan immediately. The funds haven’t been dispersed yet, but they’re scheduled to transfer tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. I’d been one day away from losing everything.

“Stop it,” I said. “And I need copies of everything. Every document, every signature, every communication.”

He nodded. “I’ll need to file a fraud report, and you should contact the police.”

Discovering the Empty Accounts

I left his office with a thick folder of documents. My head was spinning. My son—my son had forged my signature to steal from me.

I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. Instead, I drove to Linda’s house.

Linda Woo had been my best friend since college. We’d worked together at the Portland Public Library for 30 years, shared every joy and sorrow. If anyone would know what to do, it was Linda.

She took one look at my face and pulled me inside. “What happened?”

I told her everything. The refinance, the forged signature, the email from Vanessa. When I finished, Linda was quiet for a long moment.

“Maggie,” she finally said. “This isn’t just about the house. If Brian has power of attorney, he has access to everything. Your accounts, your investments, your retirement. You need to check it all.”

She was right. I pulled out my phone and called my old bank, the one where Richard and I had kept our accounts for 40 years.

“I’d like to check the balance on my accounts,” I told the representative.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have any accounts under your name in our system.”

“That’s impossible. I’ve had accounts there since 1980.”

“Let me check… ah, yes. I see here that all accounts under Margaret Chen were closed eight months ago. The funds were transferred to… let me see… an account at Western Financial.”

Eight months ago. Right after I’d signed the power of attorney. With Linda’s help, I started calling every bank, every investment firm, every account I remembered having.

The story was the same everywhere: accounts closed, funds transferred. All of it done with Brian’s authority as my power of attorney.

By the time we finished, it was dark outside. Linda made tea while I sat at her kitchen table, staring at the notes I’d taken.

“How much?” Linda asked quietly.

“Everything.” My voice was hollow. “The retirement account Richard and I spent 40 years building, the savings, the investment portfolio, the life insurance payout from when he died. Over $800,000. Gone.”

“Where did it go?”

“I don’t know.”

But I had suspicions. Brian’s real estate office had been struggling. He’d mentioned it casually, said the market was tough.

And Vanessa, with her designer handbags and new car, didn’t live like someone married to a struggling broker.

“You need a lawyer,” Linda said. “And you need to revoke that power of attorney immediately.”

She was right. But it was after 6 on a Tuesday evening. The lawyer’s offices were closed. The banks were closed. Everything would have to wait until morning.

“Stay here tonight,” Linda offered. “Don’t go home. Not until we figure this out.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to see Brian. Didn’t want to pretend everything was fine when my entire world was collapsing.