My Son Is An Attorney Who Stole My $5.8m Life Savings And Made Me Homeless. He Told The World I Was Senile To Cover His Gambling Debts. How Do I Recover When My Own Child Leaves Me For Dead?

“Where are your parents?” I finally asked.

“They said they were spending it with Rachel’s family in Vancouver,” she didn’t meet my eyes.

“They didn’t mention that to me.”

“I know.” She took a breath.

“Grandpa, I need to tell you something.”

That’s when it all came out. Pearl had been home over fall break and had been studying in her dad’s home office when she’d seen papers on his desk.

She saw her father’s handwriting on a property transfer form with my address.

“I didn’t understand what I was seeing at first,” she said, tears streaming down her face.

“But Grandpa, I think, I think Dad is taking your houses and Mom is helping him.”

I didn’t believe her; I didn’t want to believe her. My son wouldn’t steal from me.

We’d had our differences over the years. I’d been a strict father, maybe too strict with all that military discipline, but Jeremy was a good man, wasn’t he?

“Pearl, honey, you must have misunderstood. Your dad is helping me manage things, that’s all.”

But she insisted on going to the bank with me the next day. We sat in a small office while a banker pulled up my accounts on his screen.

His face went pale as he scrolled.

“Mr. Foster, are you aware that there have been significant withdrawals over the past eight months?”

I wasn’t. He turned the monitor toward me.

Transfer after transfer: $50,000, $100,000, $200,000—all authorized by Jeremy, my power of attorney. All were moving to accounts I didn’t recognize.

The room spun. Pearl grabbed my hand.

“Where did the money go?” I asked.

“I’m not able to access the receiving account, sir. But these transfers were all legally authorized. You signed the power of attorney giving your son full financial control.”

Pearl was crying now.

“Grandpa, I’m so sorry.”

I wanted to be wrong. We went to see the property records next.

Both my Seattle house and the San Juan Island cabin had been transferred to Jeremy’s name six months ago while I was still living in my own home. My son had legally stolen it from under me.

That’s how I ended up in that attorney’s office learning I had 30 days to vacate. I spent that night in my empty house—Jeremy’s house now, I suppose—trying to understand how this had happened.

More importantly, why? Pearl stayed with me; she’d moved in that day and refused to go home to her parents.

“I’m not leaving you alone,” she said.

Around midnight, she came into the living room where I sat in the dark.

“Grandpa, I did some digging. I think I know why Dad did this.”

She’d hacked into her father’s laptop. I should have told her not to, but I was too numb to care about ethics.

She showed me what she’d found: online gambling accounts, hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt, casino websites, sports betting, and poker apps. The transactions went back three years.

“It started after Dad, he hurt his back,” Pearl explained.

“Remember he was in that car accident and needed surgery? They gave him OxyContin for the pain. When he got addicted to that, Mom made him quit, but then he started gambling instead. Mom’s been trying to hide it using her accounting skills to move money around, but they’re buried, Grandpa. They’re drowning.”

I stared at the screen. My son, my successful attorney son, was a gambling addict, and he’d stolen from his own father to feed it.

The next morning, Jeremy called. His voice was cold and professional.

“Dad, I know you went to see an attorney yesterday.”

“How did you—”

“I have Google Alerts set up on your name. Listen, I’m sorry it came to this, but you need to understand. You’re getting older. The power of attorney was always meant to transition assets. This is best for everyone.”

“Best for everyone? Jeremy, you took everything. The houses, my savings, everything your mother and I spent our lives building.”

“You’ll still have your pension and Social Security. That’s enough to rent a nice apartment. Look, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, but the money—I needed it for investments.”

“Gambling debts,” I said quietly.

Silence on the other end.

“Pearl told me,” I continued.

“Jeremy, you need help. We can fix this, but you have to—”

He hung up.