My son stole $1.3 million from my retirement and now he’s suing to have me declared incompetent. He wants to sell my house and throw me into a budget nursing home. He thinks I’m just a senile old man who doesn’t notice the missing money.
It was all lies, but it sounded so reasonable and so caring. Then Patricia stood up.
“Your Honor, I’d like to submit into evidence a neuropsychological evaluation conducted by Dr. Katherine Reeves of the Mayo Clinic.”
She spread the papers before the judge.
“Dr. Morrison was evaluated over five hours using standardized cognitive assessments. He scored in the 94th percentile for his age group.”
“His memory is exceptional. His reasoning is sound. His executive function is superior to most adults half his age.”
“There is zero evidence of cognitive decline, dementia, or mental incapacity.”
Judge Orosco read the report carefully.
“Furthermore,” Patricia continued, “I’d like to present evidence regarding the true motivation behind this petition.”
She pulled out bank statements.
“Over the past 18 months, the petitioners have transferred approximately $1.3 million from Dr. Morrison’s investment accounts without his knowledge or authorization.”
“These funds were moved to an LLC owned by Michael Morrison, the petitioner’s son, to cover losses from a failed business venture.”
The courtroom was dead silent. My son’s lawyer stood up quickly.
“Your Honor, those financial matters are separate from this guardianship petition.”
“They are absolutely relevant,” Patricia countered.
“The petitioners are claiming Dr. Morrison is mentally incompetent. I’m demonstrating that they have a substantial financial motive to lie about his mental state.”
“They’ve already stolen over a million dollars. They stand to gain control of an additional 4 million if this petition is granted.”
“This isn’t about protecting a vulnerable elderly man. This is about theft.”
Judge Orosco looked at my son.
“Is this true? Have you been transferring funds from your father’s accounts?”
“Your Honor,” my son’s lawyer jumped in.
“My client maintains that any financial transactions were conducted with Dr. Morrison’s full knowledge and consent.”
Patricia smiled.
“In that case, Your Honor, I’d like to play a recording for the court.”
She connected her laptop to the courtroom’s audio system. My daughter-in-law’s voice filled the room discussing selling my house for $3 million.
My son’s voice followed, talking about dumping me in an affordable assisted living facility in Casa Grande. He spoke of the plan to liquidate my estate to cover their debts.
When the recording ended, the silence was deafening. Judge Orosco’s expression had turned to ice.
She looked at my son and daughter-in-law with something close to disgust.
“This petition is denied,” she said flatly.
“Furthermore, I’m referring this matter to the Maricopa County Attorney’s Office for investigation of financial exploitation of a vulnerable adult, fraud, and conspiracy.”
“Your Honor—” my daughter-in-law started.
“I’m not finished.” The judge’s voice cut through like a scalpel.
“I’m also issuing a restraining order. Michael Morrison and Vanessa Morrison are prohibited from contacting Dr. Walter Morrison or coming within 500 feet of his residence for a minimum of 18 months.”
“Any violation will result in immediate arrest.”
She turned to me, her expression softening slightly.
“Dr. Morrison, no one should have to experience what you’ve been through.”
“I’m ordering that all legal fees associated with your defense be paid by the petitioners.”
“I would strongly encourage you to work with your attorney to pursue full restitution for the funds that were stolen from you.”
The Seeds of a New Family
As the court adjourned, my son finally looked at me. His face was pale and frightened, but there was something else there too.
It was anger, as if I’d somehow wronged him by refusing to be victimized.
“Dad, please,” he called out as he was led toward the exit.
“You don’t understand the pressure we’ve been under. The restaurant was drowning. We were going to lose everything. We were trying to save our family.”
I walked toward him slowly. In the gallery, Sophie sat watching, her face streaked with tears.
Ethan was there too. He looked shell-shocked, like his entire world had just crumbled.
“You were trying to save yourself,” I said quietly.
“And you were willing to destroy me to do it. You were willing to take my home, my money, my dignity, my freedom.”
“You were going to lock me away in some facility and tell yourself it was for my own good.”
My son’s face twisted.
“Mom left you $3 million. You have more money than you could ever spend. We needed it. Our kids needed it.”
“Your mother,” I said, my voice breaking, “worked as a teacher for 35 years. Every penny she saved was for the family she believed she was building.”
“A family that would take care of each other. Not a family that steals from its own.”
“Dad, please—”
I shook my head.
“I have nothing left to say to you.”
I walked away. Patricia was by my side.
Sophie ran to me and buried her face in my chest.
“Grandpa, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved me.”
