My son thinks I’m senile and is suing to take control of my $3 million estate. Little does he know, I’ve been secretly recording his plans to dump me in a cheap nursing home. Today, we go to court, and I have a surprise that will destroy his life.

The Final Sentence and its Aftermath

Sentencing was 6 weeks later. I submitted a victim impact statement, eight pages.

I described what Helen had been like before: how she’d volunteered at the church food bank, how she’d hosted Thanksgiving dinner for 25 people every year, and how she’d been the first person to offer help whenever anyone in our community needed it. Then I described what she was like now: confused more often, afraid of the basement, and sometimes afraid of me because she doesn’t always remember who I am.

The Parkinson’s has accelerated. The doctors say she’ll need full-time memory care within a year, maybe sooner—care we can no longer afford because our savings are gone and our house has a mortgage again.

I wrote about the grandchildren who won’t speak to me. I wrote about the son I raised, the boy I coached in Little League, the young man whose college tuition I’d proudly paid.

I wrote about how I’d failed to see who he really was, how I’d ignored the warning signs, and how I’d kept lending him money even when Helen begged me to stop. I wrote about the guilt I carry: if I’d been smarter, more suspicious, or less trusting of my own son, Helen would never have been in that basement.

I gave him access to our lives, and he used it to destroy us. The judge read everything, then she turned to Bradley.

“Mr. Jennings,” she said.

“This court has seen many cases of elder abuse: family members who neglect aging parents, children who steal from confused seniors, caregivers who exploit vulnerability. But this court has rarely seen such calculated, premeditated cruelty. You planned this crime for weeks.”

“You exploited your mother’s medical condition,” she continued.

“You locked her in a basement and reduced her water supply to ensure she’d be too weak to expose you. You prepared a cover story for her death. You stole her life savings and her home equity to cover up your own crimes against your employees.”

“You betrayed every trust a son owes to his parents, and when you were caught, you tried to blame your wife, your co-conspirator, the mother of your children. This court sees no mitigating factors. None.”

“Bradley Jennings, for the crime of attempted murder in the first degree, this court sentences you to 20 years in the Arizona State Prison. For the crime of elder abuse resulting in serious bodily harm, this court sentences you to an additional 5 years to run consecutively. For the crime of financial exploitation of a vulnerable adult, this court sentences you to three years to run consecutively. For the crimes of fraud, forgery, and unlawful imprisonment, this court sentences you to 2 years each to run concurrently.”

“Total sentence: 28 years in state prison. You will be eligible for parole consideration after serving 22 years.”

Bradley collapsed; his attorney caught him. He was crying, saying he was sorry, saying he never meant for any of this to happen.

I stood up and walked out of the courtroom. I didn’t look back.

Seeking Accountability, Not Revenge

The civil judgment came through 3 months later. Bradley and Megan were jointly and severally liable for $420,000—the original $203,000 they’d stolen, plus damages for Helen’s suffering, plus my legal fees.

Of course, they don’t have that money. Bradley’s company was dissolved by the IRS, his house was seized, and his bank accounts were emptied by government penalties.

The judgment is just paper, but it means that if either of them ever has anything, we get it first. Any inheritance, any future earnings, any assets at all—they’ll be paying this debt for the rest of their lives.

Helen is in a memory care facility now. I sold the house 3 months ago.

Even with the sale, after paying off the HELOC, there wasn’t much left. Her care costs $8,000 a month.

Insurance covers part of it; the house sale money will cover another 2 years, maybe three. After that, I don’t know.

I visit her every day. Some days she knows me, some days she doesn’t.

Last week she thought I was her brother who died in 1994. She told me she was worried about Harold, that he’d been working too hard lately and that she hoped he’d retire soon so they could travel.

I held her hand and told her Harold was fine; he was just taking a little break.

Bradley is at the Arizona State Prison Complex in Florence for 28 years. He’ll be 68 when he’s eligible for parole—older than I am now.

Megan is at the Perryville Women’s Prison near Goodyear; her parole hearing is in 3 years. My grandchildren are still in Memphis.

I write to them every month; the letters come back unopened. People ask me sometimes if I regret pressing charges so hard, if 28 years was too much, or if I should have tried to work it out as a family to protect my grandchildren from having both parents in prison.

Here’s what I tell them. My son locked his mother in a basement for 9 days.

He stole our life savings. He prepared a plan for her death.

He reduced her water supply to make her weaker, and when he was caught, he tried to run to Mexico with his kids in the backseat. He wasn’t desperate, he wasn’t confused, and he wasn’t mentally ill.

He was calculating and cold and willing to let his own mother die for money. 28 years isn’t too long; it’s consequences.

What Bradley did to Helen, to me, and to our family was a choice. Every step of it was a choice.

He chose to take her to that notary. He chose to forge those documents.

He chose to drain our accounts. He chose to lock that basement door.

He chose to stop the water. He chose to run, and now he gets to live with those choices for 28 years.

I don’t call that revenge; I call that accountability. Some people don’t understand the difference.

They think I should forgive him because he’s my son. They think the Christian thing to do would be to visit him in prison, to tell him I still love him, or to give him hope.

But here’s what those people don’t understand: forgiveness isn’t about pretending something didn’t happen. It isn’t about letting someone escape the consequences of their choices.

Forgiveness is about choosing not to carry hatred in your heart. I don’t hate Bradley; I don’t have the energy for hatred.