Third, Tom drafted three formal letters of revocation of occupancy, terminating their status as guests, effective immediately.
Finally, a binding repayment agreement for the $12,300 stolen from her accounts.
“People who are forced to leave by their own choices cannot play the victim later,” Tom noted, sealing the documents in a pale yellow folder. When I informed him that Melissa had referred to my mother as “the maid,” Tom slowly removed his reading glasses. “Technically, Iris, she was half right. You are going to be extremely helpful tonight.”
From the parking lot, I executed the remaining checklist. I phoned my mother’s medical clinic, striking Derek from her emergency contacts and inserting myself. The receptionist then asked a question that made the blood freeze in my veins.
“Would you also like to update the healthcare proxy form Mr. Holloway filed last fall?”
While my mother was floating on heavy narcotics in the post-op recovery ward, Derek had slipped a pen into her hand and legally seized control of her medical decisions. We voided it instantly, executing a fresh proxy right there in the car with a mobile notary.
As we drove back toward Maplewood Court, my mother stared out the passenger window. “He wasn’t always a monster, Iris. He used to carry my groceries when he was a little boy.”
“I know, Mom,” I replied, staring at the road ahead. “And I am not punishing the nine-year-old boy who carried your groceries. I am stopping the grown man who stole your bedroom.”
