Chapter 3 - The Ten Thousand Dollars Was Going Somewhere
The first year of the care account looked normal.
Groceries.
Pharmacy.
Landscaping.
Utilities.
A cleaner twice a month.
Physical therapy.
Property maintenance.
Then the numbers changed.
Cash withdrawals.
$1,500.
$2,000.
$3,500.
Payments to an LLC called WLC Home Services.
Recurring.
Nearly four thousand dollars a month.
I searched the Ohio business registry.
WLC Home Services belonged to Wendy Louise Carter.
My sister-in-law.
Address:
The house I owned.
I stared at the screen.
Wendy entered the kitchen wearing yoga clothes.
I turned the laptop toward her.
“What is WLC Home Services?”
She stopped.
“Why are you in the account?”
“It’s my account.”
“It's Marian’s care account.”
“Funded by me.”
Wendy folded her arms.
“I provide care.”
“For four thousand dollars a month?”
“Sometimes more.”
“Doing what?”
“Meals. Cleaning. Appointments. Medication. Everything you don’t do.”
That last line landed.
Because part of it was true.
“Does Mom know she pays you?”
“Of course.”
“Does she?”
Wendy's mouth tightened.
“She signed a care agreement.”
“Show me.”
“Ask Luca.”
I did.
He produced one within twenty minutes.
Typed.
Signed.
Dated fourteen months earlier.
Personal Care and Household Management Agreement.
Provider:
WLC Home Services.
Client:
Marian Pierce.
Compensation:
$3,750 monthly plus reimbursable expenses.
Mom's signature appeared at the bottom.
It looked like hers.
Mostly.
“What doctor had evaluated her capacity when she signed?”
Luca laughed.
“She wasn't incompetent.”
“You keep telling me she has dementia.”
“Now.”
“And fourteen months ago?”
“Early stage.”
“Then why didn't anybody tell me?”
“She didn't want you interfering.”
That hurt.
Which made it useful.
People manipulate best with sentences containing something you already fear.
Maybe Mom had wanted less of me.
Maybe my calls from five time zones away had begun feeling like supervision instead of care.
I could not assume every decision I disliked was fraudulent.
So I asked Mom directly.
Not:
Did Luca steal from you?
Not:
Did Wendy force you?
Just:
“Do you know what WLC Home Services is?”
She frowned.
“No.”
“Wendy's company?”
Nothing.
“Do you pay Wendy to help you?”
Mom looked confused.
Then embarrassed.
“I don't have money.”
That answer stopped me.
“You do.”
“No.”
“Mom, you have your Social Security. Dad’s pension. And I send money.”
Her face changed.
Fear.
“Don’t tell Luca.”
“Tell him what?”
“That I lost it.”
“Lost what?”
“The money.”
“What money?”
She lowered her voice.
“The money he says I spent.”
I felt cold.
“What did he say you spent it on?”
Mom looked toward the doorway again.
“Things I don’t remember.”
That night, I slept in the room that used to be Dad’s office.
At 2:13 a.m., I heard the back door open.
Then voices.
Luca.
Wendy.
Another woman.
I moved quietly into the hallway.
The woman said:
“She needs to sign before the next review.”
Wendy answered:
“She barely knows what day it is.”
Then Luca:
“That helps.”
I stopped breathing.
The woman replied:
“No, Luca. That makes it harder.”
A pause.
Then:
“I'm not risking my license because you’re impatient.”
Footsteps moved toward the kitchen.
I returned to the guest room before they saw me.
The word I remembered was not license.
It was impatient.
May you like
Whatever they wanted Mom to sign was not old.
It was still happening.
