Chapter 9 - THE POWER OF ATTORNEY SHE COULDN’T GET
The draft power of attorney was never signed.
That mattered.
Gwendolyn had asked Florence.
Florence refused.
According to Florence:
“She put the page in front of me and said it was for pharmacy pickup.”
“What did you do?”
“Read it.”
I laughed.
Of course she did.
“Then?”
“I tore it.”
The torn original was found in Gwendolyn’s office trash archive, scanned before destruction.
Gwendolyn apparently tried another route.
The conservatorship plan put me forward publicly.
The private power of attorney put her in control quietly.
Two contingencies.
If Florence signed voluntarily, Gwendolyn gained authority.
If she refused and appeared cognitively impaired, I became proposed conservator.
Either way, Florence lost direct control.
Then Gwendolyn could influence me.
Or bypass me.
Arden Ridge had no email showing it knew about the private POA.
That separated corporate pressure from personal fraud.
Gwendolyn’s lawyer began negotiating.
She denied intentional poisoning.
Admitted caregiver frustration.
Denied forging signatures.
Denied coercion.
Denied any plan to steal property.
Said blank bottles were used to organize old medication.
Said property papers were copies Florence asked her to hold.
Then the video of pill swapping.
She claimed she substituted the correct dosage after Florence mixed pills.
Possible.
Medical experts examined shape and imprint from video.
One replacement tablet matched Gwendolyn’s sedative.
Not Florence’s prescription.
Her explanation weakened.
The toxicology pattern supported repeated exposure.
Still, criminal poisoning required proof beyond inference.
Investigators wanted direct evidence.
They found it in text messages to Dr. Crane.
Gwendolyn:
If she’s calmer before the competency assessment, does that make her seem better or worse?
Crane:
Do not alter medication for evaluation. Give only prescribed doses.
Gwendolyn:
Obviously.
Then a note in Gwendolyn’s phone:
2 tabs night before.
1 morning.
No label.
Could refer to anything.
Then:
Assessment 9:30.
That was harder.
The assessment never occurred because Florence refused to go.
The day before, she called Samuel Price.
That was when she moved the blue folder.
Gwendolyn discovered it missing.
Three days later, the cleaner incident happened.
Why cleaner?
The prosecution later argued rage.
Not planned poison.
Gwendolyn confronted Florence about the folder.
Florence refused to say where it was.
Gwendolyn had been mopping.
Argument escalated.
She poured dirty water into Florence’s mouth as punishment and humiliation.
Not a sophisticated attempt to kill.
Elder abuse born from control collapsing.
That seemed horrifyingly plausible.
But the central secret still involved the blue folder.
Samuel finally received court authorization to disclose the second agreement to me because my status appeared in it.
The meeting was scheduled for Monday.
Sunday night, Florence called.
“Lucas.”
“Yes?”
“Before you read it tomorrow, you need to promise something.”
“What?”
“That you won’t assume money belongs to you because your name is on the page.”
I stared into darkness.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s necessary.”
“Okay.”
“No. Promise.”
“I promise.”
She exhaled.
“Good.”
Then:
“Because your grandfather left you the company.”
“I know.”
“He left someone else the lake.”
My pulse changed.
“Who?”
Florence said:
“You’ll find out tomorrow.”
May you like
At nine the next morning, Samuel opened the blue folder.
And the family story I had been living inside finally broke apart.
