Chapter 2 - “YOU TOLD HER I HAVE DEMENTIA?”
Mom was admitted overnight for dehydration, malnutrition, weakness, and evaluation of her injuries.
The cut above her eyebrow required a few stitches.
No broken bones.
No intracranial bleeding.
Her doctor was far more concerned about how undernourished she had become.
Wendy tried to follow us to the hospital.
I told her not to.
She came anyway.
Hospital staff asked Mom privately who she wanted allowed into her room.
She chose me.
Not Wendy.
That mattered.
For the first time in weeks, my mother controlled a door.
While doctors examined her, Rachel arrived carrying a laptop.
“What did you find?”
“Enough to ask more questions.”
She turned the screen.
Three weeks earlier, Mason Cole had submitted a home-equity prequalification package involving one of Mom’s rental properties.
Estimated value:
$780,000.
Requested financing:
$310,000.
“Mom owns that property free and clear.”
“I know.”
“Did the loan close?”
“No.”
Relief hit me.
Then Rachel continued.
“But Teresa’s financial power of attorney was included.”
I stared.
“Power of attorney?”
“Signed seven weeks ago.”
Agent:
Wendy Marino.
Successor agent:
Mason Cole.
I felt cold.
“Mom said she thought she signed medical forms.”
Rachel nodded.
“We need the original documents.”
“What powers?”
“Very broad.”
Banking.
Real estate.
Investment management.
Contract execution.
Access to statements.
The document was notarized.
Witnessed by Mason.
I looked through the hospital window.
Mom was answering orientation questions.
Name.
Date.
President.
Home address.
She answered everything correctly.
Rachel continued:
“A power of attorney is not proof of wrongdoing.”
“I know.”
“But if she didn’t understand what she signed…”
“Then we have a problem.”
“Yes.”
Then Rachel pulled up bank records Mom had authorized us to review.
The first transfer happened six days after the power of attorney.
$7,500.
Description:
CARE MANAGEMENT
Recipient:
Cole Household Services LLC.
Mason’s company.
Another:
$11,200.
Then $6,800.
Then $9,500.
Total over seven weeks:
$63,400.
My jaw tightened.
“What services?”
“Unknown.”
Mom lived with us.
We employed a cleaning service twice a week.
She had no private care agency.
No home nurse.
No professional caregiver.
Wendy had been restricting her food while billing her for “care.”
Then Rachel showed me something worse.
A $28,000 transfer to:
W. Marino Household Expense Reimbursement.
My wife.
“What did she reimburse herself for?”
“We don’t know.”
Then the doctor entered.
He had finished evaluating Mom.
“Mr. Marino?”
I stood.
“How is she?”
“She’s medically stable.”
Then his expression became serious.
“We are documenting findings that concern us for possible elder mistreatment.”
I nodded.
He continued:
“Your mother appears cognitively intact on our initial screening.”
Not proof she had no cognitive issues whatsoever.
But enough to contradict Wendy’s claim that Mom was too confused to understand ordinary life.
Mom looked at me.
“Luca?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask something?”
“Anything.”
“Does Wendy think I have dementia?”
I glanced at Rachel.
Then answered.
“Yes.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“Why?”
I sat beside her.
“I don’t know yet.”
She looked down.
Then said something I will never forget.
“I thought maybe she was right.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“She kept telling me I forgot things.”
“I started writing them down.”
“Then sometimes the notebook disappeared.”
Gaslighting.
Old word.
Simple method.
Make someone doubt their own memory.
Mom whispered:
“She said you told her not to worry me.”
I took her hand.
“I never said that.”
She began crying.
I wanted to promise Wendy would pay.
That everything would be fixed.
Instead:
May you like
“I believe you.”
Sometimes that is where recovery begins.
