Kat shrugged. “Odd, since it was his life’s work.” She turned the screen back towards her. She froze when she spotted the petite figure standing behind Svensson. Kat had noticed the group of people standing around him during the half-dozen times she had viewed the clip, but hadn’t given them more than a passing glance. But the woman seemed familiar. Kat zoomed in until the woman and Svensson filled the screen.
Kat froze the frame. Svensson seemed uncertain and turned to the woman for reassurance. She nodded back at him. It was an expression so intimate Kat knew at once they were lovers. Unmistakably so—as was the woman’s identity. Without the video, Kat would never have connected them in a million years.
Chapter 43
Kat never expected to face Connor Whitehall again so soon. Yet here she was in his office Monday afternoon, as soon as she could race over after Zachary left. At least Connor Whitehall and she weren’t facing off in a courtroom again.
She was out of options and out of time. Aside from being the only lawyer willing to see her without an appointment, Connor Whitehall specialized in elder law. Kat sat across from him, studying her surroundings as she waited for him to finish his call. His office walls were a relaxing pale green, lined with framed landscape photographs. Several photography books sat on the corner of his desk. She had never even considered that her court adversary might have outside interests, let alone an artistic bent.
“Sorry about that.” Connor replaced the telephone receiver and smiled at her. “I remember your uncle from court. He’s a bit, uh—forgetful?”
Kat nodded. The lawyer was completely different than he had been in court. In a good way. She leaned over and extracted Harry’s financial records from her briefcase. “His dementia has worsened in the last few months. I’ve been helping him more lately—balancing his checkbook, making sure he eats, that sort of thing. That’s when I realized he wasn’t paying his bills. Not only is he almost bankrupt, but he’s about to lose his house.”
Kat recounted her run-in with the real estate agent at Harry’s house, his bank loan, and the unusual credit card charges. And her suspicions about Hillary.
“You can prove Hillary’s receiving the money?” Connor peered over his glasses at her, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes.” Kat was well aware of Hillary’s parasitic tendencies but hadn’t suspected outright fraud until it hit her between the eyes thanks to Jace. She handed Connor photocopies of Harry’s bank statements highlighting the numerous transfers, all to what appeared to be Hillary’s account.
“I called the bank the money was transferred into, pretending to be her. That all but confirmed it since they agreed to look into the missing transfer. Harry’s bank had rejected the transfer due to insufficient funds in Harry’s account. Hillary also reappeared about a week ago, the same time as the failed transfer.”
Whitehall’s brows furrowed as he scanned Harry’s bank statements. “Harry can do what he likes with his money. Including giving it away, even if it seems self-destructive to you or me. Are these transfers still happening?”
“They would be—except there’s no money left in his account.” She explained about Harry’s overdraft and large loan. “Unless the bank decides to lend him even more.” She shuddered at the thought. They’d probably do it in a heartbeat and repeat it until they squeezed every last drop of equity from his house.
“Nothing illegal about that.”
“I’ve got to stop the carnage, Connor.” Kat explained Harry’s maxed-out credit cards, all issued within the last six months. She described that and the thousands of dollars of clothes, entertainment, and luxury trips he had been paying for. She shuddered to think of the charges Hillary was probably racking up right now, unchecked. “Can’t the courts help him? Can’t you do anything?”
“That’s up to Harry. Unless he says he didn’t authorize it, we have to assume he did.”
“But he’s not in his right mind. If he were, he would never allow this to happen. As a matter of fact, money is what made Hillary leave in the first place. When he cut her off. He would never go into debt, or mortgage his house.” Kat threw up her arms. “Fifty years of savings, completely erased in months. He desperately needs help.”
“Poor judgment alone isn’t enough to take over someone’s affairs. It’s a serious step, Kat. There are different degrees of Alzheimer’s. He’s assumed competent unless proven otherwise. ”
“It’s more than that. He can’t remember things from one minute to the next, and he’s not even safe anymore.” She described his recent kitchen fire, delusions, and complete lack of awareness of his surroundings. “Someone has to step in and help him. He can’t manage the simplest things anymore. And he never set up a power of attorney, either.”
“It’s not that easy. There’s no legal recourse unless Harry’s proven incapable of managing his affairs. It does sound like he might be near that point. Have you talked to him about his situation?”
“I’ve tried, but it’s difficult. At first he’s in denial, but when I show him the statements, he realizes what she’s done. It upsets him, but dementia complicates things. He forgets our conversation within minutes, and then it’s back to square one. Meanwhile, he’s losing everything. His bank account has been drained and even his line of credit is maxed out.”
“The bank should freeze his account.”
“I asked them to, but they won’t listen to me. They said it has to come from Harry, but he doesn’t understand what’s happening. It’s a vicious circle.”
Just thinking of all the debt piling up under Harry’s name sent shudders through Kat. “How can his own daughter steal from him?”
Connor sighed. “It happens in the best of families. I see it all the time.”
Kat pointed to Harry’s Visa statement. “All his life he’s scrimped and saved. For what? So everything he’s worked for can be squandered on jewelry from Tiffany’s, trips to Las Vegas, and car repairs at the Porsche dealership? Harry doesn’t own a Porsche. But Hillary does. Now he’s about to lose his house.” She checked her watch. “If he hasn’t already. It’s financial abuse.”
“Quite possible. Sad how common it is.” Whitehall peered over his glasses at her. “You should talk to him about his mental state before we take any legal steps.”
“And tell him what? That he might be declared incompetent? It will kill him.” Kat rose and gazed out the floor to ceiling window. It framed a spectacular view of the Lions Gate Bridge with the snow-capped North Shore Mountains in the background.
“He deserves to know as much as possible. Besides, you’re helping him.”
“But Harry’s so proud of his independence. He’ll be humiliated.”
“Maybe. But the alternative is far worse.”
Kat knew Whitehall was right. But Harry’s first reaction to the doctor’s most recent confirmation of his Alzheimer’s diagnosis had been to flee from his doctor’s office, get lost, and almost freeze to death in an underground parking lot. She couldn’t risk that again.
“He needs to be evaluated by medical doctors familiar with geriatric patients. They’ll interview him and run a series of tests. If they don’t think he is competent, he can be declared as not responsible for his actions. That will protect him going forward. The bank can’t loan him more money, and Hillary can’t take it from him. Of course, that means he can no longer make any financial decisions for himself either.”
Kat rubbed her forehead. She already had a splitting headache. “How soon can we get this done? I think there’s an offer on his house.” Kat had found Whitehall’s calm demeanor soothing a moment ago, but now his lack of urgency grated on her nerves. “What can we do? Can’t we call the police?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It seems simple to me. Hillary’s taking advantage of him.”
“We’re dealing with a person’s mental state, Kat. The law says that Harry has the right to manage his own affairs as long as he’s mentally competent. Taking away that right is a very ser
ious step.”
“It’s obvious he’s not competent. A rational person would never do this.”
“Maybe, but a legal assessment of Harry’s mental competency rests on the medical opinions of two doctors. His family doctor can be one.”
“His family doctor just dumped him as a patient. Where will I find two doctors willing to examine him on short notice? I don’t even know where to start.”
“I know of some.” Whitehall patted her hand. “I’ll make some calls.”
Kat felt physically ill. “What about the damage so far? Won’t Hillary be prosecuted? Doesn’t she have to return the money?”
“Probably not since there’s no proof of his mental incompetency at the time of the transactions.”
“So she gets away with it, just like that?” Kat scoffed. “It’s easier than robbing a bank.”
Whitehall sighed. “The law may not seem fair, but Harry’s competency has to be objective and verifiable. There’s no turning back to fix past injustices. I’m afraid financial abuse is very common in families.”
“I thought laws were supposed to protect vulnerable people like Harry.”
“If the medical assessments do show he is mentally incompetent, we’ll apply to the courts to have him declared legally incompetent. It will protect him going forward. We can’t do anything about the past. It could be in place in as little as three weeks.”
“Three weeks? By then he’ll have nothing left.”
Whitehall studied her sympathetically. “I’ll work as fast as I can. Now, when is Harry available?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know where he is.”
Chapter 44
Outside the rain changed to hail. It clattered against the kitchen window, rising in crescendo as Kat stirred the boiling pasta. The steady tapping on the window grew louder, finally exploding in a cacophony of noise, drowning out everything except her thoughts. She was grateful to have made it home before the storm started.
Low clouds loomed in the late afternoon sky. Kat shivered, wondering if Jace was outside alone somewhere. He would never leave without contacting her. And why hadn’t the police called yet? The knot in her stomach grew larger. Was he hurt? Or worse, had he met a fate similar to Svensson? She didn’t dare think about it, yet she could think of nothing else.
Kat jumped as a loud bang broke into her thoughts. Probably branches from the strong winds outside. She turned the stove burner down and dumped the pasta in the colander to drain in the sink.
The banging started again. This time she realized it was the front door. Her heart skipped a beat as she spun and ran to the door. It might be Jace, or more likely, Hillary. Ready to offload Harry. But it wasn’t either of them.
Connor Whitehall stood at the threshold, water droplets beading on his London Fog raincoat. His hair was wet, though the front porch was just steps from the curb where his Volvo was parked.
Kat invited him in and hung up his coat in the hallway armoire that had fortunately escaped the fire. She motioned him to follow her into the kitchen. “I was just making dinner. Can you stay?”
Connor eyed the charred wainscoting and stairway banister.
“Afraid not. But there’s something I thought you should know as soon as possible.” Connor stared down at his shoes. “I did a title search on Harry’s house.”
“And?” Kat felt the blood drain from her face. It was already heavily mortgaged, and it was all Harry had left. “It’s sold? Hillary sold it?”
“Not exactly. Hillary’s on the deed. Harry transferred the title to her.” He studied Kat. “In essence, it is already sold. To Hillary. Harry’s no longer the owner.”
“That’s impossible! He would never do that.” She hadn’t expected such blatant fraud, even from Hillary. On the other hand, it explained a lot. Hillary’s recent appearances at Kat’s office, Harry’s missing lockbox with Harry’s house deed and other papers, and the missing key from behind Harry’s calendar. Hillary was manipulative all right, but Kat never dreamed she would go this far.
Connor dropped his briefcase on the kitchen table and extracted an envelope. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed them to her. “Have a look.”
Kat studied Harry’s signature, with its big loopy y and the slash across the t. It was his writing, all right. And it was dated two days ago.
It really was too late.
“He’s not in his right mind. He wouldn’t understand what he was signing. This can’t be legal.”
“Oh, I’m afraid it is. Without proof of his incompetence or any sort of coercion, it’s perfectly legal.”
“Wait a minute.” Kat held the signature up to the light. While it was Harry’s autograph, it was more in line with how he signed his name a year or two ago. The handwriting matched his documents and identification, but it didn’t resemble his shaky penmanship of late. She’d been barely able to decipher his handwriting at work for months. Same with the spidery scrawls in his checkbook, which had been almost illegible for the better part of a year. Even his renovation loan sported the same shaky scrawl. “This is too perfect. It has to be a forgery.”
“Forged? How can you be so sure?”
“Harry’s hand shakes when he writes. This signature is smooth and fluid, like he wrote a couple of years ago.” Hillary had stooped to a new low.
“You’re sure Harry wouldn’t sign this? Sometimes parents do add their children to the house to avoid probate fees and such. Did he ever mention doing that?”
“No, and he would never do that.” Especially not with Hillary. Despite his love for his daughter, even Harry knew of self-centered Hillary’s dark side.
“Well, I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.” Connor Whitehall checked his watch. “I’d best be going.”
Kat followed him out to the hall and handed him his coat. “You’ve got to stop her.”
“First you’ve got to track Harry down, Kat. I can’t help until we get him assessed.” He turned and descended the front steps to his car.
It was dark now. The Volvo pulled away from the curb, brake lights reflecting in streaks on the wet asphalt. The gusting wind swayed the bare tree branches back and forth in front of the streetlight. It changed the light into intermittent flashes, like a Morse code signal. Kat shivered and closed the front door. It was already too late to save Harry financially. The only good thing about dementia was oblivion. You never had to know how big of a mess you were in. Eventually, you wouldn’t care either.
Chapter 45
Kat arrived at the office just before six a.m. Tuesday morning, the building dark and eerily quiet. She climbed the stairs to her office and fumbled to unlock the door in the dim light. Marcus had repaired the door, although it took several tries with the key to turn the tumbler.
She wasn’t an early riser, but after a fitful sleep and waking up alone for a second morning, she couldn’t bear to stay in the house any longer. It just reminded her of Jace.
She was also haunted by Svensson’s podcast from the Swedish conference. The woman with him bore a striking resemblance to Angelika, the Hideaway Bay housekeeper. As a matter of fact, she was positive it was her. But why was she in Sweden? Was she somehow connected to Svensson’s death?
Kat closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Across the room the floor-to-ceiling windows framed the silhouette of the North Shore Mountains. A few lights twinkled across the water as the sun rose over the horizon and the harbor slowly came to life. She had a meeting with Zachary for the second day in a row. This time it was to determine a strategy to disclose the fraud to investors and the bank. As soon as she finished her early morning meeting with Zachary, she would head to Hideaway Bay.
Her numerous calls to the RCMP there remained unanswered and she couldn’t understand why. What kind of a police station screened calls with voicemail? Jace was missing and she deserved an answer, even if only to state there were no developments. It was simply unacceptable. If the police couldn’t take this seriously, she’d hold
them accountable. And start a search for Jace herself.
But before she left, she needed to better define her search area.
Kat studied the map pinned to the wall. What was she missing? The map of Hideaway Bay was simple. The only land access was a single road. It originated at the ferry, cut through town, and then continued on to the turnoff for the Tides Resort. Water or air access were possibilities, but less likely. She’d heard a helicopter land during their stay. Certainly a second helicopter landing would have awakened her. That meant Jace must have left on foot or by boat. The high bank waterfront meant no dock or moorage, especially not at night. A number of trails connected to the resort, including the Summit Trail, where Svensson had fallen to his death. Not an easy hike in winter but possible with the right gear, including a headlamp at night. Had Jace met a similar fate to Svensson’s?
There was one other scenario, one she thought the police were unlikely to check. Jace might have gone to Kurt’s cabin nearby. Kat doubted Jace would leave without proper equipment for a winter-night hike. He wouldn’t leave the resort without telling her either. Unless he had no choice.
She couldn’t rule it out without visiting Kurt’s cabin herself, since it was out of cell phone range and had no telephone connection.
Had Landers’s enthusiasm been a ruse? Had he intended all along to entrap and expose Kat and Jace?
Kat stabbed pins into the map for every trail that branched off from the resort road. She’d drive back up and check the most likely ones later today. Her heart sank as she pushed in the last pin. Was Jace even alive?
Daylight gradually suffused the office. Outside it reflected off the white frost that clung to everything but the harbor waters. Traffic noise, machinery, and voices drifted upwards as the city awoke. Kat shivered. The heat was finally pumping into her office, but it couldn’t compensate for the draft that seeped through the ancient single-paned windows.
A crane in the harbor below lifted a Maersk container from a Chinese freighter and lowered it onto the shipyard dock. The containers were stacked three high, filled with electronics, furniture, and who knew what else. Port traffic never seemed to slow, fueled by cheap imports and insatiable consumer demand.
Game Theory--A Katerina Carter Fraud Legal Thriller Page 19
