When Grandma became ill, I had signed a limited document allowing Dad to coordinate maintenance and emergency repairs while I traveled for work.
Nothing more.
Certainly not authority to sell real estate.
The moment the call ended, I contacted my attorney.
Marcus Hale.
By midnight he had copies of everything.
The will.
The deed.
The authorization paperwork.
Text messages.
Emails.
Voicemails.
Every piece of evidence.
The next morning he called me.
“Laura.”
His voice sounded unusually serious.
