“She told me this was estate simplification,” he said. “She said the Del Mar transfer protected us from probate delay. The line of credit—I remember a packet during rehab. I was on medication. She said it was for account consolidation.”
“It was for access,” I said.
He stared at the paper.
My father had always prided himself on not being a fool. Like many men who build financial lives, he mistook competency in one domain for immunity everywhere. Vanessa had not outsmarted him at market math or zoning law. She had exploited the precise place where many powerful men are weakest: the domestic sphere they long ago delegated and stopped auditing because a woman they trusted handled the details.
He put the papers down very carefully.
“Are you building a case?”
“Yes.”
“Against Vanessa?”
“Against the theft,” I said. “Vanessa’s name just happens to be on most of the documents.”
