Chapter 3 - The House Across Town
My house sat twenty three minutes from Justin’s.
A two story brick colonial I had shared with my husband, David, for twenty seven years.
Paid off.
Not luxurious.
Worth maybe six hundred thousand dollars because the neighborhood had become absurdly expensive.
The house was mine.
The memory inside it was mine.
And I had not asked anyone to sell it.
Justin called our neighbor immediately.
Her name was Louise Garner.
She had lived across the street fourteen years.
“Louise, what realtor?”
“I don’t know. White SUV. Blue signs. I saw a woman showing two people around.”
“Inside?”
“Yes.”
“How did they get in?”
“I assumed Natalie gave them access.”
Justin looked at me.
I shook my head.
He said:
“She didn’t.”
Louise went quiet.
“Oh.”
“Did you see Claire?”
Another silence.
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“When?”
“This morning. Around nine.”
I was in the emergency department at nine.
Claire had left Justin’s house sometime after ambulance departed.
Not to follow us.
To my house.
“Was she with realtor?”
“Yes.”
“Are they there now?”
“No. Cars left maybe forty minutes ago.”
“Do not go inside.”
Louise sounded offended.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Sorry.”
“What’s happening?”
“We’re figuring it out.”
After the call, Justin stood.
“I’m going.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“Police first.”
He stared.
I had never seen him look so young.
“Why?”
“Because if she had permission, we need know what she used. If she didn’t, I do not want you confronting her.”
He nodded.
The hospital social worker contacted law enforcement already because of the assault report.
Detective Mara Sloan arrived later that afternoon.
She was forty something.
Calm.
No theatrical outrage.
Good.
We told her about the house.
She asked:
“Does Claire have a key?”
“Not that I know.”
“Has she ever had permission to enter?”
“Yes, with Justin, for emergencies.”
“Any written power of attorney?”
“No.”
“Medical proxy?”
“My son is my healthcare agent if I cannot decide.”
“Financial?”
“No.”
Justin looked at me.
“Mom, after Dad died you did a durable power.”
“I did.”
“With me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember where?”
“My attorney.”
“Claire ever see?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective wrote.
“Who is attorney?”
“Eleanor Price.”
She called.
Within an hour, Eleanor confirmed.
I had signed a durable financial power of attorney naming Justin Bennett as primary agent.
Not Claire.
It required no incapacity to be effective but included fiduciary duties and could be revoked.
I had given Justin a copy.
He had never used it.
Claire knew it existed.
Could she somehow have obtained it?
Possibly.
But it named Justin.
Not her.
A realtor cannot simply accept a spouse of an agent as agent.
Something else had to exist.
Detective Sloan asked:
“Would you authorize us to inspect the house for signs of unauthorized entry?”
“Yes.”
“Any immediate concern property is missing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do not speculate.”
I liked her already.
Justin stayed at hospital while officers went with Louise’s statement.
At 5:40 p.m., Detective called.
“Ms. Bennett, your home does not appear ransacked.”
“Was it locked?”
“Yes.”
“How did Claire get in?”
“There is a lockbox on rear door.”
“What?”
“Realtor box.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who put it there?”
“Broker says seller representative authorized.”
“Who is seller?”
“You.”
My heart dropped.
“What?”
“They have a listing agreement bearing your name.”
Justin swore.
Detective continued:
“I have not concluded signature is forged. We are obtaining copy.”
“I never signed.”
“Understood.”
“Who hired realtor?”
“A woman identifying herself as your care coordinator, Claire Bennett.”
There.
“What did she say?”
“That you recently underwent brain surgery, planned permanent assisted living placement, and had authorized sale to fund long term care.”
My throat tightened.
Justin whispered:
“No.”
Detective:
“The realtor says she was provided a power of attorney.”
“Whose?”
“We’re confirming.”
I looked at Justin.
He looked sick.
“Claire was going to sell my house.”
“Attempted listing. No sale.”
“While I was staying with her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That is what we investigate.”
Then Detective added:
“There is another issue. The document the broker received does not name Justin.”
I knew before she said it.
“It names Claire.”
“Yes.”
“And I never signed that.”
“We will compare against your known documents.”
My body went cold.
The bathroom.
The canceled calls.
The missed nurse visits.
The repeated claims that I was confused.
The house listing.
Suddenly they aligned in a way I did not want to believe.
Claire was not simply tired of caring for me.
She had been building a story.
Natalie Bennett had brain surgery.
Natalie Bennett became confused.
Natalie Bennett refused care.
Natalie Bennett could not manage herself.
Natalie Bennett needed permanent placement.
And if Natalie Bennett could no longer manage property, someone else would.
Justin stared at the wall.
Then he whispered:
“I signed something last week.”
I turned.
“What?”
Claire had placed a stack of “home care documents” in front of him after dinner.
He signed three pages without reading closely.
One authorized her to coordinate home health services.
One authorized release of information.
The third?
He did not remember.
“Justin.”
“I thought it was for your rehab.”
“Did you sign as me?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything giving Claire authority?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective said:
“Find copies. Do not confront her.”
His face collapsed.
“Mom…”
I took his hand.
May you like
“We don’t know what you signed.”
But for the first time, I was afraid Justin had unknowingly opened the door Claire had needed.
