She became impossible whenever anyone questioned her.”
Elena removed one sheet from the envelope and handed copies to the clerk and Curtis.
“This is a letter Mr.
Callaway delivered to his bank twenty-three days before his death,” she said.
“It revoked Mrs.
Callaway’s limited financial authority and instructed the bank that she was not permitted to establish entities, redirect statements, or transfer company funds.”
Diane stared at the paper.
For the first time, she looked genuinely betrayed.
Not by me.
By my father.
“He was medicated,” she said.
“He signed whatever people put in front of him.”
“He signed it before two witnesses,” Elena replied.
Judge Alderman looked toward the gallery.
“One of whom was Colette Callaway.”
Colette covered her mouth.
I remembered the day my father signed that letter.
He had asked me to leave his hospital room while Elena and Colette spoke with him privately.
When I returned, he looked exhausted but relieved.
He squeezed my hand and told me he had closed a door that should never have been opened.
At the time, I thought he meant the limited power of attorney he had given Diane during his first surgery.
I had not known how much had already passed through it.
Diane turned toward Colette.
“You told me that paper was about the bank account.”
“It was,” Colette whispered.
“You never said it revoked everything.”
“I did not know there was an everything.”
The judge raised his hand again.
“Mrs.
Callaway, you will address the court, not the witness.”
Diane faced forward, but the mask was slipping.
Her chin no longer trembled delicately.
Her jaw had locked.
“This has nothing to do with her present condition,” she said, pointing at me without looking.
“She is unstable.
She does call at night.
She does lose track of conversations.
Her own medical records prove it.”
Elena had been waiting for that.
She placed a call log beneath the projector.
“The petitioner submitted a summary alleging that Miss Callaway called her fourteen times between midnight and four in the morning during the month after her father’s death,” Elena said.
“The carrier records show that every one of those calls originated from Mrs.
Callaway’s phone.”
Diane blinked.
“That cannot be right.”
“The calls lasted between nine seconds and three minutes.
Miss Callaway answered four.
The remaining ten went to voicemail.”
Elena lifted her tablet.
“We have the voicemails.”
Curtis closed his eyes.
Judge Alderman permitted one recording to be played.
Diane’s voice filled the courtroom, stripped of trembling sorrow and polished concern.
“You need to sign the bank authorization tomorrow.
Stop pretending you understand any of this.
If you keep refusing me, I will have someone declare you unfit, and then your signature will not matter.”
