Miriam listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she folded her hands.
“First, Emily, you’re not going to sign anything Mark brings you.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Second, we’ll secure copies of your financial records.
Third, we’re going to determine exactly what those documents in your kitchen mean.”
I showed her photographs I’d taken of the blue folder while Mark and Celeste were downstairs.
She examined them carefully.
Her expression changed.
“Where did you get these?”
“My husband brought them home.”
“Who prepared them?”
“Celeste Vaughn.”
Miriam turned one page toward me.
A notarial acknowledgment carried a date from the previous November.
According to the document, I had appeared before a notary and signed a durable financial power of attorney.
I remembered that day clearly.
I’d spent eleven hours at work before driving Mark to a specialist appointment.
I hadn’t visited a notary.
“I never signed that.”
