The accountants could sort out whatever legal tracing was necessary.
What he did not get was control.
The lake cabin remained mine.
The investment account remained frozen against unauthorized transfers while ownership issues were reviewed.
Our joint checking account was divided under temporary orders.
The business debts were investigated separately.
Then something happened that none of us expected.
A woman contacted Monica.
Her name was Beth Avery.
She worked at a branch of the bank where Daniel had our joint accounts.
She had seen my photograph in a local article about the protective-order hearing.
Not details.
Just enough.
She told Monica:
“Your client needs to know her husband came in with a document I didn’t trust.”
“What document?”
“A power of attorney.”
My stomach dropped.
“I never signed one.”
Beth knew.
That was why she was calling.
Three weeks before the trash-can incident, Daniel had attempted to use a notarized power of attorney naming himself as my financial agent.
