My son froze my cards so I couldn’t even buy groceries. He thinks he controls our $42 million empire—but one call from the bank made me realize he has no idea what I’m about to do. First my credit card declined. Then my debit.

Elise tapped the power of attorney. “This document allows your son to act on your behalf in the event of incapacity. It does not allow him to redefine inconvenience or disagreement as incapacity. It certainly does not authorize self-dealing, freezing personal accounts without legitimate cause, or initiating large transfers into structures he controls. We can revoke immediately.”

“We will,” I said.

Frederick then showed me the transfer attempts. Line by line. Time stamped. Destination accounts. Two of them were linked to shell entities associated with an acquisition vehicle being assembled for the dealership sale. One was an external account in Karen’s maiden name. Another was an investment account newly opened under a trust with Desmond listed as successor beneficiary. He had not only tried to seize control—he had already begun positioning the proceeds.

“How much got through?” I asked.

“One hundred forty thousand before the protocols cascaded,” Frederick said. “We can likely reverse most or all of it.”