Karen inhaled sharply. Her face did not fall apart—it tightened. She had the discipline of vain people; they practice composure like religion. But the edges changed.
Desmond tried to regroup. “There’s a misunderstanding. I had power of attorney—”
Miriam slid the signed revocation across the table. “Not anymore. And even before this morning, the authority granted did not permit self-dealing, fraudulent transfer attempts, or unilateral freezes of personal accounts absent incapacity. Three independent physicians have already provided written statements confirming Mrs. Morrison is cognitively intact and fully competent.”
Karen leaned forward. “She repeats stories. She forgets things.”
Miriam did not even look at her. “Ms. Whitmore, unless you are licensed to diagnose cognitive impairment, I suggest you conserve your commentary for your own counsel.”
Desmond’s attorney finally found his footing. “My client has concerns regarding his mother’s susceptibility to financial exploitation and—”
Frederick cut in with banker politeness sharpened into steel. “Your client attempted to move twenty-three million dollars into structures beneficial to himself. That is not protection. It is evidence.”