Chapter 4 - THE PAPERS BEFORE SURGERY
The patient advocate arrived forty minutes later.
Her name was Joanna.
She was probably in her forties, with dark-framed glasses and the calm expression of someone accustomed to families becoming complicated under fluorescent lighting.
I asked to be moved.
Not immediately, because both Victor and I were recovering and the transplant unit had limited rooms.
But I wanted separate access.
Separate visitors.
Separate medical information.
And I wanted staff instructed not to give Victor my phone, wallet, bag, or documents.
Joanna did not ask whether I was sure.
She simply took notes.
Then I called the person Victor had spent years complaining I relied on too much.
My younger brother, Michael.
He lived forty minutes away.
He answered on the second ring.
“How’s my favorite organ donor?”
“Michael.”
He heard it immediately.
“What happened?”
“I need you to come here.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“Bring my document box from the office closet.”
There was a pause.
“What document box?”
“The red one. And don’t tell Victor.”
His voice changed.
“I won’t.”
My next call was to Helen Barrett, the attorney who had handled my mother’s estate.
I had not spoken with her in almost three years.
Her receptionist said she was in a meeting.
I said, “Tell her Sarah Hale is calling about the Linden Road property and a document I may have signed under false pretenses.”
Helen came on the line in less than a minute.
“Sarah?”
I explained as much as I could.
She asked one question first.
“Did you sign anything granting Victor power of attorney?”
My stomach tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you sign anything involving real estate?”
“I thought I was signing household documents.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No. I did not knowingly sign anything involving the house.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because intent matters, and so does the actual document.”
“What can he do?”
“Possibly nothing. Possibly something we need to stop quickly.”
I looked toward the curtain.
Victor had gone completely silent.
Helen continued.
“Do you have copies?”
“No.”
“Then we get them.”
“How?”
“You start by not confronting him about specifics.”
I almost laughed.
“Helen, I’m lying in a hospital bed missing a kidney while he’s behind a curtain promising my house to another woman. I’m not feeling particularly diplomatic.”
“You don’t need diplomacy.”
Her voice became firm.
“You need information.”
May you like
That sentence saved me from making the first emotional mistake Victor was counting on.
So I waited.
