Chapter 7 - The Man Who Followed Me
Zach marched toward the house before I could reach the front door.
"What the hell are you doing here, Mom?"
I stared at him.
"How did you find me?"
"That doesn't matter."
"It matters to me!"
He looked past my shoulder.
Wendell stepped into the doorway.
"Can I help you?"
Zach pointed at him.
"So you're Wendell."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't call me sir."
"All right."
Zach pushed past me into the kitchen.
His eyes moved over the newly painted cabinets, the long table, and the equipment arranged along the hallway.
Then he laughed.
"Unbelievable."
"Zach, stop it."
He pointed toward the wheelchair ramp.
"Look at this place, Mom! He has you convinced he's building some beautiful little retirement dream, doesn't he?"
Wendell remained calm.
"This isn't a retirement home. It's a gathering place for people who've lost someone or need a little company."
"How convenient."
"What's convenient?"
"That you've found a wealthy widow who happens to be lonely."
I stepped forward.
"Enough!"
Zach turned toward me.
"Mom, you need to come home."
"I am perfectly capable of deciding where I go."
"Not when you're behaving like this."
Wendell spoke quietly.
"Zach, I think your mother deserves to be heard."
Zach spun toward him.
"You stay out of this! You've been dating her for a few months, and suddenly she's running off to your house without telling anybody."
I looked at my son.
"How did you know where I was?"
He said nothing.
"Zach."
Finally, he sighed.
"Your phone."
My stomach dropped.
"What about my phone?"
"I set up family location sharing when you fell outside the grocery store last winter."
I remembered the incident.
I'd slipped on wet pavement and bruised my knee.
Zach had insisted on adding several safety features to my phone.
At the time, I'd thought he was being thoughtful.
Now I realized he'd been using one of those features to monitor my movements.
"You tracked me?"
"I was making sure you were safe."
"Without telling me?"
"Mom, this is exactly why you need somebody looking after you!"
I stepped closer.
"Turn it off."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Whatever you're using to watch where I go. Turn it off."
"You're being unreasonable."
"No. I'm being your mother, and I'm telling you that my private life belongs to me."
Zach's face darkened.
He looked toward the kitchen table.
A folder containing Wendell's construction receipts lay open beside Ruth's notebook.
Zach picked up the folder.
"What's this?"
Wendell held out his hand.
"Those are my private records."
Zach flipped through several pages.
"Receipts. Contractors. Building supplies. You expect me to believe you paid for all this yourself?"
"Yes."
"With what money?"
"My own."
"That's a convenient answer."
Wendell's expression hardened.
"I won't ask you to trust me, Zach. But I'll ask you to respect your mother and my home."
For a moment, I thought Zach might explode.
Instead, something colder settled over his face.
He placed the folder on the table.
"Fine."
Then he looked at me.
"If you're determined to make a fool of yourself, I guess you leave me no choice."
"What are you talking about?"
"I've already spoken to an attorney."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"About what?"
"About protecting you from people who manipulate vulnerable seniors."
Wendell stared at him.
"Your mother isn't incapable of making decisions."
"That's not your determination to make."
Zach reached into his jacket and removed a folded packet of papers.
He held them out to me.
"I was hoping we wouldn't have to go this far."
My fingers trembled as I unfolded the documents.
At the top of the first page were the words:
Petition for Temporary Guardianship.
I read the next paragraph.
Then the next.
And with each sentence, my horror grew.
My own son was claiming that I suffered from serious memory problems, poor judgment, and an inability to manage my finances.
He claimed that I had become emotionally dependent on a suspicious stranger.
He claimed I was at risk of losing my home and savings.
And he wanted a court to give him authority over my financial decisions.
I looked up.
"Zach, what have you done?"
He folded his arms.
"What I had to do."
I stared at the papers.
Most terrifying of all was the final request.
My son wasn't simply asking permission to protect my money.
May you like
He was asking for legal authority to control it.
And the hearing was scheduled for the following week.
