The next morning, at eight-thirty, my father and I sat in Tom Becker’s office off Parham Road.
Tom closed the door behind us. He sat down behind his desk. He looked at Dad.
“Richard,” he said. “Do I have your permission to speak in front of Michael?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “Everything. I want him to hear everything.”
Tom opened a folder.
“Three weeks ago,” he said, “Vanessa called this office. She presented the durable power of attorney you signed in 2019. She asked us to prepare a distribution from your traditional IRA. Four hundred thousand dollars. To be wired to an account at a bank in Henrico in the name of Holloway Residential LLC.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“I put a hold on it,” Tom said. “Michael’s call made me nervous. So did the fact that Vanessa wanted the wire to go directly to her husband’s business account, not to you. An agent under a power of attorney has a legal duty to act in your best interest. Not in her own. Or her husband’s.”
“So you stopped it,” Dad said.
“I told her I needed to meet with you in person first,” Tom said. “To confirm it was your decision. She scheduled that meeting for next Tuesday.” He paused. “She also asked me to keep it confidential from the rest of the family. Especially from Michael.”
Dad sat there for a long moment.
Then he said, “I want to revoke the power of attorney. Today.”
Tom nodded. “You’ll want an attorney for that. A written revocation. Signed and notarized. Then copies sent to Vanessa, to this office and to every bank where you have accounts.”
“I know an attorney,” I said.
At two o’clock that afternoon, my father sat in Denise Harrington’s office in a high-rise on Main Street. Denise is sixty-one. She’s been my real estate attorney for nine years. She also does estate planning.
She drafted a revocation of the durable power of attorney. Dad signed it. Her paralegal, a young man named Jordan, notarized it.
Then Denise drafted a new durable power of attorney.
“Who do you want to name as your agent, Richard?” she asked.
My father looked at me for a long time.
“I want two people,” he said. “Michael. And Kyle. Together. They both have to sign. So nobody can ever do this alone again.”
Denise nodded and typed it in.
“And Richard,” she said gently. “Your will. You may want to look at that too.”
Dad’s will left everything equally to his three children. With Vanessa named as executor.
“Change the executor,” Dad said quietly. “Make it Michael.”
That night, Denise’s office sent certified letters to Vanessa, to Tom Becker’s firm and to Dad’s banks. The old power of attorney was revoked. Effective immediately.
Vanessa got hers on Saturday morning.
My phone rang at 9:14.
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